You Are The Reason I Still Fight ! fransykes !

1. I'll Break you pretty face

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Josh's pov

The first day of college was less than interesting. Classes for being a lawyer are really really dull. I did manage to get a music class, music appreciation. It was very boring, but I did notice there was one person I knew from high school. The bitch didn't even look up all through class and he was the first one out so I couldn't stop him.

Not that I wanted to talk to him.

My hand closes into a fist, frustration fills my mind as I think of him. God, I hate him so fucking much. There's no reason I hate him except the fact that he exists. A precious basket case. "Fucking creep," I scoff. His face makes my blood boil.

I'll break your pretty face.

As I drive I feel like I need to get my anger out. It's just been building up all day. Since high school ended I haven't been able to release my anger and it's been months. Unfortunately, since I graduated I haven't been in contact with Oliver.

All throughout high school, he was my release. I would catch him before, after, or even during school and beat the shit out of him. I am more or less a bully, I know that. I'm an asshole. I can't control it, I love fucking with the twat that drowns himself in baggy clothes. He's so annoying, like who does that? Who wears black baggy clothes 24/7 even in summer?

It bothers me.

As soon as I pull up to my gate I unroll my window and press in the code for the gate. It unlocks and I drive my 1965 red mustang into the garage and the garage door opens and closes on its own. With my jaw clenched I get out of my car and slam the door before walking into my house.

I'm angry. There's not too much reason for it, I just get mad so easily. Oliver didn't even look up at me. Yeah if he did I would have called him names but that's what I wanted. He knew that and he's just so fucking weak he avoided it. He avoided me because he's a coward. That just makes it even worse, why couldn't he just take it? I wasn't even going to hit him, we were in class!

As I storm upstairs I don't even get halfway up before turning around and jogging down them. I'm not going to my room to mope about not being able to hurt that stupid boy. My feet take me to the gym that's in my basement so I can get this urge to hit someone out of my mind.

I should wrap my fists or wear gloves, I know I should, but I don't. Not this time. I want to feel the pain as I punch the hard punching bag. My knuckles will bruise, they will bleed, but who would care? Not me.

I punch and strike at the punching bag over and over for what seems like hours. It's probably only been one but I've been at it nonstop. With every hit, I get more and more blood on the white bag. It's almost satisfying to see the blood. As if my mind is happy I'm finally making the punching bag bleed.

But this isn't Oliver or even a person. So the blood that's on it isn't from it, it's from me. My own blood. I'd rather be hitting Oliver and making him bleed than making myself bleed but I don't know where he lives or where to find him. After class tomorrow I'll make sure I get to 'talk' to him.

Sweat rolls down my chest and I stop attacking the punching bag. I've tried myself out but punching this isn't as fun as hurting someone. I'm still mad. Tomorrow he's going to learn not to ignore me. He should have already known. Hopefully, right now he already regrets it, surely he knows I'm going to hurt him for it.

-

With blankets falling off my sore body I lay in bed pretending to still be asleep. My body is motionless as I lay on my back but my eyes are open. I guess I'm more pretending I'm dead because people don't sleep with their eyes open. Well, I can't anyways. It's ten right now so I'm in no rush. My first class starts at twelve.

My ceiling is an off-color white that makes me a little annoyed. Of course, I could repaint it but I always forget about it when I'm able to do it and only remember when I can't. The air conditioning is super quiet but because my big room is silent I can hear it just fine.

If you didn't get the memo, my parents are fucking rich. Nothing in this house is off-brand, cheap, or old. Unless it's better old then I'm sure it's super old. My dad is a Lawyer and my mom is a doctor. My dad also inherited money from his rich parents so now we have a fuck ton of money.

It seems like we should be enjoying the money yet they work all day every day to make more and more. It's unnecessary, we have enough money. We could- I don't know- do something family-related and together for a while to enjoy it. They rather work and get money they wont because they are too busy working for it.

I'm not close with either of them, or my sister. She's never here either. Nobody's ever here except me. I wish I could hit them and yell at them as I do to people at school. Just to make them see how horrible they make me feel. I hate all of this money and loneliness.

Being lonely isn't a new thing, people don't like me and I try to convince myself I don't like or need them. Part of me wants true friends but they just stab me in the front. I have acquainted myself with some people but it's not like we hang out together as friends. We might hang out so we can get drunk or high without being alone. They are friends with each other but I'm the one everyone says 'he's his friend not mine' so I'm nobody's friend but I'm accepted in the group.

After a while I get out of my bed with a sigh and begin getting ready to go to school, my only motivation this morning is finally being able to see if I can get Oliver to cry. I've only managed to do it one in high school so it's a goal. I need to know I'm powerful enough to break him.

Okayyyyyyyy, so this begins suckkkssss but the next chapters will be better. So what are your first thoughts?

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Monday, October 19, 2020

Words: 1155