Not all Blondes do Backflips

13 - I'm Looking Through You

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Listen to I'm looking through you by The Beatles or Traitor by Daughtry.

   

13 – I'm Looking Through You

   

Three.

Three people had to pull me off of Elena once I managed to track her down, wrestle her to ground and begin – unsuccessfully, might I add – to claw her eyes out.

I owe the 'unsuccessful' part of that last sentence to the fact that Elena, unfortunately, was wearing a pair of thick-lensed glasses today that stopped me from blinding her. I decided to choke her to death instead but I was suddenly pulled off of her in the exact second my hands wrapped around her neck.

I twisted my body to see who the hell had decided to step in between me and my mission of not-so-bloody-but-still-tragic murder and saw three bulky guys holding me back – each of them was at least six feet tall and outweighed me by fifty pounds.

A little part of me was proud that I – an average sized five-foot-five chick – was putting up a fight against what looked like three of the school's largest and toughest hombres.

Thank all fυck for adrenaline.

A larger part of me though was pissed at human nature and how sometimes– like now – its inability to look the other way while a crime – in this case, a murder – is in progress quite frankly sucks balls and ass and then some.

And on the off chance that you were knuckle-headed enough to ask the question 'Who the hell is Elena?', please do the world a gargantuan favor and head on over to the nearest pharmacy and buy yourself a couple – or a hundred – boxes of memory enhancing pills since doctors haven't perfected brain transplant procedures just yet.

So let me remind you politely: Elena is Ghost Girl, you big dumb dipshιt.

Why not just call her Ghost Girl when that's what you've been doing all along, Lennon?

Well I'm of the fυcking opinion that cutesy little nicknames and murder don't exactly go hand-in-hand. Then there's the added fact that I didn't want to be calling her a 'ghost' – not until I personally got the chance to make sure she crossed the line from living to dead.

I struggled against the beefiest of the trio was now pulling me a good five feet away from Elena. “Fυcking he – let me go, you goddαmn gorilla!”

Growing up with two older brothers taught me that even if someone had your wrists manacled behind your back, as Mr. Rocketships-for-Arms was doing right now, there was still pain to be caused.

In this case, said pain came in the form of a kick to the guy's nuts that broke every single thing I knew about the amount of flexibility in my body.

Supernatural flexibility aside, the kick had accomplished its job – jock boy released me right before crumbling to the floor and rubbing them baby makers.

Did I make a smart ass comment about how he'd probably get a boner before the family jewels got de-bruised?

Nope – and believe me, I really wanted to.

But I was too busy kickstarting the 'murder Elena' efforts I'd been so absorbed in earlier to be a smart ass right now.

I managed to knock the glasses off of her face and was just starting on clawing her eyes out – I was strangely fixated on this particular punishment – when I was yanked off the floor a second time.