The She devil and her lackeys

One would have thought bullying ended in high school until you crossed paths with  the likes of Emilian Francis, the campus queen, who took delight in making people's life a realistic hell.

"Well?" Emilian prompted, taking another slow, deliberate step forward until she was close  enough to touch me. Her two sycophants flanked her flanks like guard dogs, cutting off any chance of a side escape. "I'm waiting, Jessica. Is this how the campus ice queen studies? Or does the athletic department hand out extra credit for getting railed in the supply closet by my boyfriend?"

The word stayed in the air like a poisoned dart. 

My heart hammered against my ribs, the initial shock was rapidly being replaced by a cold, sharp anger. 

I forced my chin up,channeling every ounce of icy hauteur I possessed.  I couldn't look guilty, I couldn't look scared yet standing inbetween both was tearing me down.

"If your boyfriend," I drawled, letting a slow, condescending smirk touch my lips, "is too busy dragging me into locker rooms to remember who you are,maybe you should be asking him for an explanation, Emilian. Not me."

Emilian's face flushed a violent ugly crimson, the plastic casing of her phone creaked under the sudden white knuckled grip of her hand. Slowly, the ugly crimson flush of her cheeks hardened into a brittle porcelain mask of pure,complete venom.  She didn't drop her phone, nor did she back down.  She just barked out a sharp humourless laugh that echoed off the cold concrete walls of the hallway. 

"Oh look at you," Emilian mocked, stepping closer until the screen of her phone was mere inches from my nose. The video of me and Aaron walking through the crowd played on repeat,bouncing off the corridor walls like a taunting ghost.  Must be what kept fueling her anger, I've never seen Aaron walk with her the way he did with me,yet, she claimed she was Aaron's girl.  "The ice queen has a voice.  How brave. You think because Aaron dragged you into a dark corner for a quick fix before his game that makes you special? You think you're the first girl he's used to blow off steam between quarters? Wake up, Jessica.  Aaron Adams plays with things,and when he's done, he throws them in the trash. "

My fingers curled into fist inside the pocket of my skirt, my nails digging hard into my palms, enough to draw blood.  I wanted to wipe that sickeningly smug look off her face,  I wanted to rip the phone out of her manicured hand and smash it against the floor just like I had smashed his stupid flowers. 

"If you are so confident he only uses me,Emilian, " I shot back, my voice dripping with a freezing disdain that matched her own, "then why are you standing here shaking like a leaf, cornering me in a hallway with your lapdogs? Why aren't you out on the court cheering for your boyfriend?"

The insult landed dead center. Emilian's eyes narrowed into dangerous, blazing slits. The mask of calm shattered completely, exposing the desperate unhinged fury underneath.  For months,she had coasted on the carefully curated illusion that she and Aaron were campus royalty, an untouchable power couple.  And here I was, threatening to tear her entire kingdom down without even trying. 

"You arrogant bitch," Emilian hissed, her voice trembling with rage. She slowly lowered her phone, sliding it back into the pocket of her designer jacket. She didn't bother trying to slap me, she didn't need to. She had a far more humiliating fate planned. 

Emilian raised her hand and snapped her fingers sharply twice in the air.

“Chloe. Brittany. Clean the trash out of the hallway."

Before I could even process the command, the two sycophants flanking her moved with terrifying synchronization. 

Brittany lunged forward, grabbing both of my wrists with a brutal, vice-like grip, pinning my arms down hard against my sides. I gasped, struggling against her, but she was heavier and fueled by malicious glee.

"Let go of me, you psychotic cow!" I shrieked, twisting violently, but Chloe stepped up on my other side, planting a heavy hand squarely on my shoulder, shoving me backward until my spine slammed hard against the locked heavy metal door of the athletic locker room.

"Hold her still," Emilian ordered, stepping back with a sadistic smile as she gestured to a large, heavy duffel bag resting at Chloe's feet.

My breath hitched in my throat. The cold panic that I had managed to suppress all morning surged back, clawing violently up my windpipe.

Chloe unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out two objects that made my blood run instantly cold: a heavy gallon bucket of bright, sticky, violently pink acrylic paint, and a carton of cheap, oversized raw eggs.

"You wouldn't," I breathed, my eyes darting between the paint bucket and Emilian's triumphant, twisted grin. "If you do this, Aaron will—"

"Aaron won't give a single damn," Emilian interrupted, stepping right up to me, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Right now, he's out on that field, running plays, basking in the roar of the crowd, completely forgetting you even exist. By the time he steps foot off that court, you won't even be worth looking at."

