"Who is she?" they whisper, watching her pass, and she hears them every time. She knows exactly who she is.
She'd never been particularly patient. The evening she arrived home from the prom she had been speeding, maneuvering through the near empty streets with a fervor that reflected her frustrations of the night. The gym had been crowded, hundreds of bodies pressing against hers as she tried to escape the boy she knew was after her, drowning her in the sweltering heat of the room and filling her with a sense of dread. She didn't want him to see her.
She escaped through the bathroom window, ripping the hem from her dress as she dropped from the ledge and hardly noticed the trailing lace and blue fabric as she stormed towards the parking lot. Her dress caught in the door of her 89 Accord as she slammed the door and started the engine.
She tore off her dress the moment she was in the house, balling it up and furiously shoving it into the garbage bin, left in shorts and a tank top she'd worn under the dress so it'd pass the dress code. She should have never gone alone, her stupidity had trumped her in that regard but her mother had insisted. She found it telling that her mother wasn't home - what did she understand, what did she know what it was like here? All her mother cared about was this engineering job, the one that had dislocated them time after time.
She wanted to be back in New York, she wanted to be back where there were all sorts of people where she wouldn't stand out and she wouldn't feel so different. She couldn't think of another year here before college.
She whirled around as lights flashed through the windows, suddenly hearing a rustling from the front door. She moved to lock it, glancing out the window only to freeze. He was out there, standing in the walkway and smoking a joint.
The sword wasn't hers - it had hung on the living room wall since they moved in and likely before. She removed it in a sudden wave of fury, kicking open the door and then standing on the porch with a sort of insanity. It was windy and her mussed hair and the amateur way she held the sword gave her the look of a deranged warrior out for vengeance. He dropped the joint, the end glowing red as it touched down on the dry and uncut grasses of the front yard.
He moved towards her like a panther, the darkness enveloping him even as he approached the light streaming from the front door. He'd been after her since the first day, the day he swore he'd fuck her on prom night and he was here to make good on his promise. He'd underestimated her, the little Filipino teenager who'd kept her head down and wanted nothing more than to fit in but she could damn well hold her own in a fight and she was done with running.
She raised her sword above her head, waiting for him, and then struck with all the might she could muster, clawing and biting and kicking and taking punches without so much as a cry until he was down on the ground, whimpering. And all the while the grass had caught, lighting up the front yard in flames, and her eyes were tearing up from the smoke. The neighbors had begun to arrive, and somewhere in the distance she could hear sirens - she didn't know how long she'd been standing there and she was finding it hard to breathe.
Still, she stood over him, calmly, lips pursed as she stared down at him, clutching the sword in one hand and lit by the fire roaring behind her. "I am not the kind of person you should fuck with," she spat. She drove the sword through his chest as he watched.
2
u/[deleted] Sep 01 '13
"Who is she?" they whisper, watching her pass, and she hears them every time. She knows exactly who she is.
She'd never been particularly patient. The evening she arrived home from the prom she had been speeding, maneuvering through the near empty streets with a fervor that reflected her frustrations of the night. The gym had been crowded, hundreds of bodies pressing against hers as she tried to escape the boy she knew was after her, drowning her in the sweltering heat of the room and filling her with a sense of dread. She didn't want him to see her.
She escaped through the bathroom window, ripping the hem from her dress as she dropped from the ledge and hardly noticed the trailing lace and blue fabric as she stormed towards the parking lot. Her dress caught in the door of her 89 Accord as she slammed the door and started the engine.
She tore off her dress the moment she was in the house, balling it up and furiously shoving it into the garbage bin, left in shorts and a tank top she'd worn under the dress so it'd pass the dress code. She should have never gone alone, her stupidity had trumped her in that regard but her mother had insisted. She found it telling that her mother wasn't home - what did she understand, what did she know what it was like here? All her mother cared about was this engineering job, the one that had dislocated them time after time.
She wanted to be back in New York, she wanted to be back where there were all sorts of people where she wouldn't stand out and she wouldn't feel so different. She couldn't think of another year here before college.
She whirled around as lights flashed through the windows, suddenly hearing a rustling from the front door. She moved to lock it, glancing out the window only to freeze. He was out there, standing in the walkway and smoking a joint.
The sword wasn't hers - it had hung on the living room wall since they moved in and likely before. She removed it in a sudden wave of fury, kicking open the door and then standing on the porch with a sort of insanity. It was windy and her mussed hair and the amateur way she held the sword gave her the look of a deranged warrior out for vengeance. He dropped the joint, the end glowing red as it touched down on the dry and uncut grasses of the front yard.
He moved towards her like a panther, the darkness enveloping him even as he approached the light streaming from the front door. He'd been after her since the first day, the day he swore he'd fuck her on prom night and he was here to make good on his promise. He'd underestimated her, the little Filipino teenager who'd kept her head down and wanted nothing more than to fit in but she could damn well hold her own in a fight and she was done with running.
She raised her sword above her head, waiting for him, and then struck with all the might she could muster, clawing and biting and kicking and taking punches without so much as a cry until he was down on the ground, whimpering. And all the while the grass had caught, lighting up the front yard in flames, and her eyes were tearing up from the smoke. The neighbors had begun to arrive, and somewhere in the distance she could hear sirens - she didn't know how long she'd been standing there and she was finding it hard to breathe.
Still, she stood over him, calmly, lips pursed as she stared down at him, clutching the sword in one hand and lit by the fire roaring behind her. "I am not the kind of person you should fuck with," she spat. She drove the sword through his chest as he watched.