Page 63 of Crybaby

“Motherfucker!” Big Foss charges at me, smashing his meaty fist into my lip, splitting it open.

“I really wish you’d stop using that term.” I cough up blood and spit it at his feet. “It only looks bad on you. You know what else is really bad? Fucking your mom.”

I really should stop because I can’t win this fight. But the moment the three boys start whaling on me, I feel free. Each punch and kick winds this coil inside me because they better kill me. If not, I will be coming for their fucking heads.

Big Foss kicks me under the chin when I land on my knees after being punched in the stomach. I fall backward, an imprint of my body in the mirrored wall as it smashes around me—kind of like a chalk outline, marking where my dead body will soon lie.

All I can think about is Darcie. I hope she has the good sense to stay away.

They beat me until I hear a deathly rattle coming from my punctured lungs.

That fucking macabre laugh jolts out of nowhere, grating me raw. That, combined with the three assholes’ laughter, has me wishing they’d knock me the fuck out already.

“Say you’re sorry!” Foss says, acting tough in front of his brother as he kicks me in the ribs.

“The only thing I’m sorry for,” I wheeze, rolling onto my side, “is that I didn’t fuck your mom in your bed.”

I burst into laughter because, why the hell not?

“Talk about my mom again. I dare you,” Big Foss challenges.

I, of course, accept the challenge.

“These fingers…” I hold up my pointer and middle fingers. “They made your mom co—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence because Big Foss bends down and snaps my middle finger backward, it cracking with a loud snap.

Big Foss looks at me like I’m supposed to react, and I do, just not in the way he thinks I would.

I laugh in his face, flipping him off with my broken finger.

He punches me in the nose, which is the perfect opportunity for me to slouch forward and steal Foss’s phone from his back pocket as he’s high-fiving his brother.

They continue beating me until all I can taste is blood. Big Foss grips me by the collar of my shirt and presses us nose to nose.

“You’re going to give back what you stole from my family.”

“Chill out, man,” I slur, my head lolling back like a rag doll. “I’ll give you back your paintings.”

“Paintings?” he spits. “You stole stamps and my grandfather’s pistol.”

“Oops, my bad.”

He headbutts me, angered I am not submitting and merely laughing hysterically when I’m the one being beaten to a pulp.

When it’s clear I’m not going to budge, Big Foss kicks me one last time before calling out to his boys like the good little dogs that they are. They chase after him while I’m left in a pool of my blood, coughing and laughing because I won.

I close my eyes and try to feel some part of my body, but everything is numb and hurting at the same time. I just need five minutes, and I’ll be good to go.

“Rev! Oh my God. I-I’m sorry,” Darcie stutters, her frantic footsteps running toward me. “I was hiding. I didn’t know. I thought—”

“Shh, little rabbit.” I cough, trying to reach for her, but I think my wrist is broken. “As long as you’re having fun.”

“I’m not having fucking fun!” she cries. “You’re hurt. In what universe would that ever mean I was having fun?”

“Stop it,” I wheeze, flinching as I pry open my eyes. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Who did this to you?”

---