Chapter One - The Monday Morning Paradigm

I like a fruit smoothie on a Monday morning. Particularly refreshing, the perfect way to boost your mood and get a healthy kickstart to the day. I'd go so far as to say I love fruit smoothies.

Not so much when it's hurled from a car window, covering me head to toe with an obnoxious, self-satisfied laugh to accompany. That is not how I want my five a day.

Even if I didn't have the registration plate recorded to memory, I'd still know of the culprit of said attack. There is only one person brave enough to pull a stunt like that, repercussions not considered. So, with that in mind, I'm quite positive that today will be the day I actually get charged with homicide.

I'm going to kill him.

The strange looks I receive as the minced fruit leaves a rather noticeable trail behind me go ignored. I have one thing on my mind. His murder. The crowd parts for me like the ocean did for Moses, a few whispers and laughs in between, though I shoot them a warning glare, scaring them into retreat. They know not to mess with me, more so when I'm covered in a cold, slushy beverage, right through to the bone.

Of course, it's becoming a regularly occurring thing – not the smoothie shower, just the field of blazing red in my vision. Either my tolerance is quick depleting, or he's just becoming more insufferable with each day that passes. This Monday certainly tops.

I barge into the cafeteria and as the crowd falls silent, my sight zones in on one people in particular. The tall, arrogance, smirk wearing bastard that's stood with his friends among the crowd. "You." I seethe, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, my voice reverberating against the white walls. His smirk quickly falters as his eyes land on me, clearly recognising that today, I do not plan on showing any mercy, no matter how much he begs for it. I begin stalking towards him, my hands curled into ready fists because believe me, I'm swinging. "I am going to castrate you with my bare hands." He takes a step back, looking to shield himself behind his friends, but even they don't want to be on my war path today. "I'm going to wear your balls as earrings," I continue.

"Look, Osborne –" He begins.

"I'm not finished!" His face pales. "I'm going to pull out all of your insides and I'm going to strangle you with your intestines."

"Osborne it's really not –" He tries.

I stop, toe to toe, looking up slightly to meet his emerald eyes that swim with fear, offering me a twisted sense of satisfaction. He gulps visibly and my hands itch to throttle him. "I am cold. I am wet. I am going to kill you." He flashes me a nervous half smile and spins, prepared to take off running, but this situation is becoming all too familiar. I tackle him before he's even taken a step forward and then we're on the floor, grappling like a set of children, screaming and shouting over the chaos of the crowd, all of which have their mobile phones out, a sea of cameras battling for the perfect capture of this chaos, their chants of encouragement like those that once sat audience in the coliseum.

There are no rules in our fights. Elijah hits me, I hit him back. I bite Elijah, he pulls my hair. Only today, I'm like a rabid animal; he can hardly get a hit in edgeways. I'm punching, clawing, splashing smoothie everywhere as I flail wildly, scrambling to straddle him so I can get a sweet clean shot of my fist pummelling his face. Only, before I'm granted the sweet relief of justice, I'm grabbed by my waist and being torn away from my victim.

Even restrained, I struggle to get out of the clutches of my capture, spurred further by the mumbling of Elijah, the word 'psycho' ringing in my ears. "I'll show you fucking psycho!" I scream out at him, shrill like a banshee. He scrambles to his feet, raising a tender hand to the pink claw marks across his cheek that glisten with the promise of blood. He and his group of friends watch me with wide eyes. Maybe, when I've finally calmed down, I'll admit that currently, I look insane.

"Settle down Chapstick." A voice coos in my ear. Seb, my friend, but his efforts aren't recognised right now.

"You need to get her on a leash!" Elijah goads, talking past me to the tall boy working tirelessly to restrain me. I go berserk, kicking against Seb's frame, clawing at the arms that are wrapped around my waist in an unbudging manner. "Look at her! She's completely mental." He continues, patting at his flared cheek and wincing for effect.

Seb begins to tug me away, in spite of my unceasing efforts. "Shut up Eli, or I'll let her go." He replies, but I can hear the humour in his tone. Sebastian thinks this is funny, does he?

I send a swift kick to the undercarriage of my dear best friend and he buckles, losing his grasp on me in the process and before Elijah has even registered it, I'm on him again. Only this time, my murderous desires are once more interrupted by a voice bellowing through the cafeteria.

"Miss Osborne! Enough." I roll my tongue over my top lip, licking away smoothie juice that has trailed it's way down my face and begin to climb off of Elijah. Mr Succett, the principle, marches towards us, shaking his head at the scene. "How did I guess?"

The pair of us begin shouting over one another, fighting to have our side of the story heard. Mr Succett says nothing, just watches us turn beet red as we clamber for breath, our words an incoherent mess, as are our clothes which are both equally covered in a berry burst smoothie. "I suggest the pair of you go and find some clothes in lost property and make your way to my office. Now." He orders before spinning on his heel. I cast a glance to my left; Seb, who is still clutching at his little general, his face twisted into a look of agony. To my right, Elijah, who is as equally seething as me.

The pair of us make our way to reception in silence, a tangible tension in the air as our peers throw us curious glances. It does look bad – a pair of seventeen years old in their final year called to the principle's office, yet again. Apparently, we're supposed to be role models, but I completely advocate the violent methods of retaliation to anyone who has a smoothie dumped on them at eight in the morning.

"This is your fault." Elijah grumbles childishly.

"Eat cow shit, Hendrix." I snap back, keeping my narrow stare straight forward, in no mood for his chides.

