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I sat outside the principal’s office, my shoe tapping nervously against the wooden floorboards.
My hand was beginning to go numb because of the ice I had wrapped around it—an attempt to kill the throbbing pain in my knuckles. I don’t know what worried me more, the fact I may have broken my hand on Nick’s stupid face, or that my mom was on her way.
I’d already sent both Uncle Leo and Hadley a text pleading for someone to come and intercept her, knowing at least they’d be willing to hear me out and would take my side in the matter once they heard what the little shithead had done.
My mom, on the other hand, was not going to be so impressed.
“I hope you’re happy,” Nick mumbled from beneath the large cloth ice pack which he had pressed to his nose, his head slightly tilted back. “You’re gonna get expelled you know, and maybe even arrested if my mom has anything to do with it.”
Scoffing, I rolled my eyes, for a moment wondering how much it would hurt if I just got up and hit him again. “Maybe she shouldn’t have raised her son as such a pig.”
His eyes widened, and he pulled the ice pack from his face. I bit my lip to hold back the laughter that was bubbling in my belly. There was a trail of blood running down his chin, and his nostril was plugged with a ridiculously large cotton ball. But it was the swelling around his nose that had me trying to curb my giggles. The bridge of his nose was wide and thick and taking up more of his pretty little face than normal. Even his eyes were a bit puffy and red, looking like they would soon start to bruise.
I wanted to pat myself on the back.
I’d finally taken a stand.
I punched Nick in the face.
He deserved it.
And boy did it feel fucking good.
This was my senior year, and I’d spent most of it looking over my shoulder as I walked down the hall or feeling like I wanted to vomit every single morning on the way to school wondering what kind of horrible rumor Nick might have started today.
It might have taken all year, but I’d finally reached a point where I was sick of being that tormented girl, the one who hid her face in a book and hoped that no one would recognize her. I was over being pushed around, picked on, and teased just because people knew I wouldn’t fight back—well, one person in particular.
I wasn’t the same girl I was a few months ago.
The more time I spent with the club, the more I felt like I finally had someone at my back—not someone, a lot of someones, the scariest fucking someones in the state. They made me believe in myself. They reminded me that I deserved to be treated right because of the way they treated their women. They cherished them, they laid down their lives for the women they loved. Even the club girls were treated with respect, were protected, and kept safe.
Yet, here I was, letting some punk who had lied to get into my pants, run his mouth about me, and touch me.
Because why?
Because that’s how I was raised.
I loved my mom. To me, she was a strong and proud woman who had raised two kids all by herself without needing a man to contribute. We’d always had everything we needed, and although times could be hard, and my mom had lost a lot of family and people she loved during her lifetime, she always came through it on the other side with her chin held high.
The problem was that all that loss had an impact on her, and the way she raised us—with fear that we’d be taken away, too. She tried to protect us but, instead, in weird ways that just made us seem strange. Mom wouldn’t let us hang out with kids when she didn’t approve of their parents. She encouraged us always to walk away, and when we were pushed, it wasn’t okay to push back. We were taught to seek out adults when we had problems and never stand and just be strong in ourselves.
It made me scared to make waves, and it made me think that I wasn’t capable of dealing with my problems on my own. And let’s face it, no one wants to be friends with that kid who’s labeled a tattletale always running to an adult or a teacher when we felt like something was wrong. My mom was the definition of a helicopter parent, and I was done having her buzz around my head.
College was fast approaching, and I wouldn’t have my mom or the club there to stand for me or protect me. I would have to stand on my own two feet, and I didn’t even give a shit if I was expelled after this because I’d finally proved to myself that I could.
This time, I’d fought back, and the proof was sitting opposite me in the office holding a rather large ice pack to his nose. He was still groaning in pain every few minutes, even though we’d been there for nearly half an hour, and I’m pretty sure his whole face was probably completely numb by now.
Footsteps hurried down the hallway outside the office, and I looked up hoping that Nick’s family didn’t show up first. If they did, I knew I’d have to listen to his mom yell and scream at me about how I’d scarred her little boy’s perfect face.
“Carly, calm down,” Uncle Leo warned as he and my mom stepped through the door, followed closely by Hadley, who was looking around worriedly as opposed to my mother’s enraged face. They all came to a sudden halt, their eyes landing on me. Uncle Leo placed his hand on my mom’s shoulder when their eyes shifted to my hand. “Calm. Down,” he repeated.
Clearing my throat, I tried to smile and raise my good hand in a wave. “Hey,” I murmured, my mouth totally dry. I swallowed a few times before I was able to form any more words, but by the time my lips and mouth were wet enough to attempt to explain what had gone on, Principal Lacky popped his head out.
“Meyah,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Bring in your family, please.”
I climbed to my feet cringing as the movement caused sharp pains to shoot through my fingers. My mom didn’t even look me in the eye as she stomped on ahead.
Leo, on the other hand, came up beside me and placed his hand on the small of my back. “Looks like we need to work on how to throw a punch without breaking your hand,” he whispered under his breath as we slipped through the doorway to Principal Lacky’s office. Hadley closed it behind us with a soft but deafening click like that of a jail cell.
