After a sequence of 5 slaps, the excruciating pain I felt subsided, and finally I could plead for mercy:
"Stop! Let me ex-"
Slap!
"That's not what I want to hear."
Slap!
Crazy bitch!
"Okay, okay! It was me!"
Upon hearing that, she finally stopped. Why does she follow her late mother's ways of acting? Crazy!
"That's what I wanted to hear. Why did you commit that barbarity at my gate?"
"W-well..."
I can't say that I stained her gate because I was desperate... Ah!
"You recognize me, right? I'm the guy who lent you the umbrella-"
"How could I forget someone who put their filthy hand on my thigh?"
Damn it, why am I only remembered for the bad side? The coward remembered me for "simp" and now she recalls me like this. And what about my good deeds? And why does everyone think my hands are filthy? The son of a bitch who broke my fingers thought the same. After hearing it so many times, I'm starting to truly believe that my hands are filthy. Fuck.
"Y-yes, it's me. Well, I lent you my umbrella, remember? I came here to pick it up and-"
"How do you know where I live?"
Bitch! Stop interrupting me!
"Obviously, I asked-"
"It doesn't matter. You still haven't answered me. Why did you commit that barbarity at my gate?"
Stop interrupting me, bitch!
I swear, if I had my innate gift... I would attack and run away. In my school days, some boys used to beat me. After some time, when they walked around the school off guard as if they owned the world, I would sneak up on them and... HIT them and run away! Of course, the next day, I would get beaten up by them for that reason, but I would do the same again, even though I knew I was getting beaten up because I attacked sneakily.
It was satisfying! It was a vicious cycle, I liked it, I had a reason for the violence I desired, but... I became increasingly more violent. The last time, before being expelled from that school at the age of 12, when two boys started peeing in the bathroom, I applied a "rear naked choke" on one of them. His friend tried to pull me away, but he couldn't.
On that day, I truly couldn't control myself. Even though the friend of the boy I applied the "rear naked choke" to was hitting me, pulling me, I didn't let go.
I let go only when he became unconscious. The friend who was trying to pull me away got scared and started shouting "Help." I was truly crazy. I grabbed the object I used to write and ran crazily toward that other "friend." However, I couldn't reach it. A teacher arrived at the bathroom where we were and held me back.
Despite being crazy, I couldn't free myself, after all, he was an adult.
The boy I applied the "rear naked choke" to still survived. I was expelled from school, and the other two boys as well, since I had recorded them beating me on another day.
What would have happened if the teacher hadn't shown up?
Anyway, my Mother was ridiculed because of my behavior. I told her that I wouldn't do it anymore and that I only did it because I couldn't take the "bullying" anymore.
I truly stopped, I just focused on playing violent games, watching violent movies, violent series, anything that had violence. It helped me endure for a few years, until I became an adult, but soon I started to commit...
"Why are you just laughing and not responding? It's not your strange smile that I want."
Slap!
Fuck, let me reminisce about the good times in peace!