Here I am, sitting in a cold, dark locker space, waiting for the inevitable. The darkness has sharpened my hearing. I'd been in here more times than I can count. I move slowly closer to the door of the dirty, sweaty locker I am in. But I have to stop because I am putting pressure on the new bruises, not just the old ones. There is a faint banging, a metallic groaning as the metal is abused. Then it gets slightly louder. And louder until my ears ring. I shoved myself to the very back of the locker, with such force on my bruised back that it brings tears to my eyes. The banging has become deafening. Then in that next instant there was a bright light and a small voice in the back of my head tells me: "This will not end well." After that instant ended, I found myself in a heap on the familiar floor.
After I reacquainted myself with the floor, I stared up at the face of the great hulking mass that is the terror of the school. Tom Brady. Everybody called him Brady, though. Captain of the basketball team, always had girls hanging off of him, he was Mr. Perfect. He was a nightmare to anybody who wasn't popular. Unfortunately for me, I was dumped in the latter category. I didn't blink or turn away. I just kept staring into the eyes of the being who had terrorized my entire school life.
"What is your problem?" I asked before he could land the first punch.
He pulled back and stared at me in confusion. It gave me a glimpse of the true Brady, the one I'd been friends with until he'd changed drastically. I laughed at the expression I hadn't seen him wear since first grade. It stirred deep memories. But this was a different Brady.
In retaliation to my laugh, he punched me in the gut. I swallow the pain and sit up. I cock my head to one side.
"Brady, you're still the same kid I knew in first grade, aren't you? You're just afraid to show it. Take off the mask. I know you want to..."
That earned me a full body beating. Especially on my left leg he knew I favoured because I'd broken it falling out of a tree in first grade. It nearly made me scream in brutal agony when he landed blows on the scars. When he'd finished, I was just about crying and screaming. But I ignored the muscles that were screaming at me not to move for a very long time, and stood up for myself for the first time in my life.
"If you don't remember," I started, hearing the hateful bitterness in my voice, "My family have suicidal tendencies. Don't test me. You know I'd just haunt you until you died. Maybe after that. You never know."
Creeped out by my morbid statement, Brady took a step back, which he'd never done to me before. I started to smile but the muscles ached so I turned it into a smirk. Making sure Brady was far enough away, I began my slow journey towards the front doors, made slower by the limping of my pounding left leg. But nothing could stop the speed of my heartbeat, made faster by the adrenaline still thrumming through my body. Once my journey to the front door had been completed, I was euphoric. I felt like I could fly. It was that amazing feeling that came straight after I'd just got off a bungee cord. That 'Oh, my God,I
can't believe I just did that.' feeling. I was free.
