Page 5 of Lilies from Hell

“Yes. I suppose so,” I said. But that was nothing new. There were other attractive girls

“You like her, don’t you?” she asked with a smile even wider than before.

“What? No. She’s a witch,” I said, shaking my head.

“But you just said you think she’s pretty. And she makes you feel things.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I don’t like her. I hate her,” I replied before walking quickly to my bedroom.

I slammed the door shut and threw myself onto the bed, feeling nausea rise in my throat as I considered new ways to approach her and get rid of her. It couldn’t be that difficult.

Once at school I tried to avoid her at all costs, not knowing if she had finally attended class or not. I even skipped my break in the cafeteria so I wouldn’t have to see her. I would do everything possible to prevent my weird stomach cramps from getting worse, and if I had to go a few hours without eating to do so, then so be it.

I went to the library, wanting to pick up the book I hadn’t been able to finish at home, but no matter how much I searched the shelves I couldn’t find it, and when I asked the librarian, she told me that someone else had taken it. I didn’t believe her. She used to tell the same to everyone, even if the book was in its place, so I kept looking for it all over the room until I spotted a redhead. She was there. Sitting on a padded part of the floor with the book in her hands.

Without hesitation, I approached her and grabbed it from her grasp, minimizing my breaths to avoid her scent. As soon as our eyes met, I shuddered, and the cramps became stronger than ever. My breathing became heavier and my lungs burned. I had to hold the book tighter because of the sweat on my hands, and my chest began to hurt from how fast my heart was beating.

“Give me the book. I was reading it,” she said, getting up from the floor with an annoyed expression.

I wasn’t surprised that her voice was soft and pleasant, quite unlike the girl my father had brought into my home against my will.

“I don’t care. Now I have it.” She pursed her lips in a peculiar expression, then stood on tiptoe trying to reach the book I had moved away from her.

“Give me the book,” she protested again, a wrinkle appearing on the bridge of her nose.

“I told you no,” I replied, raising my arm even higher. That caused the girl to brush one of her fingers against my wrist, making me gasp. It was as if someone had punched me in the stomach.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered in a broken voice, putting my wrist out of her reach.

Then I pushed her on impulse, causing her to stumble and fall to the floor with a thud. It wasn’t long before she started crying, rubbing her ankle and giving me an angry look, and I just watched her on the floor, not knowing what to do or how to remove the lump in my throat.

“I’ll tell my brother,” she stammered between whimpers.

I opened my lips, wanting to say something to get rid of the knot in my stomach, but nothing came out because of the lump in my throat, so I dropped the book and quickly went to the bathroom, thinking that maybe if I washed my face with cold water, I would feel calmer afterwards.

It didn’t happen, and as soon as I saw my reflection in the mirror, I wanted to cut my arms again to get rid of whatever was bothering me inside. Physical pain was always better. The only thing that stopped me from doing so were the two boys who entered the restroom.

I recognized one of them as the fool who tried to steal my seat in the cafeteria last week. I wanted to leave, but one of them blocked my way with a mocking smile.

“Move.”

“Or what?” one of them asked, raising an eyebrow. My only answer was to punch him in the face without measuring my strength. Then, more arrived. I could not stop. I didn’t want to. Then, I got on top of him and kept punching his face and any other reachable spot, specifically targeting his broken nose.

“Get away from him, you monster!” screamed the other boy, climbing on my back and pulling me away.

His efforts to pull me away were in vain because I continued hitting the boy until he was unconscious on the ground. That same boy, seeing my eyes and fists covered in blood, ran away in terror.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I got up and looked at the unconscious body, thinking that maybe it would have been better to use my knife. It would have been quicker. When my eyes went to my bloodstained hands, I couldn’t help but wonder if that redhead’s blood was also that bright red. Her hair was that intense red for a reason.

As I was walking down the hallway, I heard footsteps behind me. Turning my head, I saw the school principal.

“To my office. Now.”

I snorted before following him to his office. I would deal with the other snitch later.

“I heard someone saw you beating up one of your classmates in the bathroom. Is that true?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I replied, pointing to the bloodstains on my black T-shirt. The principal sighed, shifting his attention from my shirt to my face.