Pull Out My Insides

English class starts and a few seconds later, Zara stumbles in, red-faced and eyes glassy. She'd been crying. The other people in the class catch her face in their greedy, ignorant eyes and turn, whispering to their friends with words that they don't deserve to speak; a name their mouths don't deserve to think. A girl they don't deserve to think about.

Her already red face turns even redder with embarrassment and she sits in a free seat in the very back of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially me. Well, who can blame her? Certainly not me. Especially with what I did to her. For the rest of the day, although I'm sure that Zara can sense my miserable eyes staring a hole through her head, she doesn't look up even once. The only time that she shows any sign of living is when the bell rings and she shoots up, nearly running out of the room, leaving me sighing after her small, retreating figure.

As lunch approaches, I sit with Neva and the others, deciding that I shouldn't sit where I usually do. I don't belong there without Zara. Neva and the other jabber along, congratulating me and making fun of Zara. But I don't notice. I'm too busy staring at the one whose life I ruined. The one whose tears fell because of me.

A few hours later, I'm hanging out at the park before I'm supposed to leave for my job, just sitting there and sulking, being all mopey and such. And then, all of a sudden, a somewhat familiar figure comes storming up to me.

"Andrew?" I ask confusedly.

He just nods with anger in his eyes, fists balled.

"You hurt my sister," he whispers, fury seeping out of his eyes and ears.

"I know, and I want to make it better, but I can't because she'd never listen to me," I say, hanging my head.

But it doesn't faze him at all. He just shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter, you asshole. You hurt my sister. So I have to hurt you," he spits bitterly.

And before I can my brain can form a question, his fist meets my jaw.