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Oh God.
I drag my hand from underneath me and pat the linoleum, feeling for the sharp piece of my tooth. A crystal encrusted Alexander McQueen sneaker smashes across my splayed fingers.
I arch my back and yowl in pain.
Wrapping my hand around my wrist, I tug to dislodge my fingers, but Roxie only tamps down harder. I curl around her foot, slapping at her calf to release me. She grinds her foot down, the sharp-edged lugs of her sole crushing the delicate bones of my hand.
Laughter and hooting boom in my ears. The sounds ricochets off the ceiling like in an echo chamber. I hear the pounding of forks and knives on tabletops.
“Disgusting,” I hear Anton mumble.
“That it is. Serves her right.”
That was Lucian.
My lower lip trembles.
Roxie cackles above me.
Distracted, she eases up a little and I manage to shove her off me. She teeters for a moment before she falls on her butt, eyes wide with shock. She lifts her hands, stained red with sauce, off the dirty floor into the air.
Hissing, she comes at me with claws out.
I scramble back, the linoleum squeaking beneath me. She lunges forward. I cover my face just in time to protect my face. Sharp nails score down my hands, my collarbone, and rip open my shirt. It flaps open, baring my blistered skin and stained bra.
Whistles and catcalls join the hooting and shouts.
“Cat fight! Cat fight! Cat fight!”
The chant rises and falls around me in waves.
Between the gaps in my fingers, I stare up at Lucian, begging for help.
Alarm crosses his face. He moves forward as if to help, but Anton grabs his shoulder and roughly drags him back to his seat.
Amid deafening cheers, Roxie lets out a shrill shriek and launches at me again. I squeeze my eyes closed and clap my ears, hunching into a ball. I jerk with each kick to my ribs. Rolling onto my tummy, I tuck my knees beneath me to protect myself. Roxie yanks my head back by the hair, tearing at my scalp.
My throat exposed, I gasp, my mouth wide open.
“Look at her teeth! She’s toothless!” Roxie screeches at the top of her lungs.
Tears pour down my cheeks.
Howls and cackles explode and swell around the cafeteria, followed by a harmony of more shouts.
I struggle on my knees, moving where Roxie leads me as she flaunts her trophy in front of the whole school, gap-tooth and all. Spaghetti and bits of meat peel off my blouse, the gaping side displaying my soiled bra. Blood dribbles down like paint splashes of a Pollack paining on my shirt. Tears join the rest of the liquid tableau of my chest. I’m covered in food and blood and filth. The foul smell of acrid tomato, blood, and pain invades my nostrils.
Through the ruckus, I hear, “Enough!”
It’s Lucian.
Maybe.
The chant dies down. It feels like eternity for the pounding to follow suit and peter out.
Sapped of strength, I sway, hanging from the fistful of hair in Roxie’s grip.
“Let it go,” comes a commanding voice.
