Page 49 of Trucker
In high school I would hide in the bathroom on the top floor that no one really used. I would most times eat there crying into my dry ham sandwich.
It was like I spent my entire high school cowering in some dark corner.
Being as invisible as I could be.
But that was the old me.
If she thought I was going to buckle under her crap like I would have in high school, she had another thing coming.
If this bitch wanted a fucking fight, game on, sister.
I followed up with a punch to the nose, wanting to put my entire back behind the strike.
She shrieked.
It made me happy as my knuckles impacted her face.
Even though I wanted to make her hurt, I pulled my punch—slightly—so I didn’t break it her nose.
But that was the only grace she’d be getting from me.
“Put your hands on me again!” I slapped her across the face. “Go on. Ifuckingdare you! Go ahead! You wanted a fight? I’ll fight you. Right here!”
“You hit me!” Esther screeched.
“Um—I’m not sure!” I snapped. “I could me hallucinating. Did it feel like this?”
I punched her again—this time harder.
This was in retaliation for the years of torture in high school and for staring at Trucker as he worked all those days before.
“You hit me again!”
“Surprise!” Sarcasm rich in my voice. “I’m over you and your abuse—got that? If you put your hands on me again, I won’t be pulling my punches. And each time, I’m going to make sure you see it coming and suffer. Got it?”
“Youhitme!”
“Are you broken?” I demanded. “Are you stuck on stupid?”
Blood covered her hand now and she was mortified when she looked at her palm only to cover her nose and mouth.
“You started it! I will make time for you now. Because I’ve done nothing to warrant you picking on me.”
“He’s mine!” She growled, pushing to her feet.
I knew precisely who she was referring to.
“Did you ask him what he wanted?” I demanded.
“I don’t have to. I’m not some dirty little slut like you.” She spat. “When he finds out, he won’t want anything to do with you.”
I caught her by the hair and brought her face down—hard—against one of the shelves before releasing her. Though her words hurt, I took great pleasure in the blood dripping through her fingers, from her nose into her palm.
Instead of withering in a corner like I would in high school when she flipped her dirty blond hair over a shoulder and proceeded to make my life hell, I lifted my chin.
No, this time I stalked her, like she was prey.
“Better a slut than a chemical toilet.” I countered. “But here we are.”
