Chapter 56 (Dealing with a Bully [Part 13]) – The “Fight”

Luna flinches at his touch, her whole body going rigid, and I see tears start streaming down her face. Fresh tracks cutting through the pale skin of her cheeks, her expression one of pure terror.

Something in my chest clenches so hard it makes Jack's punch feel like a love tap by comparison. The physical pain in my stomach is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the stab of agony I feel seeing her cry. Seeing her scared. Seeing her being touched by this asshole while I'm pinned to a wall.

"This loser just killed my mood," Jack says, his voice dripping with contempt. "Get him out of here."

Jack's friends move in on either side of me. Pig face finally releases the pressure on my throat, and I suck in a desperate, wheezing breath that hurts almost as much as the punch did. They each grab one of my arms, their grips firm, and start leading me toward the door.

I don't fight them. I keep my head down, letting my feet drag slightly, playing the part of the defeated loser. Every step sends a dull throb of pain through my stomach, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a bruise there the size of a dinner plate, but at least I can breathe again.

"Come on, man. We'll take you to the nurse," Pig face says, and there's almost something apologetic in his tone. Like he's just following orders, doing what he's supposed to do. "Just... don't make this worse, alright?"

"Yo, Jack!" The other one, a comparatively smaller guy with a rat-like face, calls back over his shoulder, his head turning to look at his friend. "Don’t have too much fun without us, bro! Text us if you move her somewhere." His grip on my arm loosens, just for a second, as he turns to call back and his attention splits between me and Jack.

It's now or never.

I wrench myself hard to the side, twisting my arm and using the momentum to break free of their grips. Rat face's hand slips off me entirely, surprised by the sudden movement. Pig face tries to hold on, his fingers tightening, but I'm already pulling away with everything I have, and the angle is wrong for him to maintain his grip.

And then I'm free.

My feet pound against the floor as I sprint back toward Jack. My stomach is still throbbing with each step, each impact sending fresh waves of pain through my core, but I don't care. I need to keep them here. Eva needs time to arrive. That's the only thought in my head as my legs pump, carrying me back across the classroom.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm aware that I might regret this move later. Actually, scratch that. I'm definitely going to regret this move later. Like, immediately later. But right now? Right now, I don't really care.

Jack hasn't noticed me yet. He's too focused on Luna, his hand on her shoulder, leaning in to say something to her in a low voice that I can't hear but makes my blood boil just imagining. His back is to me. Perfect.

I don't slow down. Don't hesitate. I shift my weight to my left leg mid-stride, planting it hard and using the momentum to swing my right leg up behind me. I can feel my hip flexor stretch, my hamstring engage. Every ounce of strength I have goes into this one motion. I've never kicked anything this hard in my entire life.

My foot swings up in a brutal arc, angled perfectly to go through the gap between Jack's legs. Time seems to slow down for just a fraction of a second as my shin drives upward, and then—

Impact.

The toe of my sneaker connects solidly with Jack's testicles with a meaty thud that I feel reverberate through my entire leg. There's a moment, just a fraction of a second, where nothing happens, where Jack's brain is still processing the signal from his nerve endings, trying to understand what just occurred.

Then he screams.

"AHHH!"

It's high-pitched and agonized, the kind of sound that every male within hearing distance instinctively sympathizes with on a primal level. His hands immediately shoot down to cup his groin, his entire body folding forward at the waist like he's trying to protect himself from further assault. His knees buckle.

"F-F-FUCK!"

The second scream is even more strangled than the first, his voice cracking on the word. His face is a fascinating shade of purple-red, and I can see sweat breaking out on his forehead. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth hanging open in a grimace of pure agony.

Jack collapses. Not falls, collapses. Like someone just cut all the strings holding him up at once. He crumples to the ground in a heap, still clutching his groin, his body curled into a fetal position. A thin string of drool is hanging from his mouth, and I'm pretty sure he's legitimately trying to decide whether he's going to vomit or pass out. Maybe both.

Wow. That's incredibly satisfying.

I don't get to enjoy my victory for long.

I hear the footsteps behind me, rapid and angry, but before I can even turn around, I feel the impact. Someone, probably rat face, based on the weight and speed, crashes into my back like a freight train. His arms wrap around my waist in a tackle that lifts me clean off my feet, and suddenly I'm horizontal, airborne, with nothing but floor approaching my face very quickly.

We hit the ground together. Hard.

