You reminded me I hadn't done part four.
Banpole 4 : Growing Pains.
"My, you've grown", my dad said as he picked me up from the train station. "How's your first year at university been?"
He didn't know the half of it.
I had my first fight, I became the champion cat-fighter of the first year, successfully defending my title against some slag from another university, and another slag from Germany. I had my first fuck, which I won after beating the aforementioned German slag.
Oh yeah, and I got my Catpin. Well, actually, Bailey applied for it on my behalf. She presented it to me.
"What is it?"
"Your Catpin. When you win three fights, which you have. You qualify
to wear the Catpin. I applied for it in your name, ‘Beanpole’ ", she grinned.
"What do you do with it? Do you like get ten per cent off at 'Pets at Home'?"
"No, you wear it, and if you see someone else wearing it, you have to fight"
"So, if I show my pin to the shop assistant, I don't get ten per cent off, I get a fight instead? ..."
"..does the winner of the fight get ten per cent off?"
" No", Bailey admitted. I think she realised she hadn't exactly sold me on it. No, she hadn't. But I was enjoying winding her up.
"I don't wanna be fighting in a shop every time I wanna buy something..."
"...anyways..."
"...what's wrong with just saying, 'Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough?' "
"You don't get it, the honour, the competition". Bailey protested.
"Two people try to beat the snot out of each other. Where's the honour in that? What are they gonna be, best friends?" I mocked.
"No, but maybe a newfound respect"
I snorted my disbelief. She looked at me.
"Come on, Beany, we're sisters of the Catpin now..."
"...give us a hug".
None of which I told my dad.
"Yeah. It's been amazing".
I coulda told him. I didn't. Instead, I smiled sweetly and told him all about my dance classes.
On the Saturday I returned, I went out with my school friends, Allie and Claire, to Murphy's club to catch up with everyone from school. We were having a reunion, and honestly, I wanted to show off. At school, I was a tall, gawky, awkward kid. I was ignored most of the time, and when I wasn't ignored, I was bullied. I wanted to prove how much I'd grown. I dressed my best to go. I wore everything Bailey had picked out for me: a tight pair of hot pants —yeah, show those legs, Bailey said — and a yellow tank top that looked too small, hugging me like a spray-on, to highlight my pokies. You don't have much in the way of breasts, but those pokies, they'll be hypnotised, Beany. What really made the difference, I thought, was the way I moved. I was no longer that gawky, awkward kid. I was a proper woman, moving with the sensual grace of a dancer. And yes, I practised those moves before I went.
I looked around the party, and I couldn't say there were that many friends. There were people I knew of. People who never knew I existed. Crap. My heart sank when over in the corner, I saw them: Tweedledee, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber.
I would never have dared to call them that to their faces. I was too scared. Really, they were the three bullies; they were a major reason I disliked my school days. Tweedlee and Tweedledumber were two blue-eyed blondes, and then you had Tweedledumb, who was black haired, brown-eyed, but they were all big girls, some might call them 'fat slags'. I certainly did, but under my breath, when no one was looking. Tweedledumb was the leader, I think. Many's the time she would flush my head down the toilet while those two cheered her on.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
I recognised him, Tweedledumb's boyfriend. What a bellend. He used to egg on his girlfriend when she picked on me. I remembered when, occasionally, when he had to talk to me, his eyes would always look past me. Not looking past me now, are you?
"Who are you? I don't remember you from school, I woulda have remembered someone so beautiful". What a scumbag, in front of his girlfriend, too. I hoped she was watching.
"I'm Melody, Melody Anderson".
"What Beanpole?".
"In person". I smiled as I curtsied, and you could see him opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
So, I reached out, closed it for him, and looked him in the eyes while holding his chin.
"Sorry, I've got a boyfriend; I don't hang around with little boys anymore”. It was a lie, my 'boyfriend' lived in Germany, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story. I pushed him away, and he stumbled.
Fucking yes!
Then I gracefully sashayed back over to my friends with a massive grin on my face. I saw the looks on the faces of Tweedledee, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber sitting by the side, it was fucking priceless. But I knew later, there would be a price to be paid.
Later, I went into the bathroom and guess who was there: Tweedledee, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. They must have been waiting for me. They started going on about who the fuck I think I was, skinny beanpole, making eyes at Tweedledumb's boyfriend.
