Love at First Punch

Chapter 1

I tried to make this chapter interesting because it's quite hard to get the readers interested at the beginning. So have fun!

Next day

'alarm clock rings'

I slammed my fist on the clock multiple times but it still didn't stop. I get it alarm clock, you can stop ringing now. It didn't. I grabbed the clock, turned it upside down and smashed it to pieces against my bedside table. There. No more loud ringing noise, for now. This is what I get for buying an old, half broken alarm clock from the thrift shop. I searched around the table for my phone, another item from the thrift shop which I wish I could snap the phone into two but even I can't break the almighty Nokia brick phone. It literally is a brick. I glanced at the time which read 7:40.

Crap!

I'm going to be late for school...again. There's a list of things I hate and school is one of them. I mean don't get me wrong, education is the most important thing in the world and it is essential to get the best grades possible to get to the top university. However, if you were in my position, you would view school as an academic institution for people in rehab. Dicks as I would like to call them.

A little bit of School 101, there are four main social groups in school. First are the jocks who are big giants who most definitely take steroids as it is not humanly possible to have arms the size of a log. Second, are the cheerleaders or twigs, since they eat absolutely nothing and hang out with the logs armed freaks. I'm pretty sure everyone has slept with everyone in their group. The third group are the geeks and the label speaks for itself. They are extremely smart robots who programme themselves to study day and night to pass every single test there is. Oh what incredible lives they must have. Last of all, the fourth and final group consists of the outcasts. This includes bullies, musicians, wannabe actors, emos, skater dudes and then there's me. I'm in a group with a person who happens to have the same name as me. Yes, you guessed it, I am alone. It's often nice to have some alone time to yourself and reflect on life itself. Sometimes it's nice to have someone to talk to but it's a real struggle to find someone else like me since everyone has their own cliques.

I often wonder the point in going to school when all you do is study and talk to friends. We live in the 21st century where everyone uses the internet and their phones to communicate. Everyone might as well be home schooled in my opinion. Life would be so much easier for all of us especially me.

I slowly got up from my plain single mattress bed, which I had just been able to afford with the money I earned from fighting, and dragged my feet to the bathroom. Slow as a snail, I went to the sink and picked out my plain, non electronic, toothbrush. Most of the time I dream about how the rich kids live with their fancy technological tools.

I got out of the toilet five minutes later and was faced with a mini wardrobe containing two piles of clothing: one for school, home and underwear whilst the other is for boxing only. It will always be my number one priority for everything. My coach said that if I work hard enough, he could enter me for the Olympic trials. If I get through, I can finally get out of this shit hole and hopefully have a decent amount of income. But most of all, get away from a person called my father. Once I leave this house, I will never ever look back.

Ever since my mom died when I was twelve years old, my father just ignored me and avoided having any kind of contact with me. He felt that her death was my fault since I brought a boy, Joe, to the house to work on a science project and it just so happens that on that day, my mother had a heart attack. Ever since that day, the relationship I had with my father was broken. He calls me a slut because of that day and it's officially my nickname at home. I know I'm not one but sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't brought a guy home. Would my life be any different? Of course it would. My mum would be alive.

The only time my dad has any type of contact with me is when he wants something or when he's in a pissy mood. Throwing was his hobby, and I was his target. I even have the scars to prove it. That's why I wear long sleeved jumpers or hoodies. So no one can see me or my scars.

I use the bruises I have to scare my opponents in the ring and it usually works as the more bruises you have, the more inner strength you have as a person.

I took my car keys from the study table and run down the stairs when I was suddenly halted by my dad who had entered the house.

"What time do you call this?" my dad slurred as he took a sip of beer in his hand.

"Um... 8:05?"

"Are ya giving me attitude? I thought I raised a child to never speak back to their dad?" His eyes bulging out of his eye sockets. This always happens when he's drunk.

"Yes. I mean no! I mean yes I know what will happen and no I don't mean to be rude. I'm so sorry."

He looked at me up and down, looking at the types of clothes I wear so that it doesn't look 'slutty'.

"Tha's better. Now scram before I change my mind."

I nodded and walked quickly toward the door when something hard hit the back of my head. His palm. I quickly ran out the door and slammed it shut before he could do any more harm to me. I ran towards my crappy 2002 pickup truck and drove to Hell's sidekick, school.

**********

It is now twenty minutes later and I just reached the parking lot of the school. I looked around to see if there are any available spaces but I highly doubt it. Most people are probably already on their to class or just hanging around having an early morning smoke.  If I can't find any spaces, I would have to go park my car near the gas station outside the school which takes another ten minutes walk to and from school. I most definitely do not want that to happen. 

I drove around in circles and finally saw a car pulling out. It might seem odd to you but this is typical here. I call those students the 'ditchers'. They come into school every morning, sign themselves in and walk straight out the door the next second. I don't know why they even bother coming to school. Plus, I don't think I could ever ditch school. If I do, I will not only get in trouble with my teachers but also with my dad and you do not want to see him in a pissed mood. This morning is just a small glimpse of how violent he gets. 

As I drove towards the space, I noticed the car on the right of it. It was a big chrome black Range Rover which looks like it should be on display in a car show or something. Then I just had an epiphany. It was his. Damn it. Why couldn't he have parked it somewhere. That gas station is looking better and better as I get closer. Just park it and run, I say to myself. And that's exactly what I did. I quickly got out of the car and searched around to see if he was near. As soon as I knew it was a safe area, I hurriedly got out my car and ran through the school door. There were rarely anyone since everyone was in lesson. I had exactly fifty seconds to run to Biology class before Mr. Wilson shuts the door. 

The class was in my sight and I was near with thirty seconds to spare. I guess I got a bit too excited since my phone fell out of my jumper pocket. What are the odds of that. It's like the universe wants me to get in trouble or something. I had to jog back a few steps to pick up the phone. I did a hundred and eighty turn and slammed into something hard and...bony?

I stumbled backwards and knew I was going to fall. But why didn't I? I looked up and saw piercing green eyes boring down into mine. I scanned more of his features and realised who was holding me. I pulled away from his arms which now hung by his sides. We both stood less than a feet apart from each other, still looking having eye contact. He looked at me and wickedly smirked at me. I am not exactly sure how you 'wickedly smirk' at someone but for some reason, he did it perfectly.  

We stared at each other for a good ten seconds until he broke the silence by saying something that should hurt me but somehow, it doesn't because I'm used to all the negativity. 

"Hey bitch."

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