They Messed With The Wrong Twin

Mom and Dad transferred Nyla to a hospital in our territory after a week, while I prepared to enter her school after the winter break. I went through every blackmail material her bullies sent her and memorized their names and faces. The one that struck me most as the ring leader was the girl named Zara and her cronies. They started with simple harassment like hiding her stuff and throwing dirty water at her, but that quickly escalated into battery and assault, and their latest was dumping her head into the sink filled with water, which didn’t come close to the worst things Nyla had told me. It made me so angry that I had to isolate myself for about two weeks until school started.

That day, vile whispers and murmurs immediately welcomed me the second I stepped through the gate. They were loud enough for me to hear, which was obviously intended to be. It made me think of what Nyla did during her last summer break, and I couldn’t even come close to feeling how great the pain she endured all this time. It was a hideous place for a good girl like her.

I headed toward her classroom with heavy steps, trying to control myself, but they kept testing me.

As soon as I entered the classroom, a book flew to my face. I pretended to pick something and dodged it easily.

“Lazy mutt! Didn’t we tell you to answer when we call? Do you want to die? Where’s our breakfast?” It was Mira, one of Zara’s cronies, and out of everyone who hurt Nyla, she laughed the hardest while watching her getting tortured.

I ignored her and walked straight to my sister’s desk. It was covered with obnoxious words carved onto its surface.

“Hey, bitch! I’m not done talking to you!” Mira yanked my shoulder so hard that I almost crashed into someone else.

She suddenly snickered and slapped the table. “What? Do these words blow you away? Looks good, right?” She grabbed my chin and leaned closer with a dirty sneer. “How about we carve them on your face this time?”

“That’s a great idea! Zara would love it,” her friend agreed, and I could hear the entire class snickering.

I never thought people could be this horrible. To think my parents chose to homeschool me because of my condition, but even a prophesied monster like me wouldn’t do such petty violence as this.

Faced with this unfairness, the darkness I painstakingly kept at bay leaked out from its restraints and coursed through my veins. Their wicked smiles and laughter fueled my rage and I grabbed her, swinging my hand to her face.

A crisp slap echoed through the classroom, and Mira tumbled back onto the floor. She glared at me with utter shock. Her hand covered my handprint on her cheek.

“You dare hit me? Just wait until Zara gets back. You’re dead meat!” she yelled with a shrill voice.

Looking at her shocked expression made me understand a bit why they love hitting people. Giving brats like her a taste of their own medicine sure felt good.

The buzzing room fell silent as everyone looked at me with the same shocked faces, and I scoffed.

“What’s wrong? Why did you all stop laughing?”

Mira got up fuming with rage and raised her hand to hit me back, but the bell for class rang. She glared at me and returned to her seat frustratingly mad.

I stuffed my books into the desk and it felt oddly wet and sticky, so I took them back, but it was covered with a disgusting goo made out of glue and stinky decaying garbage.

“What the fuck?” I muttered in disgust.