This choice: Maggie the bully punk (20 years old) • Go Back...Chapter #6Maggie the bully punk (20 years old) by: Millie   "Morning nerd!" Maggie's deep, almost-gravelly voice echoed through the hallways of the community college, bouncing off the lockers and causing a few heads to turn in the general direction of the sound. Her heavy boots thudded against the linoleum floor, each step a declaration of war against the mundane.
Her target, a boy named Timmy, had the audacity to look surprised. He was the type that was always surprised, his round spectacles perpetually sliding down his nose as he stumbled through life, his books clutched to his chest as if they were a shield from the world's cruelty. "Maggie," he replied, his voice a squeak.
With a predatory smile, Maggie sailed closer, her eyes raking over him from his messy mop of hair to his worn-out sneakers. "What's in the wallet, Timmy?" she demanded, one hand on her hip, the other twirling a finger through the silver chain that connected to the padlock on her belt.
Timmy's cheeks flushed a deep red, his eyes darting around the hallway, searching for an escape that was not to be found. "M-Maggie, please," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutched his backpack tighter, as if it could somehow protect him from the storm that was Maggie.
Her smile grew wider, more predatory, as she stepped closer, trapping him against the cold metal of a locker. "What's the matter, Timmy?" she purred, her green eyes glinting with amusement. "You don't want to share your lunch money with the queen of the school?" Her fingers danced towards his pocket, nimble and greedy.
Timmy's heart raced, his mouth dry as a desert. He knew better than to resist; Maggie's reputation for cruelty was legendary. With trembling hands, he unzipped his pocket and handed her a crumpled wad of bills and loose change. She snatched it from him, her eyes glittering with triumph. "That's more like it," she said, flipping through the cash. "Always knew you had a generous side."
With a dramatic flourish, she counted out a single dollar bill and slapped it against his cheek. "This is for the floor show," she sneered, her eyes traveling up and down his trembling frame. "And the rest... well, let's just say it's for being such an easy mark." Timmy's cheek stung from the impact, but he didn't dare say a word. Maggie stuffed the rest of the money into her own pocket, the jingle of coins a mocking symphony of his defeat.
With an evil smirk she punch him in the gut, not too hard, just hard enough to make him double over in pain. He gasped for air, his eyes watering as she stepped back, watching his pathetic display with a mix of boredom and satisfaction. "Remember, Timmy," she said, her voice a low growl, "you're not the only one I can take from. You keep your mouth shut, or I'll find something more valuable to take from you." She leaned in, her hot breath ghosting over his ear. "Understood?"
Timmy nodded frantically, his voice a strangled whisper. "Yes, Maggie. I understand."
Maggie's smirk grew into a full-blown grin as she stepped away, leaving him to crumple against the locker. She strutted down the hallway, her hips swaying in time with the thumping bass of a distant heavy metal song, the soundtrack to her conquest. The dollar bill fluttered to the floor, a sad testament to his humiliation. Her long manicured fingernails playing with her long bellybutton piercing.
Entering the bathroom, she didn't bother to acknowledge the gaggle of girls who were already there, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and admiration. The scent of cheap perfume and antiseptic cleanliness assaulted her nose, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she sailed to the farthest stall and lit a cigarette, the flame from the lighter casting eerie shadows on the grimy walls. She took a deep drag, the smoke curling around her like a lover's embrace. The complaints began immediately, a chorus of squeaks and gasps that she ignored with practiced ease.
"Maggie, you can't smoke in here," one of the girls whined, her voice nasally and irritating.
Maggie blew out a ring of smoke, watching it float up to the stained ceiling. "Oh, really?" she drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought the 'No Smoking' sign was just a suggestion for the lesser beings like yourselves."
The girls exchanged nervous glances, their complaints dying down to a murmur. They knew better than to challenge her, especially when she was in this mood—like a caged animal that had just been poked with a stick.
"You're going to get us all in trouble," another one of them dared to whisper, her voice carrying through the echoing bathroom.
Maggie turned, her eyes narrowing to slits as she took another drag from her cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs like a weapon. "And what exactly do you think is going to happen?" she challenged, her voice as smooth as the ink on her skin. She released the smoke through her nose, watching it twirl like a serpent. "You're all going to tell on me?" She stepped out of the stall, her leather boots clacking against the tiles. "Go ahead, run to the Dean. I'll be waiting outside the office, signing autographs."
The girls shrunk back, their whispers fading into the background as Maggie approached the mirror. Her reflection stared back, the flaming wolf tattoo seeming to pulse with the rhythm of her heart. She took a moment to appreciate herself, to revel in the power she held over the trembling masses. Her eyes lingered on the bruise forming on her knuckles from Timmy's wallet—a badge of honor.
"You're all just jealous," she said, her voice carrying through the room without raising its volume. "You wish you had the guts to do what I do. To take what you want without asking." She took another drag, blowing the smoke into the air, watching as it danced in the fluorescent lights. "But you don't. You sit here and gossip, hoping that someone notices you."
The girls fell silent, their eyes cast down to their phones, pretending to be busy. Maggie's words were a knife in their hearts, but they knew she was right. They were the wallflowers, the ones who whispered about her behind her back, but never dared to say a word to her face.
With a final, disdainful look at the trembling girls, Maggie crushed the cigarette butt under her boot and swaggered out of the bathroom. The hallway was empty, the bell for the next class ringing in the distance. She spotted her next victim—a small, bespectacled nerd with acne scars and a backpack that seemed to double his size. His eyes widened in terror when she locked gazes with him, his books slipping from his grasp as he stumbled backward.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" she purred, her eyes alight with mischief. The nerd tried to scuttle away, his glasses askew and his voice high-pitched with fear. "Not so fast, little rabbit," she said, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. He screamed, the sound echoing down the hall like the squeal of a pig at slaughter.
With a rough jerk, she spun him around, her hand coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. His eyes widened even further, and she could see the whites all around his irises. "Maggie, please," he whimpered, his voice barely more than a squeak. The sound of his terror was like music to her ears.
Her grip tightened, and she yanked his underwear out from under his pants, revealing a pair of tighty-whities that had seen better days. The cotton was stained yellow, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Look at you, trying to hide your nerdom with this little getup," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. The fabric was stretched tight over the bulge in his pants, and she gave it a little flick with her finger, watching with sadistic glee as he cringed.
The nerd's face was beet red, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the horror of his situation. "P-please, Maggie," he stuttered, his voice trembling. "I didn't do anything."
Maggie's grin was as wide as the Grand Canyon, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "That's where you're wrong, little rabbit," she said, pulling his underwear even tighter, the fabric digging into his skin. "You exist, and that's enough for me." With a sudden jerk, she released her grip, sending him sprawling to the ground. The fabric snapped back into place, and he let out a yelp of pain.
The nerd lay there, his glasses askew and his face a picture of agony. His books had scattered around him, their pages fluttering in the breeze of his fall. Maggie stepped over him, her boots coming dangerously close to his crotch. "Remember this moment, nerd," she said, her voice a mix of mockery and sweetness that could make a saint swear. "Remember it every time you think about standing up to me. Or maybe just remember to stay out of my way."
With a laugh that was more of a snarl, she sailed down the hallway, leaving the nerd to pick himself up and deal with his bruised ego. The sound of his whimpers followed her like a sad little puppy dog, but she didn't care. She had other things on her mind.
Where is she going?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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