I listened patiently. There was a time when I would have been afraid. After Sharon, Victoria and that German slag, there was no fear. Instead, I felt a rush, the same feeling as when Gertrude called me that word 'Footsie', and at that moment I realised I'd wanted this all along. Some real payback.
I shut the door behind me and carefully took off my high-heeled shoes; no need to remove jewellery, I wasn't wearing any. I kept my eyes fixed on them the entire time in case they tried to jump me, no need, I don't think they realised at first what I was about to do. Then, with all the bravado I could muster, I beckoned them to come to me.
"Okay, ladies, who's first?".
First up was little Tweedledee, who was the shortest of the group and the loudest. You know those annoying little yappy dogs? Well, she was a little yappy dog in human form. She ran towards me with a yell. I gutted her in the belly with my fist, then my slap dropped her to the floor. She looked up, terrified.
"I'm all grown-up now, little girl".
I stomped my foot down hard on the floor.
At the sound, she covered up and screamed in fright like a little baby, afraid of what I might do.
Then I gave her something to really scream about, as my perfectly executed spinning kick, armada, yes, I had been studying my capoeira, mashed her face, sending spit and drool spraying from her mouth. The force of my kick sent her skidding senseless back into the wall. Lights out. Good night, Yappy.
I turned to look at Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber.
"Who's next?".
Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber nervously looked at each other, and then they smiled. They rushed me together. The little shits.
I did my stomp-kick into Tweedledumber's belly; she doubled up and crashed back into the wall. That just left Tweedledumb and me.
She screamed and rushed me, fists windmilling like crazy as though she was fighting for her very life. Okay, she was, to be fair, I did want to kill her. Some of her punches hit me, but she was fighting crazily; she didn't hit as hard as that German bitch, Petra. I took my time, then swung a haymaker at her chin. The force knocked her back, she stumbled as her legs collapsed under her, and she fell to the ground onto her back.
I stomped her in the belly, and she cried out. I looked up, and Tweedledumber was stirring. A kick, Martelo, to her face stopped that. I returned to Tweedledumb, still lying on the floor. I pulled her head off the floor with one hand and with the other peppered her face with punches until her nose burst and her face looked like hamburger.
Then I stood up to savour my achievement. Tweedledumb was a crying mess, makeup and blood streaking down her face. Stick a fork in her ass and turn her over; she was done, but one more thing for old times' sake.
Dragging her by the hair, I shoved her head into the toilet bowl. I didn't check if anybody had used it before; I didn't give a shit, literally. A lovely image appeared of little Tweedledumb, gagging to speak, her mouth full of a big, fat, juicy turd. I smiled, pushing the daydreams aside, and I flushed, forcing her head into the water. I heard a burbling scream and saw the flailing arms. I flushed again. Her arms still waved uselessly; maybe she screamed, but her mouth was too full of water.
I hauled her dripping head out of the toilet, grabbed my phone and took a couple of snaps, holding her head like a trophy, smiling with the delirious Tweedledumb.
Satisfied, I looked around, taking a couple of more pictures for my personal photo album. Shutting the door behind I waved goodbye as I went back to my friends. We were drinking and reminiscing when three crying bullies ran out of the ladies' room, accompanied by boyfriends, out to, I assume, a waiting car.
"What happened to them?" Allie asked.
"I did", I smiled enigmatically, before giving all the juicy details to my obviously impressed friends. As I drank in their adulation, I realised I wasn't that little girl anymore; I felt I'd put my past behind me.
Not quite. Sometimes they come back.
A few days later, my parents went out, and I was at home watching TV. A car arrived, and a girl got out. I remember her T-shirt with the slogan "Yes, these things are real," the black spray-on shorts, dark hair, dark brown eyes, and tanned skin. She was older than me, brunette, with a flat, bare belly; she clearly worked out, and those big boobs. God, I remember those boobs.
She rang the doorbell. Curious, I answered the door.
She didn't waste any time on small talk.
"Hello, my name's Oneca Montoya. You beat up my little sister and now prepare to be fucked".
With the dark complexion, she must be Tweedledumb’s big sister; never caught Tweedledumb’s name, she must be Spanish. I’m tempted to tell her that I never made her sister eat a turd, but she looks like she’s out for vengeance.
Fuck!
Fuckity, fuckity, Fuck!
My parents were out; they wouldn't be back until tomorrow. It's just me and her. I was desperately trying not to look intimidated.
"And where do you propose this fucking?". I asked, striving for nonchalant.
