The moment we were in position the tension around us rose, everyone waiting with bated breath for the first punch to be thrown. Remembering what had happened last time, and not wanting to be put on the back foot, I immediately took the lead, stepping forward and throwing the first punch. My left hook flew cleanly towards him, incomparable to the wild flail of a punch I threw last time in my panicked and half-delirious state.
Clearly not expecting me to throw the first punch, Matthew stood in shock, only reacting once my punch was less than a foot away. Unfortunately, that was still enough time for him to madly backpedal away to safety. However, seeing I had him panicked, I kept up the pressure, charging forward and throwing out an array of jabs, straights and hooks. As I did so, I could feel as my punches got sharper and cleaner the more the fight progressed, the years I spent fighting as a child all coming back to me. Eventually, after continuously blocking and dodging every punch I threw, whether it was skill or just plain luck, one of them finally managed to slip through Matthew's defence. A loud groan could be heard as my fist smashed into his nose with as much force as I could manage, causing him to fall to the ground with a heavy thump.
In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Matthew placed his hand up to his nose and saw the small droplets of crimson blood now upon it. The audience soon exploded into a cacophony of noise, not having expected the fight to have gone in such a direction. I looked around, high on adrenaline, and caught a glimpse of Helen and Sam's reaction from behind me. Reactions that left me almost bursting into laughter upon first glance. The way their eyebrows reached the ceiling and their mouths dropped to the floor was one of the funniest things I had seen in a while.
As I brought my attention back to the fight, I immediately wanted to take advantage of this sudden lull, to keep the upper hand and continue applying the pressure. But before I could, I saw the way Matthew's eyes changed. No longer did he appear so easygoing and flippant. No, that had all been replaced with a steely seriousness reflected in his eyes and a burning anger shown in the heaving of his chest and the muted growls he released.
Before I had any chance to react, he lunged towards me at a frightening pace, slamming one of his powerful fists into my sternum and causing my entire body to cave in on itself. It felt as if I had just been hit by a wrecking ball. My ribs creaked and groaned, feeling on the verge of snapping. My lungs squashed flat with all air forced out with a ragged wheeze. My chest exploded in pain. Yet Matthew didn't stop, continuing to pile on the punches wherever he could: stomach, chest, arms, face, no area was safe from his onslaught. Every cell in my body screamed for mercy, a mercy I was not given.
My arms were up in a vague attempt of defence, a defence that was continuously pushed aside, treated as more of a nuisance than an actual guard. Fighting through the pain and unsure what to do next, I did my best to look up and face him, seeing that god-forsaken smirk painted on his face, curled in unsaid mockery and contempt.
The moment I saw that smirk, it was like I was teleported back through the last few years. How Matthew would always show that irritating smirk as he mocked, humiliated and belittled me whenever he had the chance. I thought about how much I despised him, how he made my life miserable at every chance he got. And then I thought of how he was punished. A big house, loving parents, everyone at school treating him as if he was a fucking king!
And what about myself? A rundown shack for a home. A dad I rarely saw nor talked to and an entire student body treating me like an outcast. But was that enough? No. Despite wanting to live a peaceful life I now found myself sentenced to fucking death before I even reached adulthood! While Matthew got to do whatever the fuck they wanted.
In the face of such injustice, my brain was suddenly overrun with an onset of rabid anger, a fiery cascade of rage all directed towards Matthew and that irksome smirk. Ignoring the excruciating pain I felt and the rain of fists still being thrown my way, I all but threw myself forward, regardless of the protests my quivering muscles and lungs made, and collided head-first into Matthew's stomach. An exclaimed gasp was all I heard before I felt myself fall to the floor along with Matthew, landing on top of his collapsed form.
Having learnt my lesson, without giving him time to react as he lay down puzzled, I sat upon his chest, pinning his upper arms to the floor as tightly as possible and began thrashing my arms against him. No technique or skill, just pure, uncontrolled strength. I watched with maddened glee as my fists pummelled against his face, making him hiss and wince in pain with every punch. The crunching of bones and the pitiful wails he released were like music to my ears, doing nothing more than to spur me on.
