NOTE

This is not a lesbian abuse fic. This first chapter will be the most extreme content of the entire story (probably). There will be no depictions of sexual intercourse.

END NOTE

"Oh my god, it's Taylor!"

We doused the bitch with our drinks.

The three of us crowded the open stall door. Taylor was kneeling in a puddle of everything we had thrown at her. She looked up at us... juice dripped down her face, soaked through her hoodie, and matted her hair to her head. It was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. She turned her gaze down to the floor while we laughed. Typical. She never fought. She never yelled. Doormats were made for wiping your feet on.

Emma and Madison made to leave the bathroom, but they stopped when I lingered at the stall.

"Sophia, are you coming?" Emma looked back and asked.

"In a minute."

I squatted down on my heels so that I was level with Miss Juicy. She was on her knees, hunched with her head down cast and arms crossed over herself. She was the very image of submission. I saw her glasses clutched in one hand and tried to yank them away from her. When she briefly held onto them, I used my free hand to give her hair a sharp pull. She let go quick.

I huffed a small laugh. The glasses were dripping wet and of a style that looked like something a librarian would wear. Taylor still didn't look at me, and she flinched at the sound her glasses made when I snapped them in half. I let the two halves clatter to the floor.

Taylor slowly brought her head up, eyes wide and mouth parted open, and subtly shaking. I stood back up to my full height and gave her my best grin.

"Just like Mommy's flute."

I turned to leave but found myself stuck in place. Taylor had latched onto my leg at the knee. I grabbed her hair with one hand and raised my other to knock her over the head. But she quickly got one foot, and then the other, underneath her and, as she stood, forced her shoulder into my waistline while still pulling my leg close to her body.

My head cracked on the bathroom tile as I fell backwards. It hurt bad, but it was a lucky impact. I was fine. But then the bitch was on me.

She was sloppy. She had enough presence of mind to actually mount me so as to limit my movement, but most of her blows were frantic, with little impact and not even closed fisted. Working with my back flat against the floor, I gained control of one of her wrists and held it away from us. Using my free hand I posted my forearm against her neck. My hips bucked and I tipped her off of me.

We both scrambled and briefly struggled on our knees. I had maintained my grip on her wrist and used it to try and yank her off balance. She tipped over sideways and tried to scamper away to put distance between us. When I grabbed for her legs, she lifted one foot and slammed her heel into my face.

That one made my vision go dark for a second. Taylor scooted away backwards on her butt until her back was to a corner of the bathroom, and then she stood up. I stifled a grunt and got to my feet.

"Sophia?" I could hear the surprise and concern in Emma's voice. It pissed me off.

"Wait outside."

Madison started forward, "But we ca-."

"Go! Now!"

I turned my head to glare at the two girls. Madison looked about ready to protest again, but Emma pulled her by the arm and made to leave the bathroom. Emma briefly made eye contact with me before the both of them disappeared behind the swinging door.

Emma was in charge of our group. Emma was pretty much in charge of our whole class. She was the queen bee, or queen bitch. But I was in charge of Emma.

Then it was just me and her. Predator and prey. But Taylor did not exactly look like prey. She was tall… and she looked right at me. I could not remember the last time I saw her when she was not slouched with her eyes downcast. Her eyes were wide open now. She was scared, I was certain, but she was also furious. Deep breaths came with the rise and fall of her chest. When she lifted her hands and closed them into fists, I figured she must have wanted at me almost as much as I wanted at her. Almost.

It was me that closed the distance between us. Taylor's fighting stance was hardly a stance at all. I stepped in and feinted a punch with a dramatic tell. When she raised both hands to cover her head, I smirked, and then grabbed hold of both her wrists to use as leverage as I drove my knee into her abdomen.

She let out an involuntary noise, a mix between a whimper and an "oof." Before I set my foot back down she pushed me off balance. I let go and stumbled back but remained upright.

