Separate But Not Equal

Chapter V

I breathe raggedly, as I move my legs, as fast as I can imagine, sprinting through the hallways, my muscles tensed and my mind wandering.

The foul odour of cigars immediately smacks me around the face, anxiety rising through my body, quickly. A strong rush of Adrenaline running around my veins.

Shadowing myself from judgemental looks, I carry on running past the students in the hallway and a few unbothered teachers. My legs start aching, and my body starts to become slightly numb from the cold; Numerous amounts of people attempt to stop me and start a conversation or ask questions about where I plan to go or what I plan to do.

Scanning the area for any visible sign of Christopher, David or anyone willing to tell me, whether they may have seen them. I subconsciously start walking towards a loud, growing noise, my instincts taking over my muscles, finding myself in the middle of a large cheering crowd which quickly begins to grow in size, full with excited, influencing, sweaty, and hyper student bodies.

Turning around slowly, I catch a glimpse, a vague, fast image of David.

On the floor.

Bloody, and beaten, bruises on his sickly, pale skin.

I try to clear my eyes and find some space between the tall, and many bodies blocking my view, making sure that what I think and hope that I'm seeing happen is actually happening.

Hovering over him, stood an enraged, furious looking Christopher, his fists clenched, covered with blood. His normally still, ocean, blue eyes had turned dark and stormy spiralling like a tornado or some sort of hurricane. I Stare into his terrifying yet hypnotising eyes, and even though he isn't even focusing his glare at me, a feeling runs through me as if sharp and painful ice is piercing through my skin.

I can basically hear his pulse rising, and blood boiling around him from where I am standing far away from him.

Shivering and scrambling in pain, David holds his hand up, screaming and whining, pleading for whatever mercy he can get from a raging Christopher, covering his black eye and trying to control his throbbing nose, barely able to speak.

David stands quite tall, at least in comparison to me, and he looks fairly strong, with a good amount of upper body muscle. Mainly because he has been wrestling since he was young and has had his fair share of fights around school.

However next to Christopher, David somehow manages to almost look like a child.

Where he stands tall, Christopher stands much taller, where he looks strong, Christopher looks stronger and for the first time, in a long time, I see David doesn't look arrogant and proud, he looks weak and helpless.

The position he puts me in every single day.

"Ch-Christopher, come on, man," he splutters, between his bloody coughs, small drops of tears, coursing down his wounded face.

I watch him with a blank expression on my face, as he continues to violently cough and beg, attempting to grab onto a nearby bench for support.

I know I should feel bad or feel sympathy or something but...

As horrid as it may seem, somewhere inside of me, burrowed deep, deep, deep inside of me was amusement.

Amusement.

Some small kind of satisfaction.

Satisfaction seeing the person who has hurt me for years on end without any consequences, one of the primal causes of my constant suffering at this school, get a taste of his own medicine.

Yet, I don't seem to be the only one slightly enjoying myself. Everyone around me in the growing horde of teenagers happens to be screaming and cheering them on, encouragingly, and I'm left wondering why no-one seems to care enough to stop Christopher from beating up David.