Page 16 of Bad for You

“Finish it,” he orders, knowing this is my fight.

Hugo has passed out from shock, but that won’t do.

I look down at the pathetic boy who has been reduced to nothing but a crybaby and wonder what I ever did for him to hate me so much. But at this moment, I realize that sometimes there isn’t a reason.

Bad things happen because there are bad people in this world, and…I think I’m one of them.

Hugo’s tears stain his cheeks, but I don’t feel a slither of remorse for what I’m about to do. I yank out the mop handle, which has Hugo coming back to life as his entire body jolts. I toss it away and kick him onto his back.

He winces as I straddle him.

He doesn’t fight. He simply looks at me, begging I show mercy.

“You picked on the wrong girl,” I state calmly because, for the first time ever, I’m the one in control. “Let this be a lesson learned.”

Reaching for the container of bleach, I unscrew the cap, and when Hugo clamps his lips shut, I pull up his eye patch and drive my thumb into his empty eye socket.

His screams are pained.

My laughs are elated.

I pour the bleach down Hugo’s throat and cackle maniacally when he begins to gag on the poisonous fluid.

“And that lesson is…be nice.”

I hold his mouth closed by placing my hand over it, forcing him to swallow as I pinch his nose and slap his cheek. When he does, I release him and come to a stand. “Good boy.”

I watch as he clutches his throat, convulsing on the floor as foam spills from his mouth.

Lennon stands by me, arms folded as he too watches Hugo squirming on the floor.

We’re both unmoved.

Turning to look at Lenny, I see he has flecks of Hugo’s blood on his face, and on instinct, I stand on tippy-toes and run my thumb along the blood trail, smudging it so it stains down his eye and onto his cheek. A single red line mars his face, and he’s never looked more heroic and beautiful than he does right now.

Warpaint on a warrior who saved my life.

“Let’s go.” He links our fingers and leads us from the bathroom.

The hallway is quiet because everyone is in Mass. We quickly walk to the attic. Once we climb the stairs, I realize Lennon is the first guest I’ve had up here. When he sees the state of my “room,” my cheeks blush. I’m embarrassed he has seen where I live.

I attempt to tidy things up, but he grips my forearm, stopping me. “Are you all right?”

No one has ever asked me that before. I’m not okay. I haven’t been for my entire life. But I nod.

“You probably need to see the nurse.”

“I’m fine.” Pain radiates in my belly and backside, but I quash it down because there is no way I’m going to the infirmary. “We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow.”

“We are?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

How can I disclose what I know without divulging to Lennon what happened? I don’t want him looking at me differently. I don’t want him to know what Father Merry has done to me over the years. What if he sees me as weak?

What if he sees me as a victim?

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