imagine they’d gone to school together.

one was a rich girl, with so many friends and connections and opportunities. she knew exactly the right words to charm all the people in her life, and she works hard for their approval‍ ‍‍—‍ everyone has high expectations from her. she has perfect grades and attendance, membership in four different after school clubs, and the worst the rumor mill can say about her is wondering when the hell she sleeps‍ ‍‍—‍ because of course, she studies gossip and popularity like it’s a class of its own.

the other girl… was not. the poverty line was the roof over her head. she had attention problems, trouble fitting in, and a keen sense of how much she was looked down on, ignored, routinely denied. and she hated it. she’d raise her voice, she’d lash out, she’d cause any amount of trouble if it meant they’d shut up and get out of her way. behavioral anger issues, they called it. her academic record is littered with suspensions, expulsions, a brief stint in a correctional facility. all throughout, though, she had potential, and a couple teachers even saw it. sparks of something more than a hopeless delinquent.

so here and there, there’s extra chances, leniency, several half‍-​pleading half‍-​condescending talking‍-​tos imploring her to change. and… eventually she does. maybe the fight gets beaten down, maybe the prefrontal cortex develops, but the rage becomes restraint, all her old impulses rerouted behind a mask. so she gets transferred to a new campus, a kind of sponsorship with a special arrangement; it’s hers as long as she keeps her behavior and and grades on the up and up.

maybe she tries to stay quiet about her past, but the other students quickly notice how she regularly meets with a counselors and officers. maybe one girl had been in a previous school she’d gotten kicked out of, back before she’d gotten her act together. it starts as a small rumor, but it sticks and grows into a suffocating cloud that hangs around her. that girl is trouble; nobody wants to associate with her.

the isolation, the whispers whenever she steps into a room, it puts a hitch in her efforts. her detractors get bolder; her treatment verges on harassment. it might be the most infuriating thing she’d endured in her life‍ ‍‍—‍ she’d done everything right. her grades start to tank, that goes without saying. she needs help, she needs support. is there anyone she can study with?

she feels contempt and revulsion‍ ‍‍—‍ and it’s mutual‍ ‍‍—‍ for everyone she shares classes with. even the ones not sneaking sneering glances and muttered words, were doing even worse than her academically; pathetic and not worth her time.

but there was one exception. one girl who was the top of every class, of whom no one, not even the the most cynical of them all, had a negative word to say. she was always kind, always thoughtful, and the outcast had never seen that girl be complicit in her treatment, even when all her friends joined in. if anyone might be willing to study with her, that girl seemed like her only hope.

(and she was, undeniably, pretty cute)

it takes a while to work up the courage and find an actual opportunity ‍-​ the top student had a busy schedule. but the outcast finally gets her alone, asks her for help studying.

but again, the top student has a busy schedule. is she expected to find even more time to spend with this failing student? still, she’s always kind, so she finds the words to gently refuse her. too gentle‍ ‍‍—‍ the excuses, the seeming reluctance, it gives the impression that the answer isn’t no, it’s maybe, just not right now. so perhaps if the outcasts insists, if she argues against the excuses, then the other girl would be willing. they circle around each other like this for a bit, polite refusal and insistent rebuttal. couldn’t she take a hint?

she’s busy. all of the work she does for school and extracurriculars, all of the people she has to micromanage and keep happy‍ ‍‍—‍ she simply does not have time to deal with this girl on top of that. and yet, it’s more than just studying the outcast is really after. it’s a lifeline, a person who doesn’t hate them for no reason. she needs that. neither of them can say aloud what’s really motivating them, though.

does the outcast need to study with the top student, though? surely there are remedial classes to take. and the outcast bristles at the suggestion. she isn’t stupid. none of the people in those classes would be worth her time. really, none of the people in this school are worth her time, except you.

and that is what makes the top student bristle. all of the work she does day after day, and it’s what, the bare minimum to make her worth the time of this nobody? who does she think she is?

honestly, with how hard this girl pushes herself, it’s a wonder the top student didn’t snap sooner. and if there was ever a perfect time to lose control, chewing out a girl with no friends while the two of them are alone was it.

the outcast is seething‍ ‍‍—‍ but she had long learned to hold that in. take a deep breath, remove yourself from the situation‍ ‍‍—‍ she storms out of the room, runs back to her dorm, and smashes her desk. that should have been the end of it. she takes a shower to relax, but even as she lay under the water, the conversation’s stuck in her head, all the things she said, all the things she could have said.

and again: when she’s lying in bed, trying to sleep, she’s instead thinking about her, and how infuriating that argument was. if she had the time to compose all her words perfectly, how satisfying would it be to tear apart everything she said?

the top student is thinking about that encounter too, but her ruminations are different. she’s stuck thinking about how great it felt. all of the expectations, all of the rules, but just once, she could say fuck it, let loose and hurt someone. she… she needed that.

