Chapter 3: The Tipping Point

“Stop hitting me! I know I was wrong!” Brittany’s mouth was full of blood, words slurred. But I was too far gone to care. I grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the toilet tiles. Crack! The sound was crisp and clear—the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Brittany’s face was streaked with tears, several front teeth knocked out. She tried to spit them out. I clamped her mouth shut, my eyes wild: “Go on, swallow it. Not so fun when it’s you, huh?”

Brittany was infamous for her bullying—forcing kids to eat hair, drink soapy water, lick mud off shoes. Just this semester, she’d driven two students to drop out. A history teacher who scolded her ended up with three broken ribs. After that, nobody dared interfere. The discipline officer looked the other way. As long as it was just the “bad” kids, nobody cared.

“Stop!” a voice shrieked. The homeroom teacher burst in, heels clicking, smelling like drugstore perfume and cold coffee. Her voice echoed off the stalls, brittle with panic. For a split second, everything went still. Brittany’s ragged breathing was the only sound.

“Chris, what are you doing?!” She looked at me like she finally saw the monster. “Why are you yelling?” I shot back. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Brittany hadn’t swallowed her teeth, so I clamped down harder until she did. Gulp. Only then did I let go, satisfied.

Brittany’s head was covered in blood, her eyes rolling back. The teacher fumbled her iPhone, hands shaking, voice cracking as she called 911. Her perfect composure shattered—she was just as scared as everyone else now.

In my last life, Brittany and her crew broke my leg, stuffed soap in my mouth, and the teacher blamed me. This time, I was the one doing the beating. Turns out, the teacher could handle an emergency—she just never wanted to bother with my problems.

The ambulance showed up fast—red and blue lights flickering through the windows. EMTs rushed in, boots squeaking, carrying Brittany out on a stretcher. Her hair was matted with blood, her face a swollen mess.

Students swarmed the hallway, phones out, Snapchat stories already blowing up. Someone whispered, “Damn, did you see that punch?” Others were cheering. For the first time in years, I smiled.