Tainted (ON HOLD)

“Hey loser!”

I stiffen, stopping dead in my tracks.

Rather than the comment that made me stop, it was the who. I hear a pair of super-high heels click its way across the school’s marbled floor. Without glancing over my shoulder, I know that someone, most likely the principal, already made a path for her that leads straight to me.

Looking out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a flash of red descending from the top of the stairs. Shamelessly, she shows off her wealth in a scarlet dress with real rubies sewed in the fabric, and 7-inch ruby-red stilettos.

Rosalinda stops in front of me, and I bow my head in humility, dropping into a courtesy, my forehead touching the cold, and dirty, marble floor. Rosalinda Hope Báthory, daughter of Queen Elizabeth Báthory, current Queen of the Night Children, the one murdered over 650 females and supposedly died in 1614.

“So, even this little scum has manners, huh? How lovely. Isn’t that right, Mr. Donnelly?” she sneers.

She turns her head and smiles sweetly at the school principal, clearly manipulating the simpleton with just a batt of her eyes. “W-Well, yes. Yes of course!” Mr. Donnelly stammers, his face and neck flushing pink. Are... are you serious?

I remain in a kowtow position before her. “Get up,” she barks.

Still kneeling on the cold marble surface, I see, out of the corner of my right eye that someone, most likely Chris Lorentz, the biggest gambler in the Academy, is setting up a bet to determine the champion of today’s match: Rosalinda or me. Amusing, I know. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I stand. . .

. . . and duck, seconds before she materializes an axe into her hands, swinging at my head, missing me barely by a hair. Someone whistles in the background. All around me, I hear people egging Rosalinda on.

“Princess, you got this!”

“You’re beautiful and worth much more than that furball!”

“Scum, prepare to have your ass kicked!”

I sigh. So childish. Were we really going to do this? I mean, isn’t she tired of doing the same thing one day after another? Although, why should I be surprised? I mean, Death these couple of years have been so imminent tha-

“YOU DARE AVOID THE STRIKE OF YOUR RULER?” she shrieks. I flinch, her sharp shrill voice flinging me back to reality from my thoughts. The atmosphere and air began to feel heavy, and I step back. Instead of open space, I bump into something, or someone. Swiveling around, my mouth drops at the formation of the fighting rink around me and Rosalinda, at least 10 students thick.

I try to push and shove my way through the crowd, but they push right back with ease.

Whoosh.

I duck, but the clump of freshmen, juniors and seniors that were forming part of the circle behind me weren’t as lucky to escape unscathed. From my crouched position on the floor, blood seep between my fingers.

Somewhere in the crowd, a girl wails and another began sobbing while others gave a deafening roar of excitement, blood-lust evident on their faces.

I grit my teeth, readying myself for the next attack. This is is going to get bloody.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?”

I freeze and turn around in the direction of the voice.

His coffee-brown eyebrows were bunched together, concern lining his face. He walks over to her in long strides, wearing a milky-white suit with a tie the color of garnets, kissing the top of her fire-engine hair.

“Who angered you again?”

Glancing up, he sees me and his eyes narrow, full of scorn and hatred. I look away and he turns to the “audience”.

“I want everyone who’s here today to listen to this request of mine,” he says. “Starting from today no one is allowed to talk to her. At best, pretend like she doesn’t exist at all.”

He pauses for a second and smirks.

“And to you rebels out there who doesn’t want to listen to me and decide to turn a deaf ear, I hope you have enough money for a funeral.”

He chuckles humorously, but his eyes gave a red glow to state his clear threat, and stalks away like the dumbass he is, carrying Rosie away from the scene princess style in his bulk and muscular tan arms, her long hair almost brushing the ground.

Ding, dong, ding, dong.

At the sound of the bell, the hallway begins to clear out.

Mr. Donnelly clears his throat.

“Everyone, go to your classes. Second period has already begun, and you don’t want to be late!”

Out of nowhere, someone shouts, “Awww, that’s SO cute! Is this lovesick puppy telling us to go to class?”

Laughter erupts and Mr. Donnelly’s face heats up, turning into an unnatural shade of red. I watch as Mr. Donnelly’s fingers tighten in his hair, frustration bubbling in him when—

Pop!

I feel something bubble inside of me, but nothing comes out. Laughter booms when everyone catch sight of Mr. Donnelly’s head. A shiny. Bald. Egg-shaped head.

When he finally retrieves his “hair” from the jocks, who were playing Monkey-In-The-Middle, the warning bell began to ring.

This time everyone filters out the entrance, going to 2nd period alone, like me, or with friends. The crowd inside the hall begins to thin out in a steady stream, so I scurry toward the last bunch of students leaving. Hurry! I have to get out of here before-

“B-894, come to my office. I have to talk to you.”

That’s me: B-894.

“Please, take a seat.”

The principal gestured at the seat in front of his desk. I timidly step into the room and sit in in the ancient mahogany chair. It creaks softly in protest.

Slap!

I fall from the chair, slamming into the opposite wall, my head and right cheek throbbing. Trembling, I lift my left hand and gingerly touch my temple only to find a sticky red substance.

Donnelly got up from his chair and begin advancing toward me. He roughly grabbs my chin and lifts it so that my face is in full view.

“Bitch.” He lets go of my chin and he swings his leg out.

“Don’t you know”- kick - “how much TROUBLE” - he kicks harder - you bring?” I let out a groan. “Because of YOU, a FUCKIN’ SLUT?”

I curl into a ball, trying my best to protect what I can. With every kick, I hear bones crack.

My eyes start to droop and I see shadows in my vision closing in on me, the pain dulling. I struggle against the darkness, trying to stay awake when the kicks and punches suddenly stop. Painfully, I lift my head and see him standing over my bloody broken body. He lifts his arm and gestures at the door I had came in earlier.

“Get up you bitch, and you learned your lesson right?”

I don’t answer, unable to.

He jerks my hair, almost ripping it from my scalp.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Ahh,” I say.

I pick myself up and slowly make my way for the door, my body feeling all bruised.

After all, this hurts less than half of what Father usually do.

I limp out of Mr. Donnelly’s office, barely able to walk straight. I shut the door behind me, biting my lip when I have to stretch my arm slightly over my head to reach the doorknob. My fingers leave blood stains on the polished brass knob, and behind the door, I try to move as little as possible.

I slowly make my way down the seemingly endless corridor using the wall, my bloody hands leaving prints.

It seems like the janitor will have to work overtime again today.