The lady behind reception hardly raises a brow at the state of us, disappearing into the office before slamming a box of clothes on the desk. "That's all we've got." The pair of us begin to rummage for something, swatting away one another's hands, earning an eyeroll from the receptionist. The pair of us both grasp at a jumper at the same time.

"That's mine." Elijah says.

I begin to theatrically inspect the jumper, my hands still clasped firm to the sleeve. "Funny, I don't see the name 'dickwad' written anywhere." I pull the jumper towards me, but he doesn't let go.

"Listen dwarf, everything else in this box will fit you; I don't plan on prancing around in a sparkly crop top." He snarls, tugging the jumper towards him. Alright, he does have a viable point, but I still can't give him the jumper. I hadn't expected to be doused in a fruit smoothie this morning when I'd decided to wear a loose fitted top and a rather lacy number underneath. Everything in this box seems particularly clinging and while any other day, I'd have no complaints, I'd rather not put my ladies on display.

I narrow my eyes even further, taking a step towards him. "Give. It. To. Me." I seethe.

Elijah takes a step forward so we're hardly inches away from one another. "No."

I grit my teeth and try to appeal to his better nature. "Hendrix. I'm not wearing a proper bra today. Please don't put me on show." My words are barely coherent, strained through my clenched teeth. It doesn't help that I sound as though I'm in pain – which I am: the agony of having to plead.

He smirks, his eyes twinkling. "I noticed. Nice piercing." I flush a violent red, risking a glance down to my torso where the sticky smoothie has only encouraged my top to adhere itself to my body, hence, showing off my breasts in all their prime. He sniggers at my embarrassment. And here I thought I was already completely maxed out today.

I shove my fist into his stomach. I'm met with only a solid rack of abs, much to my dismay, but he concedes and hands me the jumper anyway, mumbling something about how he's ridiculously benevolent. I'd thank him, but other than feeding his ego, it'd do nothing but indebted me to him, which isn't something I'd ever desire to be.

The receptionist lets me run into her office to change. It seems pointless really, considering my hair is still thick with residue and no doubt it'll soon melt all over this jumper. It hangs well down to my knees, the sleeves I have to roll up three times just so my hands can be seen, and I wonder what giant this originally belonged to.

Satisfied with the modesty it offers me, I proceed to peel off my jeans and bunch them up in my arms. Outside, Elijah has only removed his top, leaving him in low hanging pants and a bare chest. I scoff and look him up and down with a disgruntled expression. "Ugh, narcissist."

"Your fault for stealing my jumper." He flashes me a grin and begins to flex his muscles obnoxiously. "Don't pretend all this wasn't a ploy just to get my out of my kit." He chortles.

I grimace and waste no time in melodramatically gagging and pretending to vomit all over the floor. "Hendrix, I'd rather lick piss off of a nettle bush." He rolls his eyes, not at all convinced, and throws a towel he's found over his shoulder.

"Don't pretend. There's never been a girl whose said no." He says with a grin.

"Misogynistic pig." I scowl. The receptionist offers the pair of us a stern look, one that seems rather tired too, and hurries us upstairs towards the principles office.

"If I was misogynistic, I wouldn't like women. Believe me, I love women." He drawls, clicking his tongue with a wink. I stop dead in my tracks and turn to him with a deadpan expression.

"Stop talking or I'll be forced to tear out your tongue." I snap before scurrying off to the principle. I catch the sight of a clock on route: 8:29 am. Huh, new record.

~

Principle Succett's office is lovely. A warm burgundy with dark wood furniture, comfortably cushioned chairs sat opposite his tall back office chair. Pictures strung on the walls of the old school teams to par with the shelves full of trophies from the years we've won.

I say 'we' collectively in terms of the school. I'm not on any of the sports teams; I'm not allowed based on my 'violent tendencies'. It is a topic of my council meetings, though there have been no breakthroughs as of yet.

Mr Succett sits opposite us, a look of complete disapproval written all over his face as his eyes wash over me in my makeshift jumper dress, brown hair twisted into a messy bun on top of my head, still seeping with smoothie residue. Then Elijah (topless) with a towel tinted purple from smoothie over his shoulder. Hendrix looks far too smug, relaxed and laid back, flexing his pecks, purposely I'm sure. He keeps glancing over to me with a harrowing stare, one I reciprocate, earning a tut from our principle. "You guys are nearly adults." He looks at me, unimpressed, arms folded. "I don't expect you to attack a pupil in our cafeteria."

"Sir, I think it was completely justified. He threw a smoothie at me from his car this morning. Unprovoked!" Mr Succett's head turns slightly towards Elijah, seeking his defence.

Elijah edges forwards slightly, waving a hand in my direction. "Last week, she put a firecracker in my car exhaust."

I spin my body, sending smoothie spraying in an arch from my hair. "Because you put a fish carcass in my locker!"

"It was a welcome back gift!" He replies, with the smuggest smirk I have ever seen.

I roll up my sleeves and take to standing. "Oh, I'll give you a gift."

"Enough!" Mr Succett bellows, just as my arm is recoiled, ready to send the best punch of my life. "This needs to stop, or I'll have no option but to expel you both." This simmers me.

I can't afford to be expelled, not if I want to get accepted to university. I sit myself down again, ignoring Elijah's grin. "It'll stop." I say through gritted teeth. There isn't an ounce of sincerity in my tone, but seemingly satisfied, Mr Succett stands. "Can I go shower?"

He nods but as I stand, he stops me. "You'll continue counselling. And a week of evening detentions for the pair of you." Inconvenient, but I'll survive. I nod curtly and turn to leave, followed suit by Elijah who harbours the same expression of disappointment.

Mr Succett can suck it.