I LIKE THE WAY YOU HURT: A Dark Interracial High School Bully Romance

by Lorrain Allen

  The ring tone of my phone interrupts the song.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, girl.”

  “Hey, Jamal. What’s up?”

  “Do you want to go out?”

  I automatically sit up on my bed.

  “Hell yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Great.”

  I quickly shower. I’m wearing skin-tight blue jeans, a leopard print bodysuit, and red heel. I style my box braids in a high bun on my head and then put on my big gold hoop earrings. I finish up with dark eye shadow, mascara, cream eyeliner, and red lipstick.

  I walk upstairs, stopping in front of my mom and Michael’s room door.

  “Mom,” I say, knocking on the door.

  “Come in, sweetie.”

  My mom and Michael are cuddling on the bed, watching TV.

  “Aww, you guys look so cute.”

  When my mom blushes, I laugh.

  “This is a man in love,” says Michael as he kisses her on the forehead.

  “You look beautiful, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “I actually don’t know. My friend is coming to pick me up.”

  “Okay, have fun, sweetie,” she says.

  “I will,” I say as my phone rings.

  “That’s him, I have to go.”

  “Him?” my mom asks with excitement in her voice.

  “It’s not what you think, Mom. He’s gay.”

  “Oh,” she says, her face crestfallen.

  I walk over to kiss her and Michael on the cheek before leaving their room. I lock the front door and then walk to Jamal’s car.

  “Damn, you look good, girl,” Jamal says as I close the car door.

  “I know,” I say, offering him a cheeky smile.

  “Oh, you’re a conceited bitch.”

  “Well, how can I not be when I look this good?” I wave my hand down my body.

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “I heard of this fight club a few towns over.”

  “A fight club? I thought we were going to go dancing or something. I don’t want to see a fight.”

  Jamal turns in his seat and clutches my hand.

  “Please come with me. I always hear talk in the halls about this fight club and I’ve always wanted to go, but I never had anyone to go with because Kate and Lucy refused to go. I’ll pay your cover charge. This is some underground, no rules type of shit.”

  I’m intrigued now.

  “Okay, I like doing new things.”

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  Jamal pulls onto a small road, after driving for about ten minutes a big warehouse appears in the distance. It must be really crowded inside, because there are a lot of cars parked outside.

  “This looks like a start to a scary movie,” I say.

  “Girl, it’s going to be all good.”

  When we walk to the entrance of the building, the guy standing there looks me up and down.

  “It’s twenty apiece to enter.”

  Jamal pays our cover charge. We walk past the creepy guy to enter the building.

  “This is so exciting. Come on, let’s go to the front,” says Jamal.

  There’s a large crowd, even with my heels, I still can’t see what’s going on.

  Jamal grabs my hand, and we maneuver to the front of the crowd. What I see has me speechless.

  “Holy fuck,” whispers Jamal.

  Maverick is in the center of the circle formed by the crowd. He’s beating the fuck out of a man. Sweat drips down his bare chest. His muscles bunch and flex with each contact his fists make with his opponent’s body. There are no words to describe his body. It’s simply phenomenal. I’m mesmerized and shocked at the same damn time. I look to the left to see Dee and Nix standing next to me. Dee elbows Nix, nodding his head in my direction.

  “Look who’s here. How did you find out about this place?” asks Nix, as he snarls at me.

  When I give him the finger, Dee laughs.

  Nix gives me a murderous look.

  “Why is he fighting?” I ask.

  The man Maverick is boxing could easily be a bodybuilder. The man is huge as fuck but still Maverick is too fast for him. The man isn’t making contact. Maverick’s moves are smoothly executed.

  “He’s fighting to feel alive. It’s in his blood,” replies Dee.

  Blood is on his face and chest. He gives his opponent a one-two punch; a body shot to the ribs followed by an uppercut. The man hits the ground hard and doesn’t move. The spectators go wild.

  “Maverick the Merciless wins another fight,” says a voice over the loudspeaker.

  Maverick the Merciless? Another fight?

  “How many people has he fought tonight?”

  “This is number four,” answers Dee.

  Oh my God.

  “That’s crazy,” I say.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” says Dee.

  Nix walks over with a towel and a bottle of water for Maverick. He takes the mouth guard out and offers him water. Next, he uses the towel to wipe his Maverick’s face and chest. They walk over to our little group.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? I can’t fucking escape you,” says Maverick.

  “It’s a free fucking country, bastard.”

  “Not for your kind,” he flings back.

  “You’re a hurt little boy, Maverick,” I taunt.

  Maverick doesn’t look like he’s fought four people tonight. His face is a little puffy and there’s a little bruising, but nothing major.

  “I will ruin your life,” says Maverick.

  “Hurt people hurt people,” I reply back.

  He grips both of my arms and drags me against his body.

  “Let me go, Maverick.” I break free from his grasp. “Jamal, let’s go.”

  I speed walk to the exit, not waiting for him. I wanted to go dancing, not here.

  Jamal walks into step beside me.

  “Did you know he would be here?”

  “No.”