"Wherever you want. I'll leave the choice of where you're gonna get fucked up to you".
"The woods!" I blurted out. Desperately trying not to show how scared I was.
"Fine", she said. "Your choice, you lead the way...".
" ...you're not one of those fucking Catpiners, are you? "
"No". Well, I'm not. Really.
"Good, can't stand those twats".
I walked to the back of the house, out into the garden, then through the gate to the woods. Mum and Dad's house backed into the woods. I used to play there as a kid. A little way in the there was a clearing, it was quite big, grassy, and more importantly, had no hard surfaces or weapons. She followed behind me in silence. It was getting near sunset, and we cast long shadows as we walked together. There did not seem to be any point in trying to make polite conversation.
When I stopped, she looked around, approvingly she said, "Nice place for a fucking, no spectators. Just you and me sunshine".
"What makes you think you're gonna be the one doing the fucking?"
My heart was beating like bongo drums, but I wasn't backing down. I felt the fear, sure, but there was something else, anticipation.
"Oooh, little tiny tits think she's tough. You're gonna get fucked. That's for sure, but you have a choice; lube or no lube".
"Whatever you say, talking tits", I issued a defiant challenge.
"That's it, no fucking lube", she snarled, cracking her fingers.
I went over it in my head. She was determined to beat me up, so I had two choices: take it or fight. This was just like the situation I was in with Sharon. And I beat her, but she looks tougher. Could I win? I didn’t know. But I also knew that if I didn't fight back, she would beat me up. So really, I had no option but to fight.
And fight fucking hard, I felt my heart doing that crazy jungle drumbeat, under my tank top, I felt my nipples harden.
She removed her phone from her shorts, placing them in her sneakers, with her socks, near a tree that circled our arena. Very businesslike. All my stuff was in the house, but I removed my sandals as well. Preparations complete, now down to business. We turned to face each other. I'm ready. She walked towards me. I let her come to me.
She stops, staring angrily at me. I did not think it was possible, but that jungle beat got faster, and my nipples got harder.
She swings. It's on.
I duck. She misses, cursing. Then, raising myself, I launch a head-harpoon, Arpão de Cabeça, a head-butt, into her melons. Normally, you head-butt your opponent's head or stomach; the tits were Bailey's suggestion. I grunt as I put my whole body behind it. My head disappears into those breasts, swallowed whole. I feel like I'm head-butting an airbag. She screams. I head-butt her other tit. More screaming. I come back for a third butt when she swings with her right hand, slapping my face, making a sound like a cracking whip. Saliva flies from my mouth. I'm forced back, trying to regain my balance.
She yanks my hair, pulling me towards her, stuffing my head between her thighs, which she clamps shut tightly. I gasp, tugging at her thighs; they feel like pillars. She cackles and brings her hand down with a thunderous crack, spanking my arse. I moan. I try to lift her, but she's too heavy; I can't.
She slaps again, and it stings worse than before. Shit, my arse is red, and my head is turning purple, I'm trapped. I can't go down like this. I kick up with my legs and flip upside down. My foot hits her face with a smack. I've stunned her. I flip and kick again. I feel her clamp loosen. I put my hands on the floor and feet around her neck, and I cartwheel. Neat dancer trick. I throw her to the ground. Quickly, I get in a kick to her tits, then resume my clamp around her throat, slamming her to the ground.
The muscles in my legs stand out like steel cords as I try to crush her windpipe. Her arms flail, then she starts to rise. I shake my legs, trying to bring her down. She resists. She's on her feet. I'm hanging upside down now. She grabs my legs, holding me up, and then starts swinging me side to side. She's walking towards the oak tree. She's gonna bash my fucking brains out. As she swings my head towards the tree. I put my hands out, absorbing the impact. She swings again, and my hands go out and this time grab hold of the tree. She tries to swing, but she can't; I'm holding on too tight to the trunk. We struggle; she is trying to pull me away from the tree, me hanging on. I hear her getting angry now. I tense my body, I take her by surprise, as my kick hits her in the tits. I feel them compressing like beach balls with my feet. She rockets back, and I fall to the ground, scrambling to get up.
I look over at the talking tits. She's trying to massage away the pain from her poor melons. I smile. If I could hurt her, maybe I could beat her.
She snarls, "What are you, a freaky gymnast?"
"No, dancer". I do a little pirouette.
"Don't matter, you're still dead meat".
"Better women than you have tried".