Finally, after close to a minute of pummeling, his body, which had been writhing around tirelessly in a vain attempt to escape, started to slow, along with the strength and speed of his thrashing and swings. His moans became more and more frail and scared with each passing second, almost sounding childlike in nature. Yet, even still, I didn't stop.
My fists never faltered, striking true with every punch. Smashing away any meagre resistance Matthew still had until there was simply no more defence to be seen. Still, I continued attacking. Even as his body stilled, his whines ceased, and his face became blank, no longer scrunched up in pain and agony, I continued to throw punch after punch. I was too overcome in my anger to stop, my anger at Matthew, my situation, everything, and so I let it out the only way I could, revelling in the sense of power and control I felt. Something I hadn't felt in a very long time.
The audience around us, which until this point had been filled with a constant stream of cheers and shouts, started to lessen. The cheering quickly replaced with panicked murmurs as they all looked at one another, wondering if someone should try to intervene before anything went too far. None of them did. And so I continued, my hands a bright red at this point, covered in Matthew's viscous blood, hiding the bruising and swelling that were already there. However, it was then, suddenly out of nowhere, that I felt a pair of thick arms firmly grasp me from behind, forcefully yanking me away from the now-unconscious Matthew.
Still lost in the anger-filled haze clouding my mind, I thrashed against the new restraints around like a deranged animal. Whether that was to escape or to continue attacking Matthew, I wasn't sure. At that point I was moving only on instincts, all rational thought having been lost. It was only when I heard the familiar voice of Sam behind me, telling me, begging me, to stop and to calm down, that my actions started to cease.
The moment I finally came to a stop all the energy I possessed disappeared. Replaced with an onset of deep exhaustion that permeated into my lead-filled bones and seemed to physically weigh me down. My lungs burnt with every shallow breath I took, putting me on the verge of passing out. When I looked behind me at Sam, who still had his arms caged around me in his embrace, I saw him looking at me with no small amount of trepidation and worry.
"Adam? You alright pal?" He asked nervously.
I didn't respond, too busy taking in what happened. It felt as if I had been possessed, as if I hadn't been in control. I looked around at the sea of faces surrounding and staring at me. I was used to people staring, staring in disgust, in ridicule, but never as they were now, in fear. The way their wide eyes would look down wherever we made eye contact. How they inched away from me whenever I faced in their direction. I spotted Steven standing near the front, not too far away, his eyes stuck to the floor, away from my own. It was at that moment that I felt a sense of power I had never felt before. And I loved it.
I remembered the feeling of being on top of Matthew, the pleading gaze he held as he was at my mercy for a change, powerless to stop me and resigned to the continued attack I unleashed. Thinking of Matthew I looked over to see his body still unmoving on the floor. His face was caked in an obscene amount of blood and, if not for the slight rising of his chest, looking dead to the world.
"Fucking hell! Did I really do that?" I asked in surprise, an undertone of giddiness to my voice as I looked at the damage I was able to do. Before Sam could respond, loud yelling could be heard coming from the entrance of the cafeteria.
"What in the bloody hell is going on? All of you move! Move!" Bellowed a loud and authoritative voice. A voice I recognised as belonging to Mr. Lycett, a prominent teacher at the school. And true to my thoughts, only a couple seconds later, a heavy-set man plodded into view, barreling through the onlooking crowd and into the open space where the fight had taken place. Seeing the current situation, his face, which at that point had been scrunched up in a permanent scowl accompanied by a bright red sheen and a scattering of sweat along his brow, turned to one of horror as he saw the state of Matthew lying on the floor.
"Dear God! What the hell happened here!" he yelled in panic, his voice an earth-shaking howl able to be heard for miles.