  “I deal with him enough at school and at work when he comes in. I want to have as little interaction with him as possible.”

  Jamal stops me by grabbing my arm. “Cocoa, I mean it. I didn’t know.”

  “Okay, sorry. Take me home. I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  “You got it, next time we’ll go dancing,” Jamal gives me a one arm hug.

  It’s past midnight, but I still can’t fucking sleep. It was a good night. I walked away ten thousand dollars richer. Cocoa’s on my fucking mind. She looked like a fucking wet dream tonight, with those tight jeans cupping her ass just right, and that leopard print shirt showcasing her big ass titties. She looked like a fucking porn star, not a high school student. I’m as hard as a damn rock. I take out my dick and jerk off to the image of her in my mind.

  On Sunday, I spend the whole day applying to the best colleges to attend for journalism. I find it really hard to focus and the main source for my lack of dedication is Maverick. He’s obviously not a regular teenage boy. He spends his spare time beating the shit out of grown men bigger than him. Something tragic had to have happened to him as a child, that’s not difficult to see. My cell phone dings.

  Kate: How was the interview with Cody?

  Me: He never showed, sorry.

  Kate: Fuck, well I guess only three will be featured in the school paper this month. See you tomorrow.

  Me: See you tomorrow.

  I’m not telling anyone what happened between Maverick and me.

  It’s Thursday morning, and Maverick hasn’t acknowledged me at all this week so far. We sit right beside each other in physics class, but he acts as if I don’t exist. I wonder what brought on this change – not that I care, but we have a project to work on together. He hasn’t been to the pizzeria either.

  Mr. Barnes has his back turned to the cla
ss, writing on the blackboard. Now would be a good time to talk to Maverick.

  “Maverick, we need to talk about our project.”

  He doesn’t answer me.

  “This isn’t a game. I need to maintain a high GPA for the opportunity to be accepted into a good college.”

  “That sounds like a fucking personal problem to me.”

  “You bastard, not everyone was born with a fucking silver spoon in their mouth. Some people have to really work to succeed in life.”

  “Ms. Matthews. Am I boring you?”

  “No, Mr. Barnes,” I grumble.

  “Good, then mouth shut and eyes forward.”

  The class laughs at me.

  When the bell rings, signaling the end of physics class, Maverick shoots up from his seat to quickly leave the classroom. I jump up to follow, closely on his heels. The hallway is filled with students.

  “Maverick,” I shout.

  I don’t give a fuck who witnesses what happens between us. I’ve had enough of his bullshit. I’m so close to Maverick that, when he stops, I bump into him and stumble. He turns around with a look of fury on his face.

  “Only speak when spoken to, gutter trash. You do not address your betters unless you are summoned first,” he says.

  He turns around to continue walking. I follow right behind him again. This time, I grasp his shoulder, attempting to force him to turn around, but he doesn’t budge. The altercation between us is starting to gain the attention of our passing peers.

  Maverick shrugs off my hand and swings around. He grabs me by my throat, maneuvering me to the right until he slams me against a locker. The force of the impact causes my teeth to clank together.

  “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on me again,” he shouts.

  Why does he have so much hate in his heart?

  He releases my throat then walks away. Students gawk, not even trying to pretend they weren’t actively watching the exchange between Maverick and me. I’m shaken and I’m fucking pissed. This isn’t over.

  I find it hard to concentrate in my afternoon classes. By the time lunch comes around, I’m relieved. I need some time to unwind. When I sit down at the lunch table, Jamal, Kate, and Lucy don’t waste any time interrogating me regarding this morning’s incident between Maverick and me.

  “Girl, what the fuck happened with Maverick this morning?” asks Jamal.

  “Just a misunderstanding.” I’m really not in the mood to rehash what happened.

  “Just a misunderstanding? The whole school is talking about it!” replies Lucy.

  “What’s going on between Maverick and you?” asks Kate.

  “Nothing,” I say quietly.

  All three give me a yeah-right look.

  I look each of them in the eye and firmly state, “nothing.”

  “Oh no,” Jamal says, looking just over my head.

  “What?” I look over my shoulder.

  Victoria, Rebecca, and Lori are approaching the table where I sit. I’m not in the mood today. These bitches are going to feel my wrath. What the fuck are they carrying?

  “Here, I know your kind likes to eat this,” says Lori, placing a big plate of fried chicken in front of me.

  “And what’s fried chicken without watermelon?” asks Rebecca as she unburdens herself of her bounty as well.

  “Let’s not forget a nice, big pitcher of ice-cold cherry Kool-Aid,” says Victoria as she empties the contents of the pitcher on my head.

  I jump up from the chair as the cold liquid flows down my body.

  “You fucking bitch,” I yell.

  This bitch really wants to bumble with the bee.

  I punch Victoria right in the nose. The crunch I hear when I make contact is beyond satisfying.

  A loud yelp leaves Victoria’s mouth as she hits the floor.

  “Damn, bitch went down,” says Jamal.

  Lucy looks like she’s about to faint while Kate has a smile on her face.

  The cafeteria is silent.

  From across the room, I see Maverick, Dee, and Nix stand.

