Oddity

27

I winced as my head collided with the lockers, making my vision blur for a moment.

It did not take long for a circle of students to form, chanting the word "fight" over and over.

I gasped for air when Michael's fist collided with my abdomen, much like on the night of the drug deal.

After doubling over in pain, I collapsed to my knees, wincing at the spreading pain.

I could hear Mitch saying my name, but I could not see him.

Michael Turner backed up, wearing a malicious grin, before waving his friends over. I looked up at them as they wrapped tight grips around my biceps, lifting me off of the ground slightly.

I tried struggling out of their grip, but I was weak.

Pain resonated in my jaw when Michael's fist hit it, much harder than I was expecting. My head was thrown in the other direction when another hit joined the first. I could taste blood, and my head was spinning.

My arms were released, and I landed in a heap on the floor. I instinctively shielded my head and face as Michael's friends began to kick any part of my body their shoes could find.

Every hit seemed to hurt more, and I was not sure how to fight back.

I wanted to cry, but I could not give Michael Turner that satisfaction.

"Alright alright, lay off. My turn again," Michael demanded.

Once the relentless kicking came to a halt, I forced myself to look up. Students surrounded, but no one helped. They cheered. They laughed. They recorded. But no one helped.

And Mitch was nowhere in sight.

And that's why I stopped fighting back.

"Aw...not even gonna fight back?" Michael taunted as he began to circle me. "You're not making this fun. I've been dreaming about beating the shit out of you for years and you're not living up to the fantasy," he assured me.

I did not understand. I did not understand Michael Turner's hatred for me. I did not understand why he wanted me to hurt so much. He enjoyed my pain, and I did not understand it.

"Come on Freakazoid...fight back," Michael spat, before the heel of his boot collided with my collarbone, pushing me backwards.

I winced at the sharp pain, before looking up at him. I did not speak. I did not make any effort to fight back.

His face contorted in anger, and for a moment, I felt fear.

My eyes widened when his cold hands found my throat, and I was being shoved against the lockers. "I said fight back," he bellowed, tightening his grip around my throat and hitting my head against the lockers, harder this time.

I gripped onto his wrists, wincing as I tried to loosen his grip, but it was no use.

His malicious grin at my struggling was enough to make my blood go cold.

My eyes began to water at the frustration of not being to breathe. I did not like the feeling, and I felt useless.