He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She stopped and slowly turned around, tears in her eyes. He glared at her for a second and then smirked. “If only you were as easy to break as your sister.”

With a sudden surge of white-hot anger, she grabbed the arm that held her and twisted it, slamming him up against the wall. She pulled back her arm and punched him hard enough to cause some serious bruising. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, she punched him again, this time throwing him the ground after impact. People around then backed up a few feet, forming a circle around them in the hallway.

“All this for a bit of fun,” he managed to say through bloody, swollen lips. He smiled and looked up at her, laughing. “Wasn’t even worth it.”

In an instant she was kneeling on top of him, a hand gripping his shirt, punching him repeatedly in the face.

“Shut up! Shut up, goddammit, JUST SHUT UP!” she screamed at him as she beat him silent. “You killed her and you deserve no less!”
Whispers and cried of alarm rose from all around. “Someone should stop her” “She’s gonna kill him!” “He probably deserves it, doing something to make her snap like that…” “She always seemed so sweet and innocent.” And so she was, but everyone has their breaking point. She reached hers when he screwed with her sister’s mind and then murdered her, as she lay there, helpless and innocent.

All of the sudden the crowd quieted and parted to let a single individual approach the two brawling on the floor.

The boy had pushed her away and now had her pinned against the blood-splattered tile. She brought her knee up in between his legs and rolled out from under him. She brought her fist back, but hesitated as she made eye contact with the figure standing just inside the circle. Then her rage flared again as she stared down at the unconscious boy beneath her.

A sudden thought enters her mind and in a split second she has made her decision. One swift, fluid motion and she has a knife in her hand. She grips the collar of his shirt, but instead of a closed fist, a knife now descended to his neck. The knife flashed downward and the crowd seems to draw in a breath, horrified, but unable to intervene. The girl tenses, anticipating the spurt of blood that will come when the knife first nicks a major artery in the boy’s neck.

But then a hand grips her wrist, stopping the blade. She pulls back and, without pausing to wonder who it was, attempted to shake him off by throwing her fist at his face too.