You Hurt Me Too Much

• India Culey, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2020

It didn’t take her long to spot the difference.
Just a slight drag of the feet, a few white lines tracing down the pale, slender limbs. She brushed it off as nothing, a trick of the light, an error of the mind. Dismissal chased her concerns away; fleeing noiselessly, they were like rabbits to the lioness.
It was too easy to go about her day, as if nothing was different. His chin still seemed to have its arrogant tilt, mocking her. Daring her to give up because of a fleeting conflict. No, she wasn’t going to do that. She had fought so long for power and strength; she was too stubborn to give that up.
His dry, brittle hair, the dead light in his eyes, asked her if what she was doing was wrong. She didn’t listen. She wouldn’t listen.
It felt right to feel that thud that gave her power, to hear that whimper that gave her confidence. It wasn’t right to ask if he was okay.
So day after day, no matter where he hid, she found him, and she hurt him, for the way he looked at her friends, scorning them for their gossip and lip gloss, for the way he never seemed to care how he looked, for the way he always beat her in every assignment, for the way his family came to pick him up each day smiling proudly at their pathetic son. It was easy and it was satisfying, and if she ever felt any qualms, well, no one else seemed to feel them. None of the watching faces, none of her giggling friends, none of the apathetic teachers.
But one day she couldn’t find him.
Somehow she didn’t think he was at school. She told a teacher, then phone calls and car doors slamming and people racing frantically. How could this be happening, now? She didn’t think he actually cared; she didn’t mean for it to go this far.
Even as they finally found the place he had chosen, even as they arrived, siren’s blaring, it was too late. A piece of unwanted trash, he fell. Too fast, too fast, the ground reached up to catch him. Too slow, too slow, she ran to reach him first.
Her breath came raggedly as she ran, disbelieving. Broken and battered, the body lay crumpled on the ground. In her head, it was some unwanted plaything, not a boy. She ran over to it, to the not-boy.
His mouth opened reflexively, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Even as the paramedics gathered around to help, telling her to move away, let them through, he seemed to be mocking her. A quiet whisper sat like snowflakes on his tongue. She leaned in, and the words, like ice and daggers, bit freezing into her soul.
“You hurt me too much.”