so days later, when they cross paths again, when they stop and stare at each other‍ ‍‍—‍ the top student doesn’t apologize. she should, she didn’t really mean it, she really shouldn’t talk to anyone like that ‍-​ but instead when she opens her mouth, she twists the knife, doubles down, and watches how red in the face the other girl gets, holds back a laugh at the sputtered response.

the top student doesn’t have time for more studying, but she does have time for more of this‍ ‍‍—‍ hunting through the halls to find that girl, and tormenting her with quick insults and insinuations. it should have gotten old, she should have gotten bored of it‍ ‍‍—‍ but it only escalated. the outcast didn’t just take it, and she didn’t run away, she met every barb with invective of her own. soon they’re screaming and hissing in each other’s face.

whatever argument they had should have ran its course after the first meeting or two. instead, it develops into a kind of violent smalltalk. they’ll talk about their days, and the other will berate them for it. the top student vents about her latest frustrations, and the outcast exclaims how much she doesn’t care about how hard her perfect life is. every hardship is promptly cheered or demeaned.

it’s a few sessions of this before the outcast grabs her. she’s bigger, stronger, she’s been in fights. the top student becomes suddenly aware that she’s shorter‍ ‍‍—‍ that none of her extracurriculars were athletic.

the spell lasts a second‍ ‍‍—‍ then, with sudden realization of what she was doing, the outcast lets go of her and runs off. she doesn’t leave her room the next day; she’s sure that the other girl is going to report her, her streak of compliant behavior was over, and they’d take her back to correction

and… it doesn’t happen. she still has to go to class, and when she does, she crosses paths with her at their usual spot. and the shorter girl snarks at her without missing a beat, as if nothing had happened. if anything, she’s more brazen, as if daring her to do it again. she’s the first to lean into the other girl’s face, closer than they’d ever gotten in their shouting matches.

it’s too close, and the outcast pushes her back. and she just laughs, and steps right back. shoved back, again. and she steps back again. that’s when she’s grabbed, a bruising grip, and forced back. don’t make me do this, the outcast says, leaving again‍ ‍‍—‍ hearing taunts behind her.

again, no reports. they meet again, and the girl flinches but never cries foul. sometimes she tries to yank her hands free, step back from the girl looming over her, but if the outcast tries, it’s not hard to pin her down and shut her up with a hand over her mouth.

she can’t deny that it feels great. so long bottling everything up ‍-​ and now she can exert power without fearing a reprisal.

their meetings tend to end the same way, now‍ ‍‍—‍ the top student tries, but this is one area where she can never seem to excel. she throws the first punch, but the outcast hits harder. and once they’re outright fighting… the outcast pulls her hair, bites her arms, strangles her till she’s blue in the face. the outcast is sure she’s pushed to far then. but the top student just wears a scarf to hide the mark.

still, that’s what spooks her into pulling back. if it goes much farther, the evidence is going to become unignorable. avoiding the top student… isn’t very successful. she lays in ambush in the halls, and even when the outcast steps up her stealth, she can just get other students to report on her whereabouts; she still has friends everywhere. the outcast can’t escape her‍ ‍‍—‍ and it’s driving her past her limit. so she decides to escalate farther, finally scare the other girl into stopping.

the next time they fight, the outcast brings something new. unseen until she reaches for the other girl’s throat, and her perfect skin splits open‍ ‍‍—‍ a knife. she lifts the blade and a droplet of blood slides along its length.

pretty, isn’t it? prettier than you are. you’d be so much more beautiful if i let it all flow out. the outcast gives her best impression of a unhinged smile. she has to make herself look dangerous. she licks the bloody drop, and then lowers the knife, watching how the wide eyes of the top student follow it intently.

she’s utterly silent‍ ‍‍—‍ few things have shut her up as effectively, her body trembling under the outcast’s weight.

i’ll give you a chance to start running, she says as she gets off her. but the top student doesn’t get up till she gets a kick to the side. she runs off, and when she’s gone, the outcast breathes a sigh of relief. she really hope that sends the message, and this wouldn’t have to go any farther

because she enjoyed that. she wants to go farther.

the next day, the top student looks sleepless and shaken. it’s enough to have multiple people asking her what’s wrong. but she still keeps quiet.

the outcast waits in the usual spot, and it seems her first stroke of luck that the other girl doesn’t show up. had her intimidation worked?

but no, she’s just late, like she was late to class.

i‍-​i… she starts, and finally overcomes the stutter: i need you to do it.

what?