Taylor winced and cradled her midsection. Her teeth were bared and her eyes were watery. After the juice in her face, after losing her glasses, after that knee, I wondered how well she could see. I opened my mouth to taunt her, but she chose that instant to charge at me. She wound up to punch high towards my face, and I leaned back in anticipation. But she had faked the punch, and then she lifted her foot and kicked me straight in the stomach.

It didn't really hurt. Taylor's kick was more of a push with her foot. Again I found myself stumbling backwards off balance. This time, my backstepping foot crunched something that crinkled and rolled. I went down on the floor and banged the shit out of my elbow. Looking around, I saw that I had stepped on one of the discarded drink bottles. Another bottle was crunched under my butt. The bottles had been dropped within the confines of the bathroom stall. How the hell had they moved to the middle of the bathroom floor?

A third bottle lay right next to me, which I grabbed and flung at Taylor. She raised a hand to block it out of reaction, but the bottle went wide and missed her. It was obvious that she didn't know what she was doing. She had no experience in a fight, no impulse to follow up on a downed opponent. She should have rushed in to kick me in the face and stomp on my hands as soon as I hit the floor. It was unfortunate for her that I was done playing and mocking.

I jumped to my feet and adopted a proper stance with one leg forward. The pain in my elbow, and the humiliation at being knocked down twice, fueled my rage. Taylor looked like a deer caught in headlights as I squared up to her. She held her hands out, palms perpendicular, to try and push away whatever I would throw. So I swung my rear leg around and slammed it into the side of her leg. Anyone on the receiving end of a leg kick can attest that they hurt. They will also admit to being utterly shocked that their leg can be in that much pain. Taylor's open mouth and sharp intake of breath seemed to prove as much.

The battered leg wobbled underneath Taylor, and a stiff jab from my lead hand landed right below her nose and put her on the floor. A quick kick to the ribs ruined her attempt to catch herself, and then I followed her down and secured a dominant top position. I straddled her waist and hooked the backs of my calves behind her knees, and then leaned forward so that our bodies were near parallel and pressed together. I used my left hand to control her right wrist, and pressed down on her neck with my right forearm. On her back, having almost my entire weight pressing down on her chest, and with pressure on her throat, would quickly lead her into exhaustion.

We stayed like that while I pressed down and let her try and fail to thrash her way out. Taylor was hitting the side and back of my head with her free hand, but failed to hurt me off of her back with no leverage. After a few moments of struggling, she settled. I let go of her right hand with the intention of posting up off the floor with one hand and bashing her brains in with the other. But she had feigned exhaustion. When I released her hand and made some space between us, she jerked her arm across and bashed her elbow into my eye. Little pinpricks of light danced around as my vision very briefly went dark. Then the lights and darkness gave way to the color red.

Taylor tried scurrying out from under me and nearly managed it, but I had her legs trapped between mine. With a deep breath I clawed my way back over her body, and then I reared up and slammed my elbow into her abdomen, right over the solar plexus. She wheezed, and I continued battering her middle with elbows and punches with little decorum for technique.

After several hits, Taylor curled into herself and stopped trying to fight. My blows stopped, and I just breathed for a moment and listened to my prey quietly cry. She was done. But I wasn't.

I flattened her out again and pinned both her hands over her head with only one of mine. Her head was turned to the side with eyes tightly squeezed shut. Her breath was ragged. My free hand roughly grabbed her by the chin and turned her head to face me. She wouldn't open her eyes. My hand moved to her throat and squeezed.

"Look at me!"

The helpless girl gasped, and her eyes shot open. There it was… fear… and submission. Dominating the weak was the natural order of things. I have never felt this measure of control. I'd beaten people before. As Shadow Stalker I had captured people, shot them, stabbed them, maimed them… killed them.

But this was different. My heart was pounding; I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. I lessened the squeeze on her throat but kept my hand there. Her erratic heartbeat fluttered against my fingertips along the side of her neck. Her body was hot from exertion, and the bodyheat radiating from her neck and out the top of her hoodie was burning my hand and wrist. I liked it.

