Rogues: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

  

            I found myself in the bathroom. I held myself up with my hands gripped against the sink, my knuckles white under the pressure. My arms and legs were tensed as the adrenaline continued to pump through my blood vessels. My chest heaved because my heart required more and more oxygen to function. My teeth clenched together, bone grinding bone and sending an ache through my jaw.

Relax. I told myself. Relax. You can do this. You can come down.

I really wasn't so sure.

At least, I couldn't hear the voices inside my head anymore. For the moment, all I heard was the slow drip of the water leaking out of the sink. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was almost hypnotic in its monotony.

I focused on the noise, trying to let everything in life ebb itself away with the water. I stared at the droplets, watching them slither down the drain. I pretended that with each droplet of water a piece of my anxiety went down with it.

I don't know how long I was standing at that sink. I don't really care. I simply focused myself on releasing my anxiety. I say “simply”, but it was far from a simple task. I counted the seconds of breathing in my head, until I reached ten. I rocked back and forth from foot to foot, trying to use up some excess adrenaline. I opened my mouth, trying to release the tension in my jaw before it had the audacity to course up and become a migraine. I listened to the quiet. I closed my eyes and just listened to the noiseless bathroom.

Well, noiseless for a few moments. All of a sudden, noise flooded the bathroom. The wooden door reading “Men’s” crashed into the white-yet disgustedly stained yellow- tile wall. I heard loud footsteps clomping from the hallway into the bathroom. They were so loud, either the person entering was heavy set or he was stomping. I waited. I waited to hear the opening of a bathroom stall or the use of a urinal. Neither came.

That’s weird. I thought. Who comes to the bathroom without going to the bathroom? Other than me...

I slowly turned my head to see who, if anyone, had entered. Low and behold a rather unpleasant- actually incredibly unpleasant- sight stood before me, leaning against the door. It was Thomas Mackley, with his oversized ego and undersized intelligence. He stood there staring at me in the bathroom. Pervert.

“What do you want?” I asked before casually turning back to the mirror over the sink. I turned the knob and pretended to casually wash my hands. I could not have Mackley know why I was in there. I mean, the whole scene in the Calculus classroom was bad enough on its own. I didn't need to make my day any worse.

Mackley’s face turned sour as he spoke in a faux-sincere manner. “Teach is worried about poor little Grey.”

“What does that have to do with you?” I asked, allowing my dislike of the footballer to seep into my voice. I wasn't an aggressive person, but I could definitely be a passive-aggressive person.

Mackley shook his head in disgust. “Not my choice. I had to come get you, dumbass,” Mackley grunted.

I slowly turned off the cold water and turned my attention to the paper towels. I heard the groan of the old machine and carefully started drying my hands. Mackley’s presence made me uneasy. I didn't dare take my eyes off him.

“Go back to class, Mackley.” I said. “I'm fine.”

I heard a laugh. Not a laugh for something comical or a laugh out of pity. This laugh was deep and fake and sinister. It was the most disturbing laugh I had ever heard.

It was two steps. That’s all it took. With two steps, Thomas Mackley had crossed the space between us. “See, that’s the thing,” he growled at me. “I don’t think you are good. ‘Cause I know why you really raised your hand. Little tattle-tale Grey wanted to rat me out.”

At this point, Mackley was towering over me. His nose was barely two inches from mine, and his eyes pierced my skin. My heart rate sped up, until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I wanted to look Mackley in his eye. Truly I did. I just couldn’t. I wanted to stand up to my enemy, the demons in my head and the brute in front of me, but I cowered. My eyes drifted downwards, away from the thorn in my side.

“Come on, Grey,” Mackley said, his chest bumping into mine. “So tough in front of the teacher, what happened?” I felt another shove to my chest. I was forced to take a step backwards, when he willfully invaded my personal space. I whimpered when he hit me a third time. I just didn’t want confrontation. I didn’t want this to end where my father ended it so many nights.

“That’s what I thought,” Mackley said, his voice full of spite and malice. He turned away from me, taking a step towards the door.

With that one step, my body eased its tension. My shoulders relaxed, my breathing steadied, I was finally getting back to normal. I sent up a silent prayer. Thank you. I thought. Thank you for not letting that escalate. But my prayer was whispered too soon.

    Thomas Mackley pivoted. In one swift movement he went from leaving the bathroom to coming straight at me. His fist came flying up, extended by his overly muscular arm and testosterone-fueled anger. It moved so quickly that it seemed to break the laws of physics. My mind didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. There was a blur of movement thrne a force crashed against my eye.

    Mackley’s fist felt like iron. He had a solid hand, which I am sure was good for hard labor. It probably helped Mackley gain street cred by being able to fight other thugs. It was not good for me, however. His closed fist hurdled towards me, straight into my eye. The pain was excruciating. My eye clamped shut, just in time, but the pain remained. I felt a sharp pain all the way from my eyebrow to my cheekbone. I was tottering, my vision blurred by tears and  eye. My balance, thrown completely off by the blow, left me entirely unsteady.

All I had time to think about before Mackley attacked again was the pain. I was shoved. Hard. His two hands were on my two shoulders, and with the resonating force of a push I fell backwards directly into the mirror behind me. As my head smashed into the glass, time slowed to an unbearably sluggish level. I heard the crack of the mirror as my head crashed into it. My mind felt as though it was exploding in my skull. I swear I could feel my brain bounce around, sending a throbbing pain with every thwack. I felt the broken shards of glass enter the back of my head, scraping against, cutting into my skin. A thousand tiny knives sliced away at my skin.I felt a drop of blood hit my neck. My knees buckled under the resounding migraine that pulsed through my head. I fell slowly, yet uncontrollably. My nose cracked into the sink to my right, before I thudded against the ground. I groaned in pain. My breath was shallow, and my entire body hurt. Tears began rolling down my one good eye, mixing with the blood from the back of my head and my nose.

Mackley wasn’t done. Three swift kicks to my abdomen. He forced the breath from my lungs and made me want to hurl. It felt like he broke one of my ribs with all the pain coursing through my chest. I lay there on the bathroom floor for who knows how long. I never realized that Mackley left. I was kinda out of it. Maybe I passed out for a little bit. All I know is I laid there. Laid there in my sweat, blood, and tears.