She angrily moves towards me, telegraphing a punch by a million miles. I block it with my left, while my right buries itself into her stomach. She clutches her belly, bending over in pain. My arms go around her neck, and I start running backwards, pulling her forwards. I know what's behind me; she doesn’t, at first, until her head hits it. The oak tree. Her head makes a thudding sound. She rolls on her back, shaking her head and then rolls forward, diving at me, driving me into the tree. Her hands claw my face, using her claw hold to drive the back of my head into the tree. Shit.
I drive my knee up, catching her in the guts.
My uppercut to her chin straightens her up.
Then my left hook sends her head and the rest of her body spinning, stumbling, out of control.
She dives for me, reaching out to grab me with clawed hands. She gets my tank top and pulls, breaking one of my straps. My left breast makes a break for freedom, she smirks.
"Call those tits? More like pimples", she jeers.
Angered by the fact that I can feel the breeze on my left breast. I snap back.
"Those flabby melons are coming out!" I promise.
"Ooohkay...", she pulls her shirt over her head, baring her breasts.
"...This is what real breasts look like". I must admit they're impressive; instead of dropping down to her ankles, as I'd expected, they just stand there firm and proud.
"Oh, look, they've got bullseyes", I threaten, "Target practice".
"So have yours", she fires back menacingly.
I aim one of my stomp-kicks at her belly. Hurt, she moves back, then moves in with clutching hands, grabbing my other strap and pulling me into a punch to the gut. I bend over in pain, gasping, drool running out of my mouth.
We grapple with our hands interlocked, straining against each other, vying for that advantage, but she's stronger than me. She locks her arm around my head, pulling me around and blindly punching up into my body and tits and then my fucking face, I feel my eye beginning to swell. Jesus wept, I'm getting pounded.
I turn my head, open my mouth and bite down hard, biting into the side of her stomach. She frantically starts pounding on my back, I won't release and just start shaking my head from side to side. Then I feel her claws scraping down my back, and I feel the tramlines forming on my back.
Then with two hands, she yanks my head away. I can feel the hair coming out by the roots. She's pulling it at an angle, and I'm staring at the sky. She fires a forehand and a backhand, then yanks me back, twisting my neck.
My hands flail out for her face. I can't see it, but I can feel it. Then my thumbs poke for her fucking eyes, jabbing down as hard as I can. Her screams are hysterical; she releases my hair like it's hot coals, racing to pull my hands away.
Fucking A.
I throw my head back and then forward, the crown of my head smashing into her fucking face. I feel a crunch.
Good.
She staggers back on unsteady legs, her hands pawing at her nose. Her big, sweat-covered, shiny breasts were wobbling crazily like a bowl of jelly in an earthquake. Blood flows from her face. I stand back. Taking stock, my hair's a mess, my body covered in bruises and blood (not all of it mine!), I'm naked except for my little tight yellow shorts. I'm breathing hard, exhausted, but so's fucking she, and I'm still fucking standing.
"Who did you say was going to get fucked?" I shout out smarmily.
She looks at me, murder on her face.
And attacks.
For a second, I stand transfixed, like a deer in headlights, mesmerised by the kinetic display of fury I'm watching. When the first fist hit my face, I snap out of it. She comes at me with fists and arms flying like helicopter blades. I try to block, but there's just too much. I jab at her face, and she doesn't even slow down. I try to act strategically, but not even a haymaker to the tits slows her down. Fuck, I'm getting seven shades of shit knocked out of me, and the freak isn't even slowing down.
She kicks out at my torso. It hurts like hell, but I take the opportunity to kick sideways at the leg she's standing on. That fucks her balance; she falls on her ass. Letting out a war whoop, I jump over her legs and land ass-first on her belly. Her head jerks up in pain, and I slap it back down in the dirt.
I grab her hair with both hands and start manically banging it into the dirt, my ass bouncing up and down on her belly. I'm in a crazed state. I'm not gonna stop until the bitch stops moving. I'MGONNAFINISHHER!, I'MGONNAFINISHHER!
Her right hook to the face snaps me out of it. Shit. In my eagerness to finish her, I forgot to secure her arms. Her blow unseats me, and I hit the ground on my side.
She rolls to face me. Her eyes burn with fire, her teeth bared, snarling like a wild animal. She's gonna attack, hard.
I go for her tits.
I grasp each stubby nipple in my fist and squeeze. She screams.
"Fucking whore". She moans, reaching out for my breasts; her fingers embed themselves, and she twists hard.
