Both of Me

A girl. She is beaten, abused and knocked unconscious.

Then BOUNCE. Back again.

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2. ...And the Other

 

Concealer. Lots of it.

It’s been two days but my black eyes are still there, my forehead is still swollen. I can only do my best.

Hat. Bright red, pom pom on top.

As I said, I have a forehead to hide.

Breakfast. Who needs it?

I run out the door. Maybe I have all my books. I probably don’t.

On the bus, I sit alone. They stay away from me, I stay away from them. Simple as that. One, two three.

Off the bus, into the grounds.

Bell goes, bring bring.

Two hours left till break. Just over four till lunch.

Breaktime. I go to the toilets. More concealer.

French, maths.

Lunch.

Little Louisa. She’s here. Thank God.

I smile at her, a dark twisted smile. My eyes gleam with a deep malice as clouds cover the Sun.

Soon she can see only dark and eyes and rain and eyes. She must hate my eyes.

I pull my belt from my jeans. The manoeuvre is slow, slick and smooth. Leather thrashes like lightning. I sting her, sting her, sting her.

Again I do it.

Again I thrash her.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Then the thud. I drop it. But I’m still here. I grab her by the collar of her school blouse, pull her close to me, and look her straight in the eye. She shivers and turns her head away.

I lift her higher and higher and higher and higher. Then drop.

She’s falling.

Boom.

Thud.

Scream.

She is among my possession now, my prized belt. I own them both.

The heel of my shoe comes next. I know the routine off by heart. This is the best bit.

I push it right into her stomach. Then her chest. She’s waiting.

She wails and cries and yelps as she hears the craaaack of her nose. It happens every time. Her nose is broken and broken and broken, a thousand times broken.

The heel keeps coming.

Again I do it.

Again I stamp.

Again.

Again.

Again.

One more time. Into her forehead for the finale.

She feels pain.

Then her eyes go out.

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