9 Years Later

I wipe away my tears on my sleeve and try to pull myself together. My head is pounding, as my thoughts collide causing supernovas to burst in my brain. I stand, unsteady, taking a slow breath in and then out.

I’m at a lost.

My eyes are locked on her still body. Her head is slightly turned to the side, her right arm is resting at her side, and I see a tiny droplet of blood from the puncture of the shot. Her left arm is outstretched, the arm in which she was trying to fight me off with.

Fuck.

I mean what the heck did I expect was going to happen?

I just really don’t know what to do. I thought I would feel better after this. Feel some sort of justice. But I honestly feel worse. I’m so on edge right now. And with the adrenaline wearing off, I feel like I really fucked up.

There’s no going back now. If I run, she’ll wake up and clearly call the cops or something. If I stay, I can maybe talk it over with her, explain I was in a craze, apologize until it convinces her not to get me in trouble.

Or…

I could still attempt to extinguish the demons that reside within me because of her.

No. I can’t. This already has gone far enough, and clearly I’m not me. I’m not in a good state of mind. But as I watch her, towering above her, I can’t help but wonder if this is how it felt.

How it felt to stand over my still, sand covered body. How it felt to tower over me as I laid in that sandy shallow ditch. The thing is though, she wasn’t nervous like I am now. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t feeling slightly guilty, or regretful as I now am.

She was laughing. She hid her bad home life behind a sadistic smile as she took her pain out on me.

I feel sorry her home life was bad, but we all have a sad story, and I shouldn’t have been her punching bag.

I guess better me than someone else, because I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on anyone else.

I close my eyes and when I open them I see her standing over me with my eyes going in and out of focus, my eyelids slowly closing and opening again and again. I prayed the blows would stop, and the last I remember was her dark laughter, her giddy hop foot to foot like a damn circus clown, the pure pleasure in her face, and then black.

I frown and again I feel very broken. That face is forever ingrained in my memory, that sadistic look still haunts me.

I decide to stay. I decide that it isn’t right for me to have to keep feeling this way. I don’t know if it will change anything but it’s worth a shot. I’ve let what happened to me consume me in it’s entirety and I will try anything that counts as an attempt towards peace.

I grab a chair from the kitchen and set it in the center of the living room. I feel really stupid for what I’m about to do but if she wakes up she is going to obviously fight back, and if I’m going to talk to her I can’t have that, and anyways she should be weakened a bit.

I go over to her and stand at her head, I bend over and put my arms under hers and lift her up, I struggle a bit since it’s basically dead weight. I drag her to the chair and thankfully don’t have to lift her much higher as I set her in the chair. She looks like a dead marionette puppet and honestly it’s a little unsettling.

This feels like it’s getting more wrong by the second because now I clearly have to restrain her.

I feel pretty ridiculous right now.

I need to think of something to use. What is a common household item that I can use to tie someone up?

Well considering this is an apartment there isn’t going to be a garage or shed with rope or something.

I glance around the apartment hoping to get a spark of an idea. I walk to the kitchen, and start opening drawers, hoping to find a junk drawer with some duct tape at least. I highly doubt that there would be rope in this apartment. After opening every drawer to find nothing useful, I get a pang of hope as I glance at the cabinet under the sink.

Maybe. Just maybe.

I kneel down and open the door and before me sits an old toolbox. My heart rate picks up, and I send a silent prayer up above that there’s something in here that I can use. I put the toolbox in front of me, undo the two latches, and lift the lid. I frown internally as the tray I see when I first open it only has some miscellaneous tools, I’m quick to remove the tray to see what’s beneath it.

I breathe out a sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding.

Sitting at the bottom of the toolbox is duct tape and cable ties and some other random things. I can work with this. I grab both, and put the tool box back where I found it.

I go back into the living room, feeling disturbed looking at her body still motionless.

I stand in front of her holding the duct tape and cable ties. I just can’t get over how messed up this all is.

I feel kind of guilty. I kneel at her feet because I can’t handle having to look at her face much longer. I take the duct tape and wrap it tightly around her leg and the leg of the chair. When I move to restrain the next leg, I suddenly worry that I’m doing it too tightly. Shit, what if I’m cutting off her circulation? I shake the leg I already duct taped and it doesn’t seem like the tape is too tight.

