Digging desolately, I can’t find them.Shaking my bag, hoping to hear the familiar sound of rattling medication, I go so far to dump everything on the floor and start sifting through it.They’re in an orange prescription bottle labeled with my name medication name, dosage, and the emergency number for my psychiatrist but fuck, it’s not here.
Someone will need emergency services if I don’t get the poison inside of me soon.
“W… where the fuck is it?”I shout, nose diving into a manic mood swing.
Too late.
“Where’s what?”Chelsea goads me again.“Can’t find your pacifier?I hear groomers like watching young women suck on them when they fuck.”
Attention passengers, this is your co-captain speaking.Please buckle your seat belts as we will be experiencing extreme turbulence for the duration of this flight.
Out of my chair, it's Kate’s hands shoving my belongings into my backpack: pens, notes, tampons, tissues, highlighters, cinnamon candies, my tablet, everything.They have to be hers as all I can see is the skin melting off the knuckles and her disfigured bones; some of her sludge sticks to me as it slides away from where her nail beds used to be.
Years ago, I would slip into a peaceful sleep when she took over, but not anymore.I’m here watching her rampage as it unfolds.Lucid and trapped in a nightmare I can’t escape.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, my body moves as if I’m living in slow motion.I can’t seem to find the stairs fast enough—needing a quick escape to the lower level and out of the door.Where fresh air waits for me and a corner to barricade myself in.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.Weird bitch, running to find her binkie!”Chelsea coos and her friends laugh.
Stopping at her row, my bag falls to the floor.Three strides later, I swing back just like Elias taught me and send my fist through her face to the inside of her occipital bone.Her hair’s next—Kate’s fingers wind around and around the mousy-brown color to jerk her out of her seat.The way Chelsea screams is hypnotic.I feel nothing when she reaches to swat at us and flounders; angering Kate further.Other students leap out of the way to avoid being hit—some hoot and pull out their phones to record, but for once, I don’t care.We don’t care.
One, two, three hard yanks and she’s out of her chair being dragged towards the stairs.Out here, Kate has more space to fuck this girl up for tormenting me through four years of college.
Plunging to our knees, we straddle her waist and bludgeon her again.And again.And again.Her screams curdle under the tell-tale sound of blood bubbling in her fat fucking mouth.Fighting for her pathetic life, she claws at my arms, trying to shove me away, but loses ground inch by inch.Sucks for her, the pain fuels us.
When blood hits my skin, it’s borderline euphoric.The viscous warmth soaks into my pores, splattering across my face at every impact.Still, my swings don’t stop.Not when an indescribable wave of relief rushes through me when my knuckles split and our blood begins to mix.
We need more—Liz needs it, Naamah demands it.
Leaning over, I’m face to face with my bully, rubbing my nose and mouth across her cheek, over her forehead, down her busted nose, then speak into her gasping bloody mouth.
“If you so much as look at me the wrong way again, there’s no end to the torture you will receive.You fucked with the wrong girl, Chelsea Adams.”
Suddenly, my body’s ripped away from hers, feet high off the ground as strong arms bind around my waist.I don’t fight when I’m thrown onto the floor and hear the rasp of metal cuffs cinching around my wrists.
I am my parent’s daughter.
“Clean yourself up,” the officer grunts, tossing several wet naps and a few napkins at me.With my arms restrained to the table, I have to get creative if I want to reach them.Kate’s still riding shotgun, but even she knows that one wrong move with the authorities will end with us in a cell—or in her case, hanging from a noose.
Managing to reach the wetnaps and rip them open, I lean forward and rub them vigorously over my face, removing the crusted blood from my skin.A shower is in order as soon as I get home, whenever that may be.If the booming sound of Elias’s voice is any indication, I will be out swiftly; never mind how much trouble I will be in—a lot and soon.
“Now’s the time to tell me your side, Sadie.”
I don’t respond—Dad taught me to never talk.Mom backed him up by drilling it into my head: if I ever speak to the police, it will be with a lawyer present.Since I called Elias, and not them, a lawyer is not outside the door—just my pissed-off bodyguard.
“You’re not making this any easier on yourself.We need your cooperation before Chelsea’s mom arrives from the hospital.You know she’s going to press charges, might as well get your statement over with.”
“Officer…what’s your name again?”
“Detective Hall.”
“Detective Hall, stop talking.I’m not answering any questions.”
“You’re not under investigation, Mirand—“
“I’m aware.Miranda Rights are to be given if I answer investigative questions.You can claim you’re not interrogating me all day long, but you’re asking about the specifics of an incident that can be labeled a crime.So, yes, you’re interrogating me, therefore I will not be answering anything.”
Ignoring him, I use the last wet nap to scrub blood out of my hairline—the moment my mom and dad see my mugshot, they are going to go ballistic.Better wash up so they don’t think it’s mine—not that they would.They know better.
