Weighing my options, I moved the shard from Jessie’s throat to her hand, slashing it several times.
Blood flowed freely from her hand.
“Linda, consider this a warning – stay out of my family’s business! I’ll agree to the match, but you won’t touch a single cent of the wedding expenses! Otherwise…”
I made a slashing motion across my neck.
The look on her face was priceless – frustrated, but unable to do anything about it. What a satisfying sight!
A few days later, Jessie, with her hands still bandaged, took me to meet the match.
The man waiting wasn’t a stranger.
It was Gary Allen, the very man who had beaten me to death in my past life.
We had gone to high school together. He was the epitome of a spoiled rich kid, arrogant and unbearable.
His family donated a building to the school, so he strutted around like he owned the place.
But even someone as obnoxious as him had a weakness – a girlfriend. He dated the school’s beauty queen, though their relationship was tumultuous, filled with constant arguments.
Once, while I was cleaning the rooftop, I witnessed his girlfriend slapping him and threatening to break up.
Gary caught sight of me staring, mouth agape, and shot me a death glare, warning me that if I said a word, I’d regret it.
Later, while getting water during a break, I accidentally bumped into him.
Before I knew what was happening, Gary kicked me in the stomach, sending me tumbling down the stairs. He didn’t even stop, just kept chasing after his girlfriend.
I curled up on the ground, clutching my stomach, when two male classmates dragged me to the boys’ bathroom.
Gary, leaning against the sink with a lit cigarette, barked, “You made my girlfriend think I was cheating. You’ll pay for that.”
He grabbed my hair, holding the cigarette dangerously close to my face, my long hair catching fire instantly.
I begged him to stop, but it only seemed to excite him more. Just as the flames licked at my face, he doused me with cold water from the sink, leaving me shivering and soaked.
This happened several times, each incident worse than the last.
Whenever he was in a bad mood, he would take it out on me, torturing me to make himself feel better.
When he wasn’t locking me in classrooms overnight, he was spreading vile rumors about me.
The worst was when he and a group of boys stripped me and took photos. My father had to call the police to break down the door and rescue me.