I got close, so that her face and mine were inches apart. It was warmer there. Her dark brown eyes were wide and filled with dread. What am I going to do next? Her breath was warm on my face. I touched one finger to her bottom lip, and then hovered it over her mouth. My finger pushed in and lightly touched her tongue, wet and warm.

I barely had a second to feel the tongue's texture before she bit me. It wasn't a hard bite, but I jerked my finger away and raised my hand to smack her… only I didn't.

I was again captivated by the place against her neck, in the small space between the jaw and collarbone. I felt it again with my hand, and then I put my face there. It was hot. Her heat washed over my face, and when I inhaled, it warmed my lungs. This is my heat now.

I wanted more. I brought my face away from the hot spot and noticed her hoodie for the first time. It was an ugly brown thing, the upper half sticky and soaked through. My hand softly patted over the clothing, along the side of her torso and then across her stomach. There was more heat under there.

My hand went low and pulled up the hoodie, and then the shirt underneath. A squeaky noise of discomfort came from somewhere above. My hand roamed. There was skin, hot skin, and I was surprised to feel the definition of her stomach. Beneath the heat was toned muscle that I traced with fingertips, hot to the touch. I had expected her to be flabby or just skin and bone.

It was hot like touching cookware on a stove. But it wasn't enough. The hand pressed flat against the stomach, then slowly climbed… higher… underneath the clothes. I had expected to encounter another article of clothing, a bra, but there was only more skin. I heard another squeak, and then I found it… there in the middle… the furnace. My hand was burning, and I could have sworn that my skin was melting. A noise, and my eyes locked onto hers. She was breathing short and fast. I was breathing hard and deep, nearly hyperventilating. Those eyes were hurt, accusatory, repulsed.

I might have heard a bell ring, but I wasn't sure.

The bathroom door cracked open just enough for me to hear a rushed, "Sophia, lunch is over. People will be coming this way."

I remembered how she had bitten me. I put my face back in the warm place at her neck, and then I bit. Hard. She screamed and finally started to squirm. I held on long enough to contemplate the taste of sugary juice and then coppery blood. I pushed myself up and away from her, and she skittered back to the corner.

A dark shape caught my eye. It was a single cockroach on the bathroom tile. It must have been right beside me when I was down on the floor. Disgusting. I violently stomped it, and its guts exploded out around my shoe. I figured the bathroom would soon be swarming with bugs due to all the juice and soda that got dumped out.

Taylor Hebert was just like these bugs. Insignificant. I wondered if a similar nasty yellow goop would come out if I squished her.

I made my way to the sinks. My hands were sticky from handling Taylor. In the mirror over the row of sinks, I saw that a trail of blood dripped from my nose, though my nose didn't look broken, and the skin around my left eye had swelled. My hair was wrecked and my clothes were wet and sticky in places. I cleaned myself up.

Before I left the bathroom, I spared one last look at my victim. She was sitting with her back to the corner, knees drawn up and hands over the hot spot at her neck. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Seeing her cower like that was almost enough to send me over the edge again.

"Stand up, worm!"

Taylor flinched and jerked her eyes open. She was afraid. I took one step toward her and stopped when she started to stand. It was obviously difficult, and her legs shook, but she braced against the walls and managed to get to her feet. Tears fell from her eyes and mixed with the sticky mess on her face. She raised her fists. She was ready.

I wanted to laugh… but it wasn't funny. I turned and left the bathroom, leaving the victim alone. Leaving the survivor.

Emma and Madison were shocked at my sorry appearance.

"Did she fight you?" asked Emma.

I didn't answer her and just started walking. They caught up and fell into step with me.

"So what did you do to her?" Madison asked as we left the corridor. "We heard the pig squeal."

"I gave her something to think about."

It was something that I would think about too. Obsessively.