Mate Massacres

Chapter 18

Pip, much like the ground, froze. Brown hairs on the back of his neck bolted upright.

Standing only five metres away was Mark, the person Pip dreaded being alone with, especially in the woods.

"That was Pathetic, Pippor," Mark said with a smile that darkened his eyes. He pushed himself away from the tree. "I see your fingers are healing. It would be a shame for anything else to happen to them, wouldn't it?"

Pip heard more footsteps. Marks idiot friends stepped from behind the trees, matching Mark's evil grin.

Pip was right next to his house. He could try to fling himself over the fence, but there was no tire to help him. Pip panicked. Running seemed like the only logical thing to do when Mark took a step closer.

"S-Sorry for spilling drinks on you," he mumbled.

Mark shook his head. "You need to tell us who that guy was who thought he could fight us. We want a rematch."

If you knew where he lived, you wouldn't look so smug. He pressed his back harder against the wood. "I don't know him," he half lied. Pip knew Krey lived in the institute, lost his father recently, drank black coffee with no sugar, and liked running.

"You were seen walking into the café together," one of the girls said. "Don't lie to us."

"You were also sat together at the table when we entered."

"I-I don't k-know him, not really." Pip felt his heart speeding up. Krey seemed like a guy who could handle himself well and could deal with Pip's bullies if they went looking for him. Pip didn't want Krey to have to deal with them. Krey always seemed a little stressed when they met like he had too many things on his mind.

"You're lying." Mark stepped forward. Pip eyed the path he had created over the years by running in the same direction.

"H-He beat you," Pip said, still staring down the path. "Why w-would you want to get beaten again?"

Mark's face hid no expression. Pip shrank under his angry gaze. "Tell us where he is or your fingers can-"

Pip didn't want to tell them about Krey, so he ran, and he ran quickly. Pip pelted from the fence and whizzed down the path he knew better than Mark and his idiot friends. Pip was a fast runner and spread a good distance between him and his bullies.

He tumbled down the path, jumping where there were bumps, turning where he could. Following a path was too easy for Mark. Every time Pip glanced behind him, he saw them chasing.

Now that Pip had run from them, if Mark caught up, they wouldn't hold back.

Pip wore so many layers, he was boiling. His yellow puffer jacket was slowing him down. With every step, he felt slower and slower.

He tried speeding up and unzipping his coat at the same time. Pip had to ditch the layers. He didn't want broken fingers or a bruised face or to cry in front of his bullies again.

His coat flew in the wind from his shoulders, dropping somewhere on the trail. Pip didn't dare to look around for it. He pressed on, pushing himself and his lungs to run faster.

Pip ran four times a week for two years. He could comfortably run five miles, and sometimes, he practised sprinting because someone was always chasing him. Pip thought his bullies would stop as they got older. Their bullying only got more severe.

Trees whipped by and the cold stung Pip's face. The wind watered his eye, and he rubbed them just for a moment, but the seconds were long enough for him to trip on a twisted root.