  Victoria’s two minion bitches kneel beside her to help her from the floor.

  Blood is running out of her nose, dripping on her uniform shirt.

  “You dumb bitch! You broke my nose.”

  “You’re lucky that’s the only thing I broke, bitch.”

  Victoria and her minion bitches leave the cafeteria. My eyes connect with Maverick’s.

  “Oh my God, you’re my hero,” says Kate.

  “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to them,” adds Lucy.

  “Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything,” I say.

  I’m sticky, and now I have to go home to take out my damn box braids to wash my hair and shower in time to volunteer as a tutor at the school where my mom works.

  “I have to go home to shower. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I say, leaving the cafeteria.

  As soon as I realized the direction Victoria, Lori, and Rebecca were headed, I knew some shit was about to go down. No doubt they lost a little respect with the student body today after they had their ass handed to them. Watching Cocoa break Victoria’s nose was a fucking turn on. She’s bad as fuck. She’s a fighter and doesn’t take any bullshit from anyone, me included.

  It only takes me about an hour and a half to take out my box braids since they’re medium size. I walk over to my cell phone on the dresser to check the time after leaving the bathroom. I have a text message from Jake.

  Jake: My parents are going out of town this weekend, so I’m having a party. You in?

  Finally, I can dance and have fun on a Saturday night. Jake is cute too, so I don’t mind spending some time with him.

  Me: Sure, text me the address.

  There’s no time to blow dry my hair, so I towel dry it as best as I can. I coat my strands in leave-in conditioner. I dress in a pair of black leggings and a plain red t-shirt. I slip on some red sandals then leave.

  I call my mom after I find an empty spot in the parking lot of Montgomery Preparatory.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Mom answers.

  “Hi Mom, I’m here. Where should I go?”

  “Walk inside the main building. I’ll meet you there.”

  This building isn’t as large as Montgomery Academy, but the layout is very similar. When I enter the main building, I walk over to the left where my mom is standing.

  “Why did you take out your box braids so soon?”

  “I felt like I needed a change.”

  My mom didn’t see me this morning, so she probably thinks I took the braids out last night.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”

  “I was a major klutz at lunch today, and spilled marinara sauce all over my uniform, so I left school a little early to change.”

  “You got that trait from me,” my mom laughs.

  I hate lying to my mom, but it’s not anything major, just a small, little white lie.

  “Come on, honey, I want to introduce you to some colleagues.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the right and up a flight of stairs.

  I can tell by the surprised expressions on some of her colleagues’ faces that they didn’t expect my mom to have a biracial daughter. It’s sad that, in this day and age, interracial couples are still considered taboo by others. My mom is oblivious to their reactions. After the meet-and-greet, my mom takes me to her classroom, where she sits at a desk, then motions for me to sit at the desk beside her.

  “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what student to assign to you for tutoring.”

  Montgomery Preparatory caters to sixth through eighth grade students. My mom is a history teacher for sixth grade students.

  “I have a sweet girl in my class named Kayla. She’s a social outcast who’s being bullied because she has a slight academic delay. She seems very unhappy, so my heart goes out to her. I think you’ll be able to help her blossom, baby. You’re so outgoing and fun. You are just what she needs.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll do whatever I can to help, Mom.”

  My mom reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I knew I could count on you. Come on baby, follow me. I’ll take you to the classroom where the tutoring takes place.”

  I follow my mom from the classroom to enter another a few doors down. There are about a dozen high school and middle school students paired up at tables, except for one girl sitting at a desk in the back corner. I’m guessing she’s Kayla. I follow my mom over to the lone figure at the table. She has bushy out-of-control, neck-length black hair and green eyes. She’s really pale and thin.

  “Hi, Kayla,” my mom says.

  The girl doesn’t reply.

  “This is my daughter, Cocoa. She’ll be your tutor.”

  “I don’t want a tutor,” Kayla mutters.

  “She’s here to help, not judge. Please give her the opportunity to help you succeed.”

  “Hi Kayla, I’m very excited about working with you,” I say.

  “I’ll leave it to you,” says my mom as she leaves the classroom.

  I sit down next to Kayla. “So, is that your homework you’re working on?”

  She doesn’t answer, so I look over at the paper she’s working on.

  "Okay, fractions are awesome," I say.

  I notice a few problems were solved incorrectly.

  “Kayla, these aren’t quite right,” I say, pointing to one of the incorrect problems.

  She angrily erases the answer she wrote down. I notice that she wipes at her eyes with her free hand. I take the pencil from her and lay it on the desk.

  “Look at me, Kayla.”

  She turns her tear-streaked face towards me.

  “It’s okay to be wrong sometimes. Learning is a process of trial and error. There’s no need to be upset.”

  “I’m always wrong. I’m so stupid.”

  “No, you’re not, Kayla. Everyone’s different and learns at their own pace. Imagine how boring the world would be if everyone was the same.”

  Kayla gives me a hopeful look.

  “Totally boring, right?”

  Kayla nods.

  “I don’t ever want you to call yourself stupid, again. Don’t say negative things about yourself.”