Fuck it, it’ll be fine.

I stand, having to see her face again, her eyes closed, closed because I made them like that.

I decide it would be best to use the cable ties for her hands. I go behind her and take one of the ties and luckily they are long ones. If they weren’t I could always connect two together. But in this case I don’t have to. I wrap the tie around her hands but also threading it through one of the support posts on the back of the chair.

I tighten it until it just barely bites into the skin. Should I just use this one or should I use two? I’m not sure, I never really held anyone captive before in their own home. I shake my head at myself.

I settle for just the one, for now at least.

See the problem is, I wonder if she is going to scream or yell and I really can’t have that here considering she lives in an apartment. I’m sure all the neighbors would hear and that would be just lovely.

I at least need to muffle any sounds she would make. I tear off a strip of duct tape and place it against her mouth. Again I feel a tang of guilt because it’d probably hurt coming off the skin but after all she’s done to me, that little sting would not even be a contender to compare.

I take a step back and take in this scene.

Her body is slightly slumped, her head hanging down. This feels unreal, like I’m in a movie.

Would I be the good guy or the bad guy in this film?

Good guy getting justice? Good guy gone bad? I wasn’t bad to start. I’m a good person. Truly I am. I care, often too much.

As bad as this situation makes me seem, I couldn’t live with the demons anymore. The pain, the flashbacks, the nightmares.

This girl in front of me really ruined my life. She really ruined me. She changed me for the worse. And while I feel guilty, I feel righteous. I feel like not so much that she deserves this but I deserve this for myself. To show myself I’m not weak like she made me out to be, to make her understand what she had done to me.

I just need my story heard.

And then the tears fall, hard and fast. I’m so broken, even after all these years. See this is what people don’t get, no matter what age, bullying is bullying. And I would bet that anyone who has been bullied hasn’t forgotten. Sure, they can go for some time maybe not thinking about what happened constantly, but the memories are always in the back of their mind, and that is for the ones who are more lucky than the rest of us, more lucky than the ones that remember every day, like me.

Bullying no matter what kind, no matter how significant or “seemingly insignificant” will affect a person. Like I said before the victim never forgets.

I back away from her, back away until I back into the wall. I can’t get my emotions under control as I let my tears run, soaking my face. I let my legs give out as I slide down the wall hitting the ground, I wrap my arms around my knees and hold on like I’ll break apart if I don’t.

I rest my forehead against my knees and just cry. The memories of all the bullying I endured clash in my brain, and I am so full of fear that I never will forget, that I’ll never find peace.

I could let all of this go if I knew I had even a chance at peace. I swear, I swear I want to move on, I want to let go, but it’s just too hard. I try to forget and I have tried, I promise, but I just can’t. I mean how can someone forget something like that.

My breaths have shortened to the point where they sound like I’m gasping with each breath in.

My chest, my head, it all aches.

I’m terrified. That I’ll feel like this forever. I won’t last if this is what the rest of my life will feel like.

I need healing. I just don’t know how to get it.

I’m just too fucked up. I take in a huge sob.

“Fuck…fuck, please, just make this stop. Make this pain stop. I….I can’t handle it anymore.” I sob the words out of me, and when they hit my ears I feel pathetic.

I lift my head and lean it back against the wall, looking towards the ceiling.

“I….I n.n..need to make….make changes,” I sob.

Alright enough, enough of this. I need to pull myself together. I’ve made it through the worst days of my hell. I can pull myself out of this. I need to gather myself, pick myself up off this damn floor. I need to be strong. I need to complete this mission for my sanity if there’s even any left.

I don’t know how this is going to go, how it will end, what will happen to me, but I know that I can’t stop here, I can’t let this fear consume me. I won’t let it consume me anymore.

I did this, and while I don’t know the consequences yet, I’m going to make it worth it. I’m going to make myself heard.

I stand, and wipe my tears away on my sweater.

I head to the bathroom and check my face in my mirror to make sure it doesn’t look like I’ve been crying. I can’t look in the mirror too long because I don’t like the person I see. I don’t like the person I see….yet.

Maybe one day I will.

