Disappeared [ Dylan Sprayberry Fanfic ]

Chapter 15

Dylan's POV
I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the classroom into the hallway. The guy staggered to his feet, this time with a little less finesse. I was merely toying with him, by the look on his face he knew that too. This was my only way to let off steam now, this was how it was supposed to be. He lunged forward without any warning, and I dodged left--spun around his still moving body, and grabbed the back of his head. I slammed him face first into the wall, relishing in what sounded like his nose breaking.
"You wanna repeat that for me? Who owns what mansion?" I twisted him around, keeping his arm locked behind his back. The guy stared hard at me, eyes black and swollen, crooked nose gushing blood everywhere. Somewhere inside of me, I was blaming him for screwing up my past, though he knew nothing about me. I guess people like him were a symptom of this darkness inside me but--did I really have the right to punish him for mistakes I made? Just because I was upset with myself? Just because I refused to listen to Martha or whoever else wanted to tell me anything other than what I believed?
Did it matter?

The corner of his fat lip lifted in what I assumed was a smirk, then he spat directly in my face.
No, it didn't matter.
Slowly, I wiped the mixture of blood and saliva off of my face--with the rest of the class cheering and screaming in the background of my thoughts, I punched him again. I pretended I was back in the basement, doing rounds on the old punching bag--throwing whatever pleased me, because I could. Because it didn't matter anymore.
The guy, which had suddenly dawned upon me that I hadn't cared what his name was, got in a few hits--but it was like I didn't even feel it. I was blinde; angry at my dad for doing this to me, angry at my brother for leaving me, angry at Bridget for being so god damn irresistible, and angry at myself for letting it turn out like this.
All I remembered was the impact, never the back swing--just the pain that inevitably resulted with each fist connecting with his face. I wanted him to feel pain, the same pain I felt. The pain that engulfed me in each waking moment--then again, no amount of blows would ever amount to that.

"Stop it!" Molly screamed from somewhere far away,
"You're killing him, Dylan!" I looked up, glancing around at the blurry faces surrounding me. I couldn't differentiate person from person, limbs and faces bled into one another like running paint; but I didn't need to see them to know what they were feeling...Fear. I turned back to the near mutilated body in front of me. The guy's face was puffy and black, blood seemed to spurt from his pores as if it was natural, his eyes were swollen shut, and Hus body shook uncontrollably. I dropped the guy's blood stained t-shirt, and watched his head roll to the side.
I stood up, looking around me.
They all took a few steps away from me as if I'd come at them too, Molly was crying, John looked like he was going to be sick, and Edward was unfazed. I swallowed hard, and turned back to the thing on the ground.
"Monster." The guy mumbled, his tone barely audible. I looked at my hands to come to the realisation they were shaking. I contracted the sore muscles in my hands, and glared at the black and blue bruises decorating my knuckles.
I turned my back on them, and ran. I didn't know where I was running too, and that didn't seem to matter either--

"Did ya listen to me at all the other day?!" Martha exclaimed, slapping me over the head. I jerked forward, then reached up to rub my head. Martha snatched my hand back as if it belonged to her, and pushed it under the boiling hot water. I don't know why my feet lead me here in particularly, but I felt like I needed some kind of preaching.
"I'm sorry, I just--" I mumbled, feeling as if I'd just gotten caught stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar.
"Oh no, don't be apologizing now, boy! In fact, I feel sorry for you. You're running around here like you're 2 sandwiches short of a picnic! What in Sam hell is wrong with you? I should get your mama out here, tell her about the way you're behaving... Beating on kids like that." Martha fussed more to herself than to me, as she scrubbed harshly at my busted knuckles.
I rubbed my eyes tiredly,
"I'm sorry..."
Martha shook her head nonsensically, and continued scrubbing at my bleeding hands. I watched the blood stain the white sink, then slip into the drain.
"I don't think I'm a good guy like you say, Ms. Worths." I said emptily.
"I tried to think about what you said, but I can't find it...the good part of me."
"This again," Martha rolled her wild blue eyes melodramatically,
"Why did you come here again, boy?"
"Because I want her to be happy--I don't want to bring any danger to her." I replied shamefully, tilting my head towards the ceiling.
"Go on, say it 3 times to yourself-- "I'm here because I want my girl to be happy." Martha motioned, raising her thick eyebrows.
I didn't say anything.