Page 73 of I Blame the Rival

I can’t see anything except the pain I want to inflict on Jerrell fucking Thompson.

My hands shake as I reach for another piece of paper.

I have to fight it. I have to fight-

“Who got your panties in a twist?”

Vector peeks his head through my doorway, and it takes all my self-control not to hurl the closest crayon at his head.

I want to smash in someone’s skull and I don’t care whose it is.

“Get out.”

“In a mood today, are we?” Vector pushes his way inside and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember the tricks my therapist taught me.

Find a focus point and use it as an anchor. Deep inhale and exhale. Do it again.

“Oh, shit. Are these intestines?”

My eyes flick open to see Vector studying one of the many drawings I spent the last two hours creating. The level of detail on each one is gruesome to an extreme degree and it makes me hate myself that much more.

“I told you to leave.” I snarl at him, torn between ripping up the murderous drawings and stabbing out his eyes. I would use my sharpened pencil to pluck out each one before shoving them down his throat.

The anger isn’t what controls you, Skylar. It’s the fear of the anger. Find something that helps ease the pressure and hold on to it.

My brother laughs, oblivious to the horrifying picture I just painted in my mind, “Clearly this isn’t working. Put your weapon down and let’s go burn off some steam.”

I clench the pencil tighter, “I don’t want to goanywhere with you.”

“Too bad. Mom wants us to spend more quality time together, so I’m paying my dues. Throw on your running shoes and meet me outside in five.”

“No.”

“You have five minutes to get outside or I will carry your ass out of this house.” Vector tilts his head, a smirk staining his features, “Tick tock, Sky.”

He turns and leaves before I can say anything else. Picking up the closest drawing, I tear it to shreds before stomping over and grabbing my running shoes.

I fucking hate him.

I fuckingdespisehim.

The thought fuels my rage right up until I see Vector stretching by the tree in our front yard. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, the shoulder-length strands just as long as they were back in middle school. We used to meet out here every morning to train for our cross-country meets, and I didn’t think I would ever call anyone else my best friend.

My eyes drop to the leg muscles bulging from his gym shorts, the same muscles that fuelled the ego and the violence that led to our distancing.

“Twenty seconds to spare. I’m almost disappointed.” He flashes me a grin, “Let’s see if you can still run the loop in under an hour.”

I don’t say anything as I turn and start to run, the punishing pound of the pavement echoing in time with my heartbeat.Vector falls in step beside me, his giant frame showing no signs of lag as he keeps up with me.

With every block we pass, I push the pace faster, trying to outrun the monster snarling inside. My lungs feel like they’ve been doused with gasoline and set on fire, but I don’t slow down. Every step, every ragged breath feels like a punishment and I gladly take each one.

Vector stays by my side the entire time, refusing to let me get one step ahead. I used to get annoyed he was always trying to prove who was stronger, but now I’m grateful for it. His presence helps drive me faster, pushing my pathetic athletic abilities over the edge of comfort.

Sweat stings my eyes as we round the last corner, the shakiness in my limbs making me think they might give out at any second. The tree in our front yard marks the end of our loop, and the moment I see it, I break into a sprint.

Every morning, Vector would win the unofficial race and there’s no doubt in my mind that today will be the same.

He’s always been the faster one. The stronger one.

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