As I’m walking back to the living room, and glance up I see her start to stir.

My body ignites with a panic that runs from the tip of my head to my toes, every nerve firing off rapidly.

I knew this would happen. I knew I would have to confront her. I’m so scared. Confronting my childhood bully should not be this hard considering I’m the one in control right now. She’s tied to a fucking chair for heaven’s sake.

She’s becoming more aware by the second, I’m going to have to handle this pretty damn soon.

I take a deep breath, raise my head so that I’m looking forward, chin slightly raised, I pull my shoulders back, and straighten my posture.

I walk with what I hope looks confidently, into the living room, it’s a slow walk like I have time, like I’m in control, like I’m assessing the scene. I don’t look at her at first, so that it’s clear to her she’s not important. I’m trying to summon all the psych tricks I’ve learned from shows and movies.

I’m just praying I look one million times more confident than I feel. When I get in front of her, I stop, and slowly face her. My hands are behind my back and I’m standing tall, I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes like I’m giving off the idea that I’m studying her when in reality I’m trying not to have a heart attack.

She looks tired, she doesn’t struggle much against the restraints, which is good. Her eyelids blink continuously as she gets familiar with what happened and the situation she is now in.

I watch as her arms tug slightly against the cable tie, but she gives up almost too easily.

Weird.

Maybe that shot has affected her more than I thought it would, or maybe she finds no use in fighting.

She makes a noise like she’s trying to mumble something.

It’s then I realize the great flaw in my plan. Okay, okay yes there seems to be a lot of flaws, I get it but right now the main one is that how the hell am I supposed to have a conversation if she can’t talk. Yes I want her to listen but I want her to be able to respond because I need answers from her too.

I can’t remove the tape, she could scream at any moment. I could threaten her but could I make her believe I would actually hurt her? Maybe I can convince her I went crazy? But then again do I want her to see me as crazy? I mean I’ll have to threaten her right? Or I could approach it differently and get her to understand I just want to talk and after that she’s free, and I won’t hurt her. Maybe if she knows I’m not crazy she won’t be scared and she’ll talk. Or she’ll see me as weak and find a way to get control in this situation even though I’m not the one shot up and tied to a chair. Fuck I’m overthinking this. All these questions running through my mind. I don’t know how to approach this. I can’t shut down either. Shoot! How am I going to do this? I need to figure it out soon. I mean she needs to realize I’m the one in control but I don’t really want to threaten her. I could play nice, but doesn’t that defeat the purpose? I sigh internally. Well I’m not trying to hurt her, that wasn’t my intentions, at least I didn’t want that to be my intentions at first.

I need to put on an act. I need to be tough. I’ll just wing it. I curse myself for not having a damn plan like I really should have thought this shit out a little better like gosh damn. I roll my eyes, and I’m sure that throws her off considering she has just been staring at me as I contemplate my options.

I stare her down, my eyes locking with hers and I feel my eyes flash dark. I’m staring my bully in the eyes, and they aren’t laughing eyes this time, they are helpless ones. And I feel a slight thrill of power course through me. I feel all my pain again and it hits me like a freight train and instead of letting it shatter me, I let it anger me.

As I stare into those eyes, I try to conquer the fear that has always incapacitated me because of her.

I stare and I smile, and I know it looks cunning, sly, and maybe even a little sadistic. Maybe I do want her scared, I’m not sure but this, this power right here is making me into something I’m not and I might let it.

I just can’t believe 9 Years Later I’m staring my bully in the eyes and I’m not the one that’s scared.

I break the smile to step closer to her and lean in so that I’m right in front of her face.

I hear her breath catch, and again I smile, satisfied by her sudden fear. Deep down I know this is wrong. I want to stop, but I seem to absorbed in this act.

“Oh Braelyn, finally after all these years, you’ll get to understand the hell you put me through.”

I reach up and grab her chin. I jerk her head so that she is looking directly in my eyes and I feed on the fear in them.

“Tell me, how does it feel knowing you tortured a human so much that you brought them to do this?”

“I hope that these stories make you realize how fucked up you were.”

“And most importantly I will make you see that even after Every. Fucking. Thing. you put me through….

Still, I rise.”