My hands are out in front of me, trying to break my fall, but his weight drives me down and my arms buckle. My chest and face slam into the polished floor with brutal force. The impact drives the air out of my lungs for the second time in as many minutes, and I feel my lip split against the floor, the fresh copper-taste of blood flooding my mouth. My nose crunches, it’s not broken, I don't think, but definitely bleeding. I can feel it, hot and wet, starting to drip.

My cheekbone takes some of the impact too, and immediately starts throbbing. The side of my face is pressed against the cold floor, and I can feel rat face's weight on my back, pinning me down for a moment.

"This little shit just—" Pig face doesn't even finish the sentence, because that's when the kicking starts.

The first kick catches me in my left side, just below my ribs. I feel the toe of his shoe drive into the soft flesh there, compressing my organs, and a fresh explosion of pain blooms across my torso. I try to curl up, to protect myself, drawing my knees toward my chest and wrapping my arms around my head.

Rat face has gotten off my back now, and I can hear both of them breathing hard, can hear their feet shuffling for position as they take turns kicking me.

Another kick lands on my shoulder blade, the impact reverberating down through my spine. Then another to my lower back, right on my kidney, and that one makes me gasp involuntarily, a sound that's half pain and half reflex.

"Not so tough now, huh?" Rat-face grunts between kicks, his voice strained with exertion.

I'm curled as tight as I can manage, making myself the smallest target possible. My hands are laced over my head, protecting my face and skull. My arms are tucked in close to my sides, elbows down, trying to shield my ribs. My knees are drawn up to protect my stomach and groin. The only thing I can't protect is my back, and I can feel each impact as their feet connect with my spine, my shoulders, my sides whenever they find an opening.

A kick catches my right tricep, sending a spike of pain down my arm and making my fingers go numb for a second. Another glances off my hip bone, the impact sharp and immediate. The pain is accumulating, layering on top of itself, each new kick adding to the growing collection of bruises and aches.

"Should've minded your own business, man," pig-face adds. Then his shoe drives into my back again, right between my shoulder blades.

They're not kicking as hard as they could be, some distant part of my brain notes. They're not trying to kill me or hospitalize me. This is meant to hurt, to punish, to teach me a lesson about hierarchy and knowing my place.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt.

One blow finally makes it past my guard, somehow squeezing through the gap between my arm and my side. The toe of someone's shoe drives hard into my ribs, catching me directly on the bone, and yeah, that one sucked. The pain is different from the others: sharper, more acute, radiating outward from the point of impact in a way that makes me genuinely worried something might be cracked. Each breath I take sends a stabbing sensation through that side of my chest.

Oww... How much longer is this going to take???

Another kick to my back. Another to my shoulder. One that catches the back of my thigh, the impact making the muscle seize up.

Come on, Eva. Any time now would be great. I'm starting to run out of unbruised surface area here. I'm going to look like a fucking dalmatian tomorrow with all these bruises.

"NOOO! STOP!!!"

Luna's voice cuts through everything, the sound of impacts, the heavy breathing, the shuffling feet, all of it. The sheer volume of it brings everything to a halt. The kicking stops mid-swing.

I've never heard her speak that loudly before. Never. Her voice is usually barely above a whisper, soft and hesitant and gentle, each word carefully measured and quiet like she's afraid of taking up too much space in the world. But this? This is a scream. A desperate, terrified scream that somehow manages to be loud enough to echo off the classroom walls and fill the entire space.

"PLEASE! STOP! DON'T HURT HIM!"

There's something both heartbreaking and touching about hearing Luna: shy, quiet, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Luna, screaming at the top of her lungs to try to protect me.

The kicking has stopped completely now. I can hear Jack's friends breathing hard from the exertion, can sense them looking at Luna, probably surprised by her outburst.

And that's when I hear it.

The classroom door doesn't just open. It slams open, the handle hitting the wall with a sharp crack that makes everyone freeze. The sound reverberates through the room like a gunshot.

Oh, thank God. About time.

I peek through the gap between my arms, squinting through the eye that isn't currently pressed against the floor, and see Eva standing in the doorway.

I have never been so happy to see another person in my entire life.

She's backlit by the hallway lights, her silhouette sharp and perfectly postured. Her ice-blue eyes are scanning the room, taking in the scene in an instant: Jack on the ground still clutching his crotch, his two friends standing over me, me curled up on the floor bleeding, Luna crying.

And she does not look happy.