Everyone's eyes turned to me, yet not one of them said a word. A small smile appeared on my face at the palpable fear and tension every student was showing; the feeling of power I felt like a drug I could never get enough of. Mr. Lycett followed their gaze, turning in my direction, an angry and stern expression plastered on his face.
"Were you involved in this?" He asked loudly. A stupid question considering the state I was in. My fists and clothing were coated in blood and a variety of bruises along my face were already swelling in size.
"Yes sir. We had a fight." I replied calmly, stating the obvious.
"I can see that!"
"Then maybe don't ask such stupid questions." I said dismissively, too high on adrenaline from finally beating Matthew to care about the consequences of what I said.
Mr. Lycett stilled, his massive frame no longer wobbling in motion and accompanying his exaggerated movements as he processed what I had said. A couple of seconds later his face went an even brighter red, if that was possible. His breathing became ragged and his chest heaved as he worked himself into a fit of anger.
"Get up now boy! You're coming with me to the headmistress!"
Despite the apparent threat, I felt nothing, my emotions in a state of complete disarray. I simply stood up and waited for Mr. Lycee's instructions, ignoring the continued stares of everyone around. I looked at Sam, who was still kneeling on the floor from where he had subdued me, and flashed him a reassuring smile. Or at least my best attempt at one.
While looking at Sam I remembered Helen. I quickly turned around and spotted her, along with Susan, only a short distance away. Yet the moment I saw her face, it was as if I had swallowed a pit of ice. All the excitement, glee and adrenaline I felt were extinguished in an instant as I witnessed her expression of disgust and horror as she gazed upon me. My blood ran cold. My cockiness and exuberance over victory vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving me in a state of complete exhaustion as the adrenaline fled my system.
It was in this state that I was shepherded along out of the cafeteria and towards the headmistress's office by Mr. Lycee, only snapping from my stupor as we reached the end of the final corridor and came to a stop, arriving at her office. Mr. Lycee stepped up to knock on the door. The loud banging of his meaty fist rang down the desolate hallway I was in.
We waited by the door for over a minute in silence. Without the euphoric feeling of victory clouding my mind, I was finally able to think about the consequences of my actions. My mind was suddenly filled with the various punishments I could be given. Ranging from detention all the way to criminal charges for assault. I hadn't a clue what it would be.
Suddenly, a woman's voice, cold and authoritative, drifted through the door in front. "Come in."
"Stand over there and don't you dare move!" Mr. Lycee ordered in a voice dipped in loathing as he pointed along the side of the wall before quickly entering the door and shutting it firmly behind him.
As I shuffled next to the door I did my best to overhear what was being said. Unfortunately, only the sound of muffled murmurings could be heard, with Mr. Lycee's murmuring getting progressively louder as the conversation went on. What I expected to be only a short talk before I was forced into the conversation ended up lasting longer and longer, going from one minute to five, five minutes to ten, ten minutes to thirty.
After almost an hour of waiting my legs were begging for rest, the muscles aching and spasming with every second they held my tired body up. I wondered whether this was due to exhaustion from the fight or my debilitating condition. Either way, I soon began wheezing in struggle as the minutes continued to pass slowly. Throughout my wait, the once-barren corridors soon sprung to life with students charging past on their way to class as the lunch break ended, each of them giving me and my blood-soaked figure a multitude of pointed stares and whispers. Just as I felt my patience thinning and thought I was about to collapse into a heap on the floor, the door finally opened. The voice of the stern woman I heard before drifting out again.
"Mr. Collins. You may enter now."
A sense of relief and trepidation hit me all at once, relief that I would hopefully be given a chance to sit down and trepidation over what this conversion would entail. Thankfully, over the past hour, with not much else to do, I had the chance to calm down and truly consider what my punishment could be. I realised it would most likely be only a few detentions or a suspension at worst. After all, we both agreed to the fight, and we were both injured, so I doubted I could be charged with anything serious like assault, regardless of the damage I did. With those thoughts in mind, I squared my shoulders, held my head high, took a deep breath, or as deep of a breath as I could manage, and walked into the headmistress's office.