Have you ever been in a fight?
I have. A knock down, drag out, ass-kicking fight with blood and biting and stitches and black eyes. It was in high school. A new girl in town with a really bad attitude decided that she didn't like me. Of course, we'd never met, and it was definitely a "jealousy/catty" thing, but she started giving my friends a bunch of bullshit about how I was afraid of her. She even began openly coming on to my boyfriend. She really had it in for me for one reason or another.
A couple of days into this little power play, I tired of her. A friend came to me during lunch saying (again) that this little skank had been spreading the rumor that the reason I was inside the cafeteria and not out in the parking lot was because I was afraid of her. This was what brought me to the end of my very short fuse.
You see, I was a wild child at 17. My parents had been through a nasty divorce, and my mother left my younger sister and I with our stepfather (50-something years old with a gambling problem and two teenaged daughters - good times) so that she could move in with her new man. Little did she know (at the time) that this old bastard had been molesting us on and off since we were very young. Needless to say, I had some pent up anger in me and this girl had no idea who she was messing with.
So I told the friend I had been having lunch with that I'd had enough, shoved my lunch tray across the table, grabbed my leather jacket, (I was SUCH a metal chick in high school) got up, and stormed outside to hunt this bitch down and kill her. She'd provoked me, and apparently, she wanted this. So, fine. I was ready.
Of course, as I had expected, I approached her as she was hanging all over my boyfriend like the floozy tramp she was. He was too stupid to know he was being played. She noticed I was there, tried to act as if she didn't, then all Hell broke loose. Before we knew it, we were going at each other, fists flying. We'd fallen to the asphalt and I imeediately began bashing her face in, one punch after another. Somewhere along the line, she'd managed to punch me in the nose so there I was, straddling her, leaning over her, my nose bleeding right down onto her face while my fists pummeled her like a machine in a factory. I was screaming in her face that I was going to kill her. She was screaming back at me to go ahead.
I heard familiar voice off to the side, shouting that it wasn't a fair fight and that I should "let her up".
I looked up and noticed that the voice belonged to my boyfriend. Disgusted, I shoved myself up and off of her but not before I heard a scream. Someone noticed what she was doing, and screamed "Nooooooo!"
In that moment, she had grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my face to the ground, and had picked up a palm-sized rock and begin hitting me in the back of my head with it. She got in two good whacks, when my friends pulled her off of me then let me go full force at her, with a nice blow to the stomach. Then the teachers showed up, but not before some lame jock snatched up the rock as a souvenir.
She walked away that afternoon, with no one by her side. My friends walked with me to the nurses office since my head was bleeding. I didn't see her until later that evening at the police station. She was sitting in a chair and it looked as though she had dark, greyish-purple eyeshadow on from the top of her cheekbones to the tops of her eyebrows. I had given her two black eyes. I remember feeling prideful. I was glad that I had done it. I never saw her again after that day. NO one did.
My injuries were small. A small cut in my scalp that bled enough that the nurses forced me to have two stitches in it. Two lousy stitches. No facial injuries, just a few scrapes from the asphalt that stung later that evening as I sat naked and shivering in a warm bath thinking. "I could have killed her. I didn't. But I could have. I wanted to."
The thought wouldn't leave me for months.
I have. A knock down, drag out, ass-kicking fight with blood and biting and stitches and black eyes. It was in high school. A new girl in town with a really bad attitude decided that she didn't like me. Of course, we'd never met, and it was definitely a "jealousy/catty" thing, but she started giving my friends a bunch of bullshit about how I was afraid of her. She even began openly coming on to my boyfriend. She really had it in for me for one reason or another.
A couple of days into this little power play, I tired of her. A friend came to me during lunch saying (again) that this little skank had been spreading the rumor that the reason I was inside the cafeteria and not out in the parking lot was because I was afraid of her. This was what brought me to the end of my very short fuse.
You see, I was a wild child at 17. My parents had been through a nasty divorce, and my mother left my younger sister and I with our stepfather (50-something years old with a gambling problem and two teenaged daughters - good times) so that she could move in with her new man. Little did she know (at the time) that this old bastard had been molesting us on and off since we were very young. Needless to say, I had some pent up anger in me and this girl had no idea who she was messing with.
So I told the friend I had been having lunch with that I'd had enough, shoved my lunch tray across the table, grabbed my leather jacket, (I was SUCH a metal chick in high school) got up, and stormed outside to hunt this bitch down and kill her. She'd provoked me, and apparently, she wanted this. So, fine. I was ready.
Of course, as I had expected, I approached her as she was hanging all over my boyfriend like the floozy tramp she was. He was too stupid to know he was being played. She noticed I was there, tried to act as if she didn't, then all Hell broke loose. Before we knew it, we were going at each other, fists flying. We'd fallen to the asphalt and I imeediately began bashing her face in, one punch after another. Somewhere along the line, she'd managed to punch me in the nose so there I was, straddling her, leaning over her, my nose bleeding right down onto her face while my fists pummeled her like a machine in a factory. I was screaming in her face that I was going to kill her. She was screaming back at me to go ahead.
I heard familiar voice off to the side, shouting that it wasn't a fair fight and that I should "let her up".
I looked up and noticed that the voice belonged to my boyfriend. Disgusted, I shoved myself up and off of her but not before I heard a scream. Someone noticed what she was doing, and screamed "Nooooooo!"
In that moment, she had grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my face to the ground, and had picked up a palm-sized rock and begin hitting me in the back of my head with it. She got in two good whacks, when my friends pulled her off of me then let me go full force at her, with a nice blow to the stomach. Then the teachers showed up, but not before some lame jock snatched up the rock as a souvenir.
She walked away that afternoon, with no one by her side. My friends walked with me to the nurses office since my head was bleeding. I didn't see her until later that evening at the police station. She was sitting in a chair and it looked as though she had dark, greyish-purple eyeshadow on from the top of her cheekbones to the tops of her eyebrows. I had given her two black eyes. I remember feeling prideful. I was glad that I had done it. I never saw her again after that day. NO one did.
My injuries were small. A small cut in my scalp that bled enough that the nurses forced me to have two stitches in it. Two lousy stitches. No facial injuries, just a few scrapes from the asphalt that stung later that evening as I sat naked and shivering in a warm bath thinking. "I could have killed her. I didn't. But I could have. I wanted to."
The thought wouldn't leave me for months.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
GO GIRL. You gave her what she DESERVED.