Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 1

Billie

The hallway smelled of bleach and teenage sweat, the kind that clings even after the bell. I slammed the kid—some junior whose name I didn't bother learning—back against the lockers so hard the metal rattled like loose teeth.

"Where is he?" My voice came out flat, the way it does when I'm already past asking.
He squeezed his eyes shut, lashes wet. "I—I don't know—"

I leaned in until our foreheads almost touched. "Five seconds. Or I start carving pieces off that face you spend forty minutes on every morning."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Soccer field. Jesus, fine. Chill"

I shoved off him, hard enough his shoulder hit the locker again. Brandon fell into step beside me as I started walking, trying to match the stride I wasn't slowing for.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

I didn't break rhythm. "Do I look unsure?"

"That car wasn't even totaled. Scratched paint, maybe a dented fender—"

I cut him a look that could peel skin. "Say 'just a car' one more time and you'll be spitting teeth next to him"

He raised both hands, palms out. "We're cool. We're cool"

The field was still half-lit by afternoon sun slanting through the chain-link. He was there, center circle, laughing with three friends like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't keyed my driver's side deep enough to feel it in my pulse every time I saw the gouge.

The second his eyes caught mine, the laugh died on his mouth. I felt my own lips curl—not a smile, just teeth.

I crossed the grass fast. He took one step back. Too late.

My fist connected with the soft meat under his cheekbone. The crack was satisfying, wet. He staggered; I followed, hooked his collar, yanked him down so I could swing again. Once, twice—knuckles splitting against teeth, his blood slicking my rings. I dropped my weight, straddled his ribs, pinned one arm under my knee. The third punch split his lip wide; the fourth rocked his head back into the turf.

"You think you can walk away from that?" Each word came punched out with the next hit. "You think you touch what's mine and keep the same face?"

"Billie—" Brandon's hands were on my shoulders, hauling. "Enough. Security's gonna roll up any second"

I twisted, elbowed him off. "Fuck off"

"No" He got an arm around my waist, dragged me backward while I kicked once, uselessly, at the kid's ribs. "You want expulsion? Jail? Come on"

I let him pull me a few steps, then shook free. Looked down at my hand: rings gleaming dark red, one stone chipped now. My breathing sounded loud in my ears, ragged.

The kid groaned, rolled onto his side, spitting blood into the grass. His friends hovered but didn't move closer. Smart.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist—tasted copper and turned away. Brandon trailed me like a shadow I couldn't shake.

"You're gonna catch a felony over a paint job"
he muttered.

I stopped, spun on him. "It's not the paint. It's the message"

He opened his mouth, closed it. Looked at the blood on my knuckles again. "Fine. Can you fucking relax. Message already sent"

I shoved past him, shoulder-checking hard enough he stumbled. "Go find someone else to babysit"

The girls' bathroom was empty, fluorescent buzz overhead like dying flies. I twisted the faucet on cold, scrubbed at the rings until the water ran pink, then clear. The door creaked behind me.
Hannah leaned in the frame, arms crossed, that half-smirk she wears when she thinks she's reading me.

"Rough day?" she asked.

I didn't look up. "Productive"

She stepped closer, hips swaying the way she does when she wants attention. "You smell like copper and bad decisions"

I dried my hands on my jeans, slid the rings back on one by one. The weight felt right again.
She reached out, brushed fingertips along my jaw.

"Want me to make you forget it for a while?"
Her nail traced down my throat, slow, deliberate. Heat flickered low in my stomach—automatic, traitorous but the anger still burned hotter.

I caught her wrist, pushed her hand away. "Not tonight"

Her eyes narrowed, playful edge sharpening. "You sure? You look like you need to hit something softer"

I stepped around her, shoulder brushing hers. "I already did"

Outside, the parking lot was emptying. I slid into my car, the gouge on the door catching late sun like an accusation. Engine growled to life. I peeled out, windows down, letting the wind whip the smell of blood and grass off my skin.
Home was the same stale quiet. Mom at the stove, stirring something that smelled like guilt and garlic.

"Where've you been?" she asked without turning.

"School"

"How was school, Oh!, yeah, by the way There's new neighbors moving in next door. Saw the truck earlier. I think we should greet them"

I filled a glass at the sink, drank half in one go.

"Didn't notice and i am busy mom, Later, please"

She started to say more. I was already moving—up the stairs, door shut, lock clicked.

I dropped face-first onto the mattress. The springs groaned. My knuckles throbbed in time with my pulse. For once the room felt small enough to hold me. This is what I needed.

Quiet.

And the dull, familiar ache of hands that finally did something right.