the knife. use it, please. i‍ ‍‍—‍ all day, ever since you drew my blood, i can’t think about anything else. all my life, it’s been constant expectations and demands, try harder, push farther, please everyone. every hour of the day, it feels like a chorus ordering me around. i have to do everything right‍ ‍‍—‍ except you. because you… you’re nothing, you don’t matter. i could do anything, i could do all the wrong things, it was… it wasn’t good‍ ‍‍—‍ obviously, you were there. but in spite of you, i enjoyed this. and then… and then you brought a knife, and‍-​ it felt like all of a sudden, the chorus went dead silent. all of the anxiety, everything it felt like i had to do, it meant nothing. you were going to kill me. i couldn’t focus on anything else. even after i ran away, i kept thinking about you, about that knife, and… how can i care about school, or practice, or who’s dating who when… i finally know what i feels like to be alive. and i, need to feel it again. so you’re going to do it again.

you want me to stab you… because you’re into it? no. even if i was a prostitute, i wouldn’t get you off for free.

ugh, but i knew you’d be difficult. you’re so stupid‍ ‍‍—‍ don’t you get that you are the one at my mercy here? the second i tell anyone about what you’ve done… it’s over. i have photos, recordings, i have bruises! you’re a monster, i can prove it, and i’m going to get you taken away‍ ‍‍—‍ there’s only one way to keep me quiet.

and if i call your bluff?

can you afford to risk it?

fine. but tell me: how long?

how long?

how long have you been getting off to this? how long have you been in love with me?

i’m not‍ ‍‍—‍ i hate you! you’re insufferable. love? was it love when you punched me so hard i spat up blood?

we meet every day in private to lay on top of each other. i can’t believe i didn’t see it sooner.

don’t gloss over the part where you scream and hit me‍ ‍‍—‍ that isn’t romance. maybe i felt something else, maybe i wanted, desperately, to feel something else, but every time, before i could say anything you ran your mouth and stomped all over it. no wonder you’re alone.

shut up. by now, the outcast was looming over her‍ ‍‍—‍ she had the knife out, and thrust it up. cold against an artery, but that was it. she says, is this enough for you?

even you must be smart enough to know how to use that thing. what are you waiting for?

even a bitch like you deserves to live‍ ‍‍—‍ you said this made you feel alive. well? has this done it for you?

have you ever tried to die? sometimes, when you’re staring down the end, you get a surge of energy, a survival instinct, the will to live. but. that’s just stupid animal instinct. because intellectually, what is there to live for? more work? remember what you said, yesterday? how pretty my blood was? but it’s only pretty outside of my body. i think, life is the same way. it’s most beautiful when it’s like a flash of lightning in a dark, dark sky. screaming loud one moment, then nothing left but an afterimage. and don’t i have a spark?

there’s a last glint of light on the blade of the knife before it’s all in the shadow of her neck. she’s crying out, but then the other girl’s hands jammed in her mouth quiets that.

is this really it? everyone said you had so much potential, that you were destined for such great things. and here you are, giving up the first chance you get, throwing it all away for a brief thrill. you could be anything, but in the end, all you want is to be a pretty red stain.

there’s tears in the smaller girl’s eyes, staring up at the scowl of the outcast. the knife is pulled away, the perfect skin of her throat yet unslit, a steady knife‍-​gripping hand lowering.

then the outcast says, but you asked for this. at least it’s going to hurt. you deserve this.

wait, says the top student, before you do it‍ ‍‍—‍ i’ve never kissed anyone. i don’t want to die like that.

i don’t care‍-​

but she had to open her mouth in order to say that, and the other girl lunges forward to take advantage, lips brushing against lips, but it’s far too haphazard an action to form a seal.

that same lunge drives the knife shallowly into her chest. she cries out from the pain. not loud, but any louder and they’d attract attention.

shut up, she hisses. she needs her to be quiet, so she makes her quiet: closing her mouth around the other’s girls, swallowing her screams as she drives the knife deeper in.

she’s couldn’t have used her hands for this; one is holding the knife, the other trapping writhing arms behind the other girl’s back.

it’s a scream, it’s a moan, it’s pleading words babbling demands. it’s an expression of everything she feels for the outcast: raw and painful and all‍-​consuming contradiction.

it’s intense. the most intense thing she’s ever felt. all of the anxiety’s gone now, pain purifying her thoughts of anything else. all of the stress flows out of her with the blood.

she is penetrated, a knife in her breast, a tongue in her mouth. she can’t bite down on it, because her tongue has been pulled forth, held in the other girls teeth‍ ‍‍—‍ she’d be biting the both of them. she can only let the other girl enter and fill her on two levels‍ ‍‍—‍ three, if you count the way thoughts of the other girl had distracted and obsessed a mind once so focused on her schoolwork, now corrupted into chasing the high of her loathsome presence.

her panicked eyes are wide open, watching her killer watch her die. as she drains away, she cant escape the question. is this what she wanted? to be nothing but a pretty stain for her? that bitch? did she want her to win?

she runs out of air to scream. she has to suck in what breath she can get through her nose, but before the screams come, she giggles. she remembers something the outcast said, back when the worst they did was wrestle.

don’t make me do this.

she had made her do this, hadn’t she?

so if anyone was winning here, it was her. and her prize was‍—