My Sweet Bully

I’m not going to give her more of myself. That piece of me, the one that holds this rage inside, that’s enough, and it’s all she deserves.

Her face makes me angry; her voice makes me insane with hatred. And yet she acts like she has the right to talk to me. Like we could ever be friends. Fuck that.

If I had realized it was her to begin with in the parking lot, I would have left her where she was, and let the snakes swallow her whole. I didn’t know it was her. Not from behind. And like a fucking idiot, I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.

All because I fucking hate James Galligan. If you look up asshole in the dictionary, his face would be there. But I can easily say, I hate this girl more. It would have been worth it to watch him take bites from her soul.

Except, she’s so fucking beautiful. I want to taste her. Feel her all over. Lick her from head to toe.

The thought ripples down through my chest, sparking a heat in my gut that burns hot and heavy. It surprises me for a moment, making me wonder if I’m losing my damn mind.

How could I ever think like that about someone I despise? A girl who deserves to feel the same pain I live with every single day. A girl who won’t see me coming, because she’s pretending to be so fucking innocent.

Fuck, that innocence, her purity is like a target for me. I can make her scream my name, make her beg for me to keep going until she jumps off the edge. I can make her buckle at the knees, aching for me to just finish her off.

No. Not a chance. Forget her. I won’t let myself think about her as anything other than a sore on my ass. She’s not worth a fucking second of my time. In person or in thought.

Dropping into my seat, I relax back, biting the metal edge of my pencil. I can’t let her in my head like this. She’s the enemy, period.

Glancing up at the clock, it’s almost eight, and I groan to myself as I realize the day hasn’t even begun. I’m not the best at school, I don’t really give a shit about history or math, but I know being here is the only way I can do what I love. Basketball is the only reason I’m even sitting in this seat.

Yeah, that’s if I’m lucky enough to still be considered for a scholarship.

I have to do everything the judge ordered me to do to even come close to still having a chance. I can’t fuck up at all, not if I really want this.

Letting out a deep breath, I rest my elbows on the desk, twisting the tip of the pencil into the smooth wood grain. My eyes are down, the other kids around me are chatting and laughing.

I catch small bits of conversations. Where they went over the summer, what they did, who they were with. It’s all bullshit—stupid, no one gives a fuck—bullshit.

I mean, who really give a rat’s ass if someone spent the summer on the Cape or went shopping on the strip? No one. None of that shit makes a difference.

Maybe I’m just a little too jealous, wishing my life was normal. But it’s not. Not all of us are that lucky. And honestly, I don’t want to hear shit about what they did, what trinkets they bought, or how many new pairs of shoes they got.

Twisting in my seat, I grip the back of my chair in one hand, and stare at Chelsea Chandler. Even just looking at her makes me cringe. Her hair is dyed blond, her expensive shoes cry spoiled, and her sassy, pouty lips say, ‘I’m better than you.’

She notices me looking at her and gives me a snotty smile. “Something wrong, Ramon?”

Smugly, I grin, tapping my fingers against the top of the chair. “No, please, go on. We’re all waiting to learn how difficult it was for you to pull that floss from your ass on the beach.”

Her jaw crooks as she glances at Michelle Fayette, another cheerleader asshole, and rolls her eyes. Her eyes drift back to me, mouth dropping into a frown. “Fuck you, Ramon.”

“No, thank you though. I only fuck real women, not plastic whores.”

The guys around us all let out a loud howl as they laugh and grin.

“Screw you, nothing about me is plastic.”

Looking her up and down, I suck in a gulp of air through thin lips. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I smell Daddy’s money in those overstuffed lips.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Smiling, I wink. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes again, her mouth parting as she’s about to tell me off. She doesn’t get far, her words are quickly muted as the teacher walks in the room, silencing everyone instantly.