Wild Hearts

Scars

Now I've done it. I couldn't keep my stupid mouth shut.

The sad part is, I don't exactly know what it is I said wrong, only that I've pissed off Sam and now he and his gang are after me. A typical Wednesday for you.

I rocket, full sprint around the next corner, crashing into the lockers, knocking aside a girl. I mutter a rushed apology, making sure I haven't caused any real harm, then I'm off again. A great jarring runs up my spine and across my arms and legs, but there's no time to focus on that. On anything. Just running. Always running.

The girl yells an oath at me as I stumble and slide back into a sprint, pushing my legs faster than they should be able to go. It's only been a minute since I've started running and already I feel like lying down and taking a long hot bath.

Oh crap! One of Sam's cronies blocks the doors leading out into the Western courtyard. I skid to a halt, turn and run for the other doors. I just make it out, all in the clear, when a hand reaches out and snatches my collar. I come to a jarring halt, my shirt chafing at my neck. I yelp, but it comes out as little more than a wheeze.

"Please let me go!" I beg, stumbling over my words, prying fingers under my shirt to loosen the strain on my neck.

"You little shite," Sam sneers, pulling me roughly so we're face-to-face, his nose a mere inch away. His face is puffed up, and his eyes are small slits. "you need to learn some manners."

"Alright! OK! I'm sorry! Please let me go! Please!"

My pleading falls on deaf ears, and he directs his full viscosity at me, always with that stupid smirk. The one I know so well. It means only pain, and I brace, swallowing hard. I'll break long before he stops hitting.

***

There's no feeling in my legs. My stomach roars and tingles with little spikes of agony. All the blood has rushed to my head, and did I mention, I'm hanging upside down?

Oh yeah, no big deal, really. No one will help me. No one even saw the golden boy; no one heard my screams, the thwack after thwack as bone ground against bone, fists pounding my stomach, my arms, legs and... he even went for my face. He was weaing his shiny silver ring today. That was new. A bloody low, even for him.

Blood drips in a steady pattern, falling to the wooden decking with a light pattering.

I can hear the roars and cheers of a football game in the field, but that's too far away. E Block is the geography department, but at lunch, it's mostly abandoned. This is usually where Sam gets away with his violent deeds, dragging me to the E Block decking. A nice enough place to eat lunch with friends. Oh, and while you're at it, beat up a poor defenceless kid and tie him upside down hanging from the railing.

OK, to be fair, they didn't tie me down. It's just I'm hanging over a steep drop, down a hill, but rocks and bark are just hugging the decking. So either I get a face full of wood and splinters, or I bash my pretty mug on the rocks. And of course, the rest of my body rolls down the hill like a sack of potatoes.

I begin to cry then. Enough with the jokes. They're my only defence in times like this. And that's if I even have the strength to allow them their bittersweet power.

This is absolutely the worst I've had it, and I don't even know what put this on. I know my eye is black, and I know it throbs uncontrollably, and each time feels worse than the last. I know I feel like I've cracked some ribs, and I know that my body will ache for weeks. My mind...

I'll get back to you on that.

It hurts like hell, but I raise a hand, wipe away snot and blood, and whimper pathetically. Sam has never gone this far, never left marks that can be hidden beneath clothes, never threatened to break bones. There's too much blood... I'm woozy. I hate this so much.