She turned to Chloe and Brittany with a sharp nod. "Do it."

"No—wait—stop!"

My desperate cry was cut off entirely as Brittany hoisted the heavy gallon bucket of paint. Before I could twist away, she tipped it forward.

Splash.

A torrent of thick, ice-cold, blindingly pink paint cascaded directly over the top of my head.

The shock of it stole the air right out of my lungs. The liquid hit my scalp with a heavy, sickening slap, instantly soaking through my hair, gluing heavy pink strands across my forehead and face. It drenched the shoulders of my blouse, soaking down my chest and back in a heavy, freezing tide, staining my skin and ruining my clothes in a single, merciless second. The chemical smell of cheap acrylic filled my nose, sharp and suffocating.

I stood there, gasping, dripping, completely immobilized by shock and humiliation, my vision blurred by sticky pink rivulets running down my eyelashes.

"Oh, look!" Brittany squealed with toxic delight, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "It matches her little ice-queen cold heart. So aesthetic."

"Not yet, it doesn't," Emilian corrected, her eyes gleaming with manic satisfaction. "Finish the masterpiece."

Before I could blink away the pink paint stinging my eyes, Chloe snatched the carton of eggs open. She didn't even bother cracking them. She grabbed two raw eggs and hurled them straight at my chest.

Crack. Splat.

The shells shattered against my collarbone, the slimy, cold albumen and yellow yolks mixing with the pink paint, sliding down the front of my ruined clothes in a viscous, disgusting trail.

Crack. 

Crack.

Two more eggs hit me,one catching me squarely on the shoulder, the sticky shell fragments tangling in my hair, and another splattering against the metal door right beside my ear, sending a shower of raw yolk and shards raining down on my shoes.

"Stop it! Stop it, you sick bitches!" I screamed, tears of absolute rage and mortification finally breaking through my defenses, hot and fast, cutting clean paths through the pink paint smeared across my cheeks. I thrashed against Brittany's grip, kicking out blindly, but they only laughed harder, their cruel, mocking cackles bouncing endlessly off the concrete corridor walls.

"Let that be a lesson, Jessica," Emilian purred, stepping forward to lean in close, her manicured finger reaching out to trace a dollop of pink paint off my cheek, leaving a smeared streak behind. She didn't care that the wet paint was getting on her designer jacket,her triumph was absolute.

"Aaron Adams is mine," Emilian whispered, her breath hot and poisonous against my ear. "He dates girls from his own world. He uses trash like you for target practice between quarters. Stay away from him, stay away from the team, and if I ever catch you looking at him again, the next bucket won't be paint,it'll be industrial bleach."

She stepped back, wiping her finger on a napkin with an expression of profound disgust.

"Now," Emilian commanded, gesturing toward the heavy locker room door behind me, "go back where you belong. Crawl back inside the dark, wallow in your little pink mess, and go fuck yourself."

With a sharp, dismissive wave of her hand, she turned on her heel.

"Come on, girls. The game's starting. Let's go watch my boyfriend win."

Footsteps clattered loudly against the floor as Emilian and her two sycophants marched down the corridor, their mocking laughter lingering in the air long after they turned the corner toward the gymnasium exits.

The hallway descended into a dead, oppressive silence.

I stood frozen against the locker room door, shivering violently as the ice-cold paint and raw egg mixture dried against my skin, pulling tight and sticky across every inch of my body. My chest heaved with ragged, shuddering breaths. The humiliation was so profound, so entirely soul-crushing, that for a terrifying second, my mind went completely blank.

I was soaked. I was ruined. I was an absolute, pathetic mess of pink acrylic and broken eggshells standing alone in a deserted school hallway.

Slowly, with trembling, numb fingers, I reached behind me, fumbling blindly for the heavy brass handle of the locker room door.

With a sharp click, the door gave way. I stumbled backward into the dark, echoing interior of the locker room, letting the heavy metal door swing shut and lock behind me, sealing me away from the rest of the world.

I slid down the cold steel of the lockers, pulling my knees up to my chest, burying my face in my ruined, paint-soaked arms, and finally, completely broke.

He won't give a damn, Emilian's voice echoed in my head. He uses trash like you.

I sat there in the dark, shivering in my own filth, waiting for the final buzzer to sound,waiting for the moment the monster who put me here would come back to collect what was left of me.