Hands scrape down my shoulders and chest as she latches onto me like a rabid cat. I yelp and fling her off me, glaring at the smears over my shirt in disdain. Snarling at her, I return the favour and push her against the wall.
It rattles in protest as I narrowly dodge a fake nail try to gouge out my eye. Usually-pristine blonde hair unruly, Martha-May pants out an insult that I ignore, deciding to reply with a crisp slap.
"Bitch!" she gasps, one hand now clutching her stinging cheek while the other fails to stop the gush of blood from her nose.
Maybe I should let her do some damage to me so it doesn't look like-
Moments later, I'm flying to the ground. Sharp bouts of pain explode up my legs as I tightly ball up my fists and screw my eyes shut to stop a cry of agony. Her heel temporarily lodges itself into my ankle bone as she throws me off her, but I'm up before she can run off. My ankle nearly buckles in protest, the aching spreading like wildfire, but I don't let it show on my face.
Our scuffle has attracted several students.
They peer curiously past the corner of the corridor, turning back to call their friends before finding a viewing spot a safe distance away. I purse my lips at them, predicting the messy outcome of this endeavour.
Nonetheless, Martha-May's dishevelled outfit forces a smirk onto my lips, "Wow, you give a whole new meaning to the word 'ratchet', Martha-May-Need-A-Change-Of-Clothes."
She glares at me as if I'm the blinding sun, blowing the flyaways of her straw-like hair away from her face as she staggers towards me. I limp towards her as well, encouraging the violence as every stupid remark she's ever said replays in my mind.
"It's Martha-May, idiot!" she screeches as she tackles me to the ground.
As I collide with the ground, I begin to notice just how big the crowd is getting around us. People from all years have formed a circle around us, 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing like a movie audience as we bounce insults off each other. I catch Hannah's terrified gaze amongst them, but I'm too distracted by the relentless desire to claw Martha-May's eyeballs out that I don't even bother sending her a reassuring smile.
"I've got this under control," I don't say.
Because I haven't.
That much is confirmed as soon as I feel a karma-filled slap resonate in the corridor. My head whips to the side and hits the ground with a sickening crack. Dizziness plagues my mind as the world tips and wobbles. The blurriness persists as I try to shake off the pain.
Everyone falls dead silent, even my attacker, as if gathered for a funeral.
I snap my head back to the front, drowning the pain in a newfound fury.
Well it won't be my fucking funeral.
Without stopping to think twice, I pull my fist back and aim straight for her already-bleeding nose.
However, I don't get the satisfaction of feeliing my flesh shatter hers to pieces. Instead, I'm yanked up from my position on the floor and my elbow is held securely in a vice-like grip.
"Alright!" an unfamiliar voice yells, silencing the chatter, "Leave now!"
Sensing the authority in the professor's voice, everyone scatters.
The professor I don't recognise grabs onto Martha-May and I'm pulled in the opposite direction despie my attempt to break free.
"Let me at her!" I snarl, trying to force my fist out of the restricting grip, "She deserves it!"
YOU ARE READING
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Teen Fiction#1 enough #1 notenough #3 in lifelessons #15 relatable "They say you regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did do in life," I whisper, glad that I can still form a coherent sentence with him so abnormally close to me. I would bare...