"Cow-titted freak!" I shout as I fit as much of her breast in my fist as I can. I pull with one fist, trying to stretch the tit like taffy, while I push with the other fist, trying to drive her other tit through her ribs. She's moaning louder. I have her; my modest breasts are too little to grab hold of. While those hooters. So much to attack. Then the bitch goes for my nipples, pressing them in like she's trying to push them into the ground. I scream. It feels like red-hot pokers being driven into my boobs. I snarl and twist harder.
We lie there side by side, face to face, locked in our duel. I grunt as I tighten my grip, and she moans, retaliating with another grunting push on my nipples and a moan from me. We're staring into each other's tear-filled eyes. All I care about is hurting the bitch. I've never fought like this before. This is so savage, so basic, so primaeval, it's intoxicating.
The pain is excruciating, but what keeps me going is the feeling of power. With each squeeze of my fist, I can see more water filling her eyes. I can see her approaching her breaking point. I'm doing it. Me. She thought I'd be easy, but I'm showing her. Don't bring big tits to a catfight, bitch. I twist harder, mangling those balloons; she's on the verge of blubbing, I know it.
The bitch's knee to my crotch comes like a bolt from the blue. As the blinding pain overwhelms my senses, I don't have the strength to scream. I just whine. I roll on my back, my hands between my legs, trying to make the pain go away, please God!
I'm down but not out. I swing a fist up into her crotch, and I feel the thud of the fist on the bone. Her legs and head lift violently off the floor as she emits a long, lung-emptying gasp.
We lie there, gasping and moaning. Both holding our crotches and rocking on our backs from side to side. We were both running on fumes, locked in a desperate race to be the first on our feet to stomp the other bitch to bits. I see her start to rise, and that gives me the impetus to get up I don't want to be at her mercy. We rise together and circle, holding our crotches.
I try for a stomp-kick, chapa for the bitch's belly. But this time, she's expecting it, with both hands she grabs my leg, a grin plastered all over her face, as I hop in circles around her. Her eyes light up as she pulls me into a punch to the gut. I gasp as my eyes bug out, my arms waving uselessly. She pulls me in again, another gut blow. I retch, but all that comes out is spittle.
"Gotcha!"
She crows as her backhand slap to my face sends it lolling to the side.
I'm done, and she knows it.
Triumphantly, she throws her arms up. I lose my balance, and I fall in a tangle on my back, and the next thing I know, two boxing gloves hit my face. She's swinging her torso, and I'm getting hit by her breasts. I'm disoriented, and then she lifts herself on her hands and smiles down at me. I could see her bloody face, dripping on mine.
"Time to take the trash out".
Everything goes black as her massive breasts smooch into my face. Hard to breathe, I'm fucking suffocating! I can hear her laughing. She wiggles, getting that fleshy seal locked in tighter and tighter, her hands gently cupping my head, drawing me in, ever tighter, ever tighter. I feel like a little mammal engulfed by an anaconda. I try to move my head, but I can't. I can't. I can't escape my fleshy prison.
I can hear her laughing, chuckling to herself. I can feel myself getting dizzy. I clutch at her hair, but I’m too weak, and then everything goes black.
I wake to the breeze. It's twilight. How long have I been out? I can see her laughing, gloating face above me. She's holding something. I try to focus. The breeze. It's my fucking shorts!
She stomps me in the belly, and I cry out as I jack-knife.
"Don't ever..." she shouts.
Another kick, this time to the side, and I start to cry.
"...Ever..."
Another kick, and I'm bawling now.
"...Fuck with my sister again!".
"Smile", she said as she snapped a few pictures on her phone, then she fucked off. Limping off slowly, leaving me naked, crying like a baby in the dirt.
Slowly, I got up and limped naked back into the house, crying as I went. Luckily, I did not have to go far. I had a shower, then I dressed my aching body to cover as many bruises as I could and then tried to come up with a good story for how I looked when my parents came home.
I chickened out.
"Hey Bailey".
"Hey, Mel, what's up?"
"Just got beaten up".
"You?" She sounded incredulous.
"Yeah, I'm covered in bruises. I can't let my parents see me like this".
"You're in luck. I just scored some tickets for the Erehwon music festival and invited you over".
"Erehwon? Never heard of it".
"Me neither, just made it up"
"You'll stay here a few days, and you can come back raving about this great band you saw, 'The Purple Headed Yoghurt Slingers' ".
