!Mature Warning - Violence!

Our interactions were kept short. For the whole first week, Angel kept reminding me about class, just like he did in the beginning, but after a while, I stopped answering. He also stopped talking to me, which I was glad about. As he was getting ready to class, I started my morning workout by going for a run on the school grounds. 

Luckily, they were big enough to make a decent route, and I felt a lot better after running for some time every day. In the afternoon I usually went to the city and ate there, even though we had a cafeteria here, but I needed to be alone sometimes. I usually spent most of my day outside of my room, so I had no chance to socialise with my roommate. Not that I wanted to in the first place.

It was fun to explore the school buildings. There were a lot of rooms, none of my old schools had. A big part of the third floor was exclusive to the music department of the school. Every time I went by, I could hear people playing an instrument. Sometimes it was a guitar, sometimes a piano. Even though I was still me, I could enjoy classical music, if it was played well. 

I never went out of my way to visit a concert or something, I just didn’t hate it. Every time I crossed the third floor, I took my time to judge the abilities of the person playing, even though I knew nothing about music at all. It still was the most fun thing I could do on my own in this building. I never heard Misha, I actually remembered his name, play, though, so I was kind of curious about his skills.

Today was Wednesday of my second week in hell. I’ve not been to class once. The principal didn’t bother to discipline me about it, even though I was sure, he knew from the teachers. It was alright for me, though. I was relieved to know that not every step of mine was supervised. 

After a full week of being here, I felt my irritation overwhelming me more often as time went on. I usually just clicked my tongue at Angel, when he did something annoying - like, open his mouth. Yet, there was one time on Saturday that he spent talking to his friends in the door frame when I snapped and slammed my fist against the wall next to my bed. After that, they quickly left, my hand hurt, but the wall was fine. 

I also growled at him or anyone that came across me more often. My mood got worse and worse. Angel, I liked to call him that, tried his best to stay invisible to me after that. His reminders of class stopped, he never met his friends in our room again, and he tried to not even look at me anymore.

My headphones were the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, they gave me a short rest from all the noisiness in the world. It should have been enough to lower my temper, but it wasn’t. I wanted to punch something, I wanted to get all of the frustration out of my system, so I went into the city again today and tried to calm down a bit. 

There was no gym around which let high schoolers in, without the approval of a parent, which means no punching bag for me. I walked around the city into a small alleyway, searching for a way to vent my anger when a stranger bumped into me. He and his group seemed to be a few years older than me and reeked of alcohol. Disgusting. My headphones, which had been on my head, fell to the floor because of the collision. Just as I was about to bend down and grab them, I heard his voice.

“Tsk kid, watch where you’re going or else,” the man slurred grinning, even though he was obviously the one not paying enough attention. The 4 drunks around him started laughing as well.

“Or else, what?” I retorted in a monotonous voice.

His smile faltered, slightly confused he looked to his buddies who were equally surprised that someone would not bow at their presence.

“You brat!” the man, I’ll call him guy 1, spat, taking a step towards me and stepping on my headphones in the process. I heard them crash below his weight and cringed internally. Now I was mad. He did not just destroy my headphones, did he? He looked to his feet, grinning again while raising his arm. Before he could throw a punch, though, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to the ground with a kick to his legs. “Argh!” His reactions were slow, probably due to the alcohol in his system.

As soon as he lay on the ground, his remaining friends realized what was happening and came onto me. Who needs punching bags in the gym when I can have breathing ones right here? This time, two of them started attacking at the same time, while the other ones tried helping the floor guy. I dodged the fist from guy 2, kicking my leg across the floor at the same time, over which the other one, guy 3, stumbled and quickly fell to the floor as well. I watched him lying there and snorted, missing that one of the two helpers, number 4, came as backup up to my unsecured side. At the moment I turned around to face them, I felt his fist colliding with my cheek, sending a sharp pain through my head and making it spin a bit. It wouldn’t be fun if they were too easy, right? I stumbled back a few steps, but regained control quickly and attacked the two men in front of me, tackling them with my whole body, while throwing punches at them until their faces also kissed the asphalt below.

Unfortunately, they also landed a punch here and there, but their drunken moves were nothing in comparison to mine. I noticed movement from the corner of my eye, but before guy 3 could stand up again, I kicked him right into his abdomen, which was enough to make him throw up his food. I cringed in disgust. Looking ahead, I saw guy 1 getting up again with the help of the only one that was still well. Both came running at me, swearing under their breath. I grabbed guy 1’s fist again, when he tried punching me and pushed him back, which made him collide with the other one right behind him, sending both to the floor. Does he not learn from his mistakes? The head of the one, who was uninjured just a second ago, hit the floor hard, and his body was crushed by the first guy. This one still didn’t have enough and tried to get up. I knelt, pushing him down and putting all of my anger and defeats into the punches I send to his head.

I lost count of how many it had been, and was only put out of my trance by a voice from above, “What’s going on down there?”

I stopped my fists and looked at the man below me. His face was smeared with blood, and he was breathing heavily. Two of his companions looked at me shocked or disgusted or both while one ran away already and the one that puked before was still unconscious. I looked up and saw an older lady looking out of her window, all shocked and worried. She probably already called the police or the ambulance, and I didn’t need them to question me or lock me up, so I got up. The second I started moving, the two awake ones flinched, until I turned around and left them behind.

“Stop, young man!” I heard the female voice screaming behind me. I didn’t stop. I didn’t care.

After a while of walking again, my head slowly cleared, and I started to taste iron. My fists were covered in cuts and blood, and my check stung. I didn’t even know what I looked like right now, but they looked worse. Although it felt good to have finally been able to cope with my pent-up frustration, my headphones were gone, and I was exposed to all of the noise in the city. It was the first time I craved the quietness of the room in hell.