Of all the things I expected to happen, getting attacked by a middle school girl in a Gun N’ Roses hoodie wielding skateboard was not one of them. To make things worse my pants were still full of shit, I really needed to do something about that.
I was lucky in that she was hitting me with the flat side, as opposed to the side with the wheels. I imagined those would hurt more, not that I wanted to find out. Her first thwack hit me across the face with a solid crunch of my nose breaking.
This sent me flat on my back, and she continued her attack by smacking me across the ribs a couple of times. I caught a hold of the damn thing after the fourth smack and used the leverage to shove her to the ground. At which point I tried to subdue her.
I am not proud to say that over the next few minutes of grappling I punched her in the face, repeatedly. I finally got her pinned to the ground with one hand on her neck and my knees on her arms. I used my other hand to see how bad the bite on my neck was. It along with my nose was bleeding freely but felt more cosmetic than dangerous.
“Stawp trwying tw kwll me,” Look my nose is broken, and I bit my tongue at some point.
She paused her struggles and trying to bite my to sniff the air. “Did you shit yourself?” Looking down in horror at how I was positioned over her.
“I wws dewth, dewth peoplwles shit thwemswlwvs.” With the not dead adrenaline quickly running out my nose was starting to hurt. I was also dripping blood on her hoodie, a fact that I refused to feel bad about. “Lowk, I’wl let yow wp awd twake a shower, awd yow’ll nwt throw thw twoster at mw, dweal?”
“Deal, just get off of me.”
I did so and fled to the bathroom without looking back. I had always wondered why my bathroom came with a deadbolt, as well as with every other door in the house. I was thankful for it now, along with how cheap I got the place.
The lack of the sound of things breaking in my room was comforting, as I stripped. My pants and underwear went into a trash bag to be disposed of discreetly. The look I got of myself in the mirror was not pretty. I was bleeding freely from my nose and neck, I had scratches down my side, and several bruises forming down my ribs.
A shower, several cycles of lathering up, rinsing off, trying not to scream when soap got into my wounds, and I felt almost clean. The laughs from the other side of the door said I failed on the not screaming bit. Fuck her, soap stings.
My knowledge of broken noses comes from T.V. and books. So I grabbed the tip and pulled hard. Fuck T.V. and books, seriously fuck them. “Did you die? If so float through the door.” She shouted from my bedroom. I didn’t die; I did break the cheap plastic stuff that lines my shower, with my head.
“Fuck you,” I shouted back.
I ventured back into my bedroom wearing a shower robe I had stolen from a hotel a couple years back. Don’t judge me, it’s fuzzy and comfortable. She wasn’t there, which was good because I needed access to the first aid kit in my closet.
She came in and did her best not to laugh as I tried to clean the bit. By tried not to laugh I mean she was giggling the whole time. “Fucking sadist.”
“I, don’t actually know what that means.”
I tried to get a better look at her while blinking the tears out of my eyes. She did look like a middle schooler, probably not older than fourteen. Her short hair was dyed a dark red, and she had blue eyes. She had taken the hoodie off, and I saw something truly disturbing. “Are you wearing a Justin Bieber shirt?”
“Were you wearing a goddamned Justin Bieber shirt under a Gun N’ Roses hoodie?”
“You have no idea how much respect I just lost for you, go put your hoodie back on.”
“Can’t it’s soaking in your sink, you should do something about your room.” She wasn’t wrong, there was blood splatter on my carpet, and the floor between it and my bathroom.
“Well I was going to throw that carpet out anyways, could you grab some baby wipes from the kitchen?”
“It’s a throw rug, not a carpet.” She said as she went looking for the baby wipes.
“Fuck you,” I said as I finally got the gauze bandage onto the bite. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me anymore? And being helpful?”
“I texted the big man, and he said to play nice. Also, he wants to see you.”
“Fuck that, I’ve got work.” I did, I was already late. A quick check of my phone showed three missed messages. It was probably ok, I wasn’t in danger of getting fired. It isn’t bragging for me to say I’m one of the few people who can find their ass at the help desk.
“Good thing you have an evening meeting then,” she said as she threw the package of baby wipes at me. “Dude is busy, I’m amazed you got a meeting this week. Garden View Mortuary, nine o’clock, don’t be late.” Message delivered she stalked out of my house, slamming the door as loud as she could.
I was left with trying to clean up the blood in my room, which wasn’t too bad. Sticking my throw rug, fuck her, in a trash bag. Before finally getting to the bathroom, it wasn’t pretty now that I wasn’t high on the drugs my dead body had released. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Blood on the floor, on the walls, in the sink, a head-shaped hole in the shower. How the bloody hell had I managed all that? I still had to go to work today as well.