The 8th Read Online Free Page B

thoughts clear enough to make sense of them, they were being drowned out by the sound of David’s voice. He was crying. My eyes focused on my surroundings. Still on the toilet floor, the stench of stale urine filling one of my nostrils. My other nostril blocked with blood. Every part of me aches.
     
    “I’m sorry,” said David again. He helped me to my feet. He looked just as battered as I did although, I think it’s fair to say, I took the brunt of it. Probably deserved after sticking up for him yesterday.
     
    “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” I said. Even my voice sounded broken. “Besides,” I lied, “I quite enjoyed that.” Not sure why I do that, trying to put a brave face on and all that. Not the first time I’ve used that as a defense mechanism for when I’m in agonising pain.
     
    “If you hadn’t stuck up for me yesterday,” he started to say...
     
    “I wouldn’t have been much of a friend,” I interrupted. Even had I known the beating I was to endure, I still would have spoken up yesterday. I hate bullies. They’re nothing more than cowards hiding behind their little friends. Normally picking on the weaker people just to try and make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives. Fuck them. We both looked at ourselves in the mirror. “Remember...” I said, “...The first rule of Fight Club is...Don’t talk about Fight Club.” David laughed and suddenly grabbed his jaw as a bolt of pain shot through him.
     
    Surely Day Three will be easier.
     

 
     
    4.
     
     

 
     
     
     
    I think I’d make a good teacher. I believe I have the voice for it. The right amount of authority in my tone.
     
    “Piers,” I said, using my teacher’s tone, “step forward.” If time is lacking, for my lesson, I’d best start with the main culprit. The one who has constantly been nasty. Seeing what I do to him...That might just be enough for the others to learn by, if I don’t have the time to get to them. Piers didn’t move from his seat; his usual place in the back of the classroom. Was he really going to make me repeat myself? “I’m sorry,” I continued, “maybe you didn’t hear me all the way back there.” I turned to Mrs Price, “Do you often struggle with students at the back not hearing you properly?” She didn’t answer either. Can’t help but think that’s a little rude. It was a civil enough question, I feel. I’ll come back to her later. I turned my attention back to Piers. Just looking at his face makes me feel sick. Memories of what he’s put me through. I’m sure David must feel the same too. “Piers, don’t make me ask again.”
     
    “Fuck you,” he spat from the area he foolishly perceived as being ‘safe’ at the back of the room. Little boy obviously doesn’t appreciate how far bullets can fly. The rest of the class, especially those who sat in close proximity, weren’t as foolish as a clear gap appeared between me and Piers. I took the gun up from where it rested, close to me, on the table and pointed it directly at Piers. “You won’t shoot me,” he said. Damn, he’s clever. Shooting him will be too easy.
     
    “You’re right,” I lowered the gun.
     
    “You’re a fucking pussy,” Piers hissed. His voice so full of venom towards me. How did someone so young get so much hatred inside of them? I blame the parents. I stood up and walked down the aisle of wooden desks and chairs to where Piers sat.
     
    “I forgot,” I said, “you’re the big man aren’t you? You’re the one people should be afraid of. You’re the one who calls the shots and controls the classrooms and corridors...Those who don’t like you, or follow you, you set about destroying...You and your little gang. You think you’re something special...You really do, don’t you?” He leaned back on his chair so that he was resting on the back two legs of the chair only; the front legs completely clear of the floor. A defiant expression on his face. I smiled at him.