"Not the 'One-eyed Trouser Snakes'?"
"Your choice", she giggled. "Anyway, get the next train down. Me My mum and will collect you from the station".
"What about the state I'm in?"
"She's MY mum. I've come home looking worse. We'll get you some TLC. No probs"
"Bailey, thank you"
"De nada".
I left a note saying I'd gone to stay with Bailey; she'd scored tickets for the Erehwon festival, it's the in event, and I absolutely had to go. Locked up the house, they'd be back tomorrow, I texted them. They seemed surprised but hoped I had a nice time. Got a taxi to the train station and got the last train. When I got there, Bailey was glad to see me; her mum was a nurse and well-versed in repairing fight damage. When I felt better, Bailey took me out for a Friday night fight, though at the time she said it was a drink.
We were sitting in the pub having a nice drink when we saw two brunettes in the corner who started giving us the stink-eye. Bailey flashed them her Catpin, and they flashed us theirs. We went outside and paired off. Bailey got the sour-faced brunette, I got the gobbist little sod I've ever ever fought. Full of threats about what she was going to do to me. Unfortunately for her, she was also the worst fighter I've ever fought. How on earth did she get her Catpin? Fighting little geriatric old ladies?
I’d had a couple of drinks and was still in a foul mood from my humiliation at the hands of Oneca. I was in no mood to show her any mercy, and I didn't. We made quick work of both of them. Bailey ended up sitting on Sour Face’s belly, slamming her opponent's head into the hard concrete. Meanwhile, I battered my opponent's chest until she sobbed out her surrender. I’ve learned a few things from my fight with Oneca.
Yeah, the thrill of victory has perked me up. I thought, as I absently-mindedly mauled my opponent's breasts to paste, as she blubbed and whined and wailed. I thought she was going to ask for her mother. No, I didn't respect her. I can't see myself doing this regularly, but maybe this was what I needed after my painful defeat: a good old-fashioned beatdown.
After I got tired of torturing my opponent. I stood up and turned to face a smiling Bailey. I held out my hand for a high five.
"Sister of the Catpin". I smiled.
Her hand high-fived my own.
"Sisters of the Catpin". She smiled.
We left our opponents lying in the alley to consider their life choices. We went off to the next club to have a few more drinks, pouring into a taxi back in the wee hours.
I returned home, patched up, battle scars hidden. A typical irresponsible teenage daughter, flying off to a Music festival. I let them think that instead of freaking out over the state I was in after Oneca, they had never seen me after a fight, and I hoped they never would. At least, I hoped, I'll never see that bitch again.
Funny story.
She showed up at my door again a couple of days later. In tow with little Tweedledumb, who was sporting a brand new shiny black eye, which I know I didn't do.
I opened the door cautiously.
"For someone who was gonna get fucked, you put up a pretty hard fight! I've fought tougher.".
She touched her fading black eye.
"...Just can't remember when".
"My little sister...", she elbowed Tweedledumb. "...Told me you were some older girl who ambushed her and beat her up.".
"...She didn't mention that you were the same age and that she and two of her little buddies ganged up on you".
She looked at Tweedledumb's red and silent face.
"Did she?
Tweedledumb glumly nodded her head.
“No”, was all she mumbled.
"And now she's got something to say to you, haven't you, you little shit?"
An elbow to Tweedledumb's ribs.
Tweedledumb spoke.
"I'm sorry we ganged up on you",
"And?" Oneca demanded. She's grabbed Tweedledumb's arm and twisted.
"I'MSORRY. I'M SORRYIGOTMYSISTERTOBEATYOUUP! I'MSORRY!" She screamed.
Oneca slapped the top of her head; it wasn't a playful slap. I half-expected her head to come off. Tweedledumb resumed her sobbing.
"We'll discuss this when we get home". Oneca muttered, then she turned to me.
"Look, you fought bravely and hard...".
...I thought you were a bully. I didn't realise you were just defending yourself..."
"...I'm sorry I beat you up. I just wanted to say…"
"…if ever some bitch gives you shit and you need a wingman…"
"…you've got one".
She held out her hand.
"I'm not going to say, 'No hard feelings', 'cos I know you have them".
Too fucking right, I have hard feelings. But yeah, she was defending her sister. And she didn't have to come back and apologise.
"I'm sorry I hurt your fists with my face". I smiled. Is this the respect thing?
I took the offered hand.
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