Sleeping With Ghosts

#-2

Prologue;

26th of May

Part 2:

I burped loudly.

It drew the attention of a few passing students and near-by cafeteria-dwellers. But none were interested except for-

"Excuse me! Do you know how many germs you just spread all over that table?" She placed her hands on her hips, glaring at me ferociously.

I sighed, "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I gestured to the table. "Beside, what do you want me to do about it? Take it back?" I regarded her coolly.

"Apologise! This is a cafeteria, not an animal farm. We don't want you burping germs all over the tables," she tapped her foot, still glowering.

I shoved the rest of my sandwich in my mouth, watching her as I chewed. She was like one of those cartoons where the character fills up with red from the bottom and blows steam from their ears when it reaches the top. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand after I'd swallowed.

Brittany was the school's dictator. Not a teacher, a student. That rare combination of smart and popular. She played netball, played in the debate team, was elected class president every year, and trailed drooling boys everywhere, a bit like walking talking shit would trail flies. She stalked around the cafeteria during break, modest heels clicking with authority and condescension. She pin-pointed every twitch, every laugh, every sneeze that was out of line. A noise alerts her to any sort of disagreeable action; she sets her hounds on them. I swear, she'd sniff out the culprit of a silent-but-deadly.

Her legion of bimbos snickered behind her, eyeing me like a cat might eye a piece of fish. Her army of jocks practically lined up to beat me into shape, eyeing me like a dog might eye a bone. She'd have me beat up today, just like every other day that I brought home a black eye. Don't believe me? The proof is in the year-book photos.

Brittany and I were locked in an intense stare-down, her green eyes glittering with hate. I tried to match it, but barely even managed to look invested in the situation. She pursed her lips.

Everyone was interested, frozen to the spot. Students in the lunch line, mouths and trays hanging limp. The nerds in the corner, tentatively peering around the crowd. The goths in the back, dark make-up unable to conceal their anticipation. The stoners gave me thumbs-ups and cheesy grins. Even the lunch lady's spoon paused in pouring Monday's mystery mash to watch the massacre.

I knocked my sandwich wrapper onto the floor.
Brittany screeched incoherently as she waved at her lackeys, standing aside to give them room to punish me.

First in line was Brittany's latest boyfriend, Blake. Or was it Jake? He hurtled forward, linebacker style, he was fast enough that I barely had any time to consider my move. I sidestepped, and kneed him in the face as he barrelled into me.

The audience hissed in sympathy, a collective 'ooo' filling the air.
I had just jammed the most painful joint in the body, into his face, or, technically he'd slammed his face into it, but I hadn't deflected his course. He knocked me ass first onto the floor. My head hit the concrete with a sharp crack. Blake or Jake rolled off of me, clutching his nose, spilling blood, and probably broken. I kicked his legs off mine and stood up, rubbing the spot where I really hoped my brain hadn't fallen out. The next jock who thrived off of hitting things bounced forward on his toes, fists poised to swing.

My body buzzed and crackled with excitement. My head ached persistently and a sharp pain poked my shin when I stepped on that leg, probably from where the fat one landed on it, but I psyched myself for another hit. However much I didn't want to eventually score another black eye and maybe even a broken bone, this felt like justice.