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15 April 2007

Pizza Face

After Gothic Rugby player screwed me over – not liturally, I begain to have problems from a few of his male counterparts. The main one being Pizza Face – a name I have so selected for him not becuase of an acne problem but for reasons that will soon become evident.

This is not really a major incident but it is something that occationally plays on my mind and therefore is something I need to excosise by the art of writing.

Fed with the notion that I fucked his mate behind the club he seemed to become strangly aggressive and moderatly violent towards me. I did not know how to cope with these situations and was myself a dark seething ball of confused emotions, caged and silent within me. I the hippy goth, the cross between libarian and punk the one who broke all the sterotypes and mixed and match -the girl without a subculture or identy – the sort of person people love or hate and sometimes both though she mostly wanted to just dissapear and be left alone by a world that had already dealt several deathly blows.

It was just little things, really snide comments and putting chairs down on my foot, stabbing me with pencils but two such incidendes where a bit more major to me and stick out in my tattered and disarranged mind, glaring there as becons.

The first was (I think I’m not entirely sure which way round they were) the Pizza Incidence.

I came back from the canteen with a slice of pizza on a paper plate and a drink but for what ever logical reason the tables in the commonial area had been covered in bags and coats. I was hot and needed my hands to take off my maroon leather jacket – my pride and joy, it was a sixtys coat my dad had given me and had little lepels and the like.

Without thinking I put down my bag ontop of the many on the table and then the pizza on top of it, I think my friend held the drink and I took off the coat and placed it upon the back of a chair. I became distracted as I often do, chatting or the such like in a typicial teenage way.

Pizza Face and other Rugby players turned up and he went mental becuase my bag was on top of his. I said I would move it and he stood there shouting at me and before I could move the bag and pizza he had flipped them off of his bag. I watched in horror as my lunch, bought with tax payers money and the only food I was lickly to eat that day, flew through the air and landed on my coat.

He laughed and called me a stupid cow.

I was angry, I could not speak for the rage that this engendered in me. He was about twice the hieght of me and very broad and even at that age was very solid and muscly. I was scared of him and I hated him for it.

I was not thinking, the noise of the world rushed away from me and next thing I appeared to be watching things from way back inside my head, everything in slow motion – I was stooping, I was grabbing the pizza before it had even finished sliding down the coat, my precious coat and I slapped him in the face – with the pizza and then just to make things worse I rubbed it into his face.

I droped my hand and the world rushed back just as I finished screaming ‘YOU BASTARD, you big bully you think you can push everybody around don’t you! Well you can’t.’ I was still angry but I was not supposed to hurt others and I never stood up to people did I?

Oh but everyone knew the lie of that, knew that I had an unpredictable temper and that it was fun to push me around but look for the warning signs – I snapped so rarely that people would forget and be lulled into a false scense of security.

Fear and defient rage flared within me and I stared him out, I saw his hand rise and I mentally dared him to strike, thinking, ‘do it you bastard.’ Witnesses tell me I had darkly smoldering eyes but I put this down to teenage exageration, the fury within me matched his and many feared he would strike, I remember seeing male camrades rise in concern, this broke the spell and he dropped his hand and stromed off.

The fury in me was beyound control however and he had left the very bag that had cuased his constenation and so in an act of childish honesty I threw it after him.

He left and I begian to shake – fearing now. He was big and violent and what had I done? I always walked away, I always took what was given and what now? I begain to shake badly and to repeadly say, ‘what have I done?’ and my friend fearing he may come back and kill me (remember we were A’level students and into melodrama in the way only the young and innocent can be). I was ushered away to the canteen though I had no funds to get anything to eat or drink, food appeared for me as did drink and I still shook.

He spent a week running away from me and a male comrade in common came and muttered that I had made Pizza Face almost become his worst distast, that he detested men who hit women.

Again I had some how enlisted a strange and powerful and in this case violent reaction from someone – I was also the only person to stand up to this guy even out of the boys – one of which he had tried to strangle in the pretence of ‘play’ days before leaving heavy bruises – I and another girl, smaller than I, had been the ones to interveen and stop the assult.

The second event was a while later.

I was outside the toliets waiting for a friend or some such, the toliets were gender split but next to each other. Suddenly he is there next to me, ‘Bitch.’ he says quietly in my ear and then physicially dragged me into the boys toliets, I was so shocked I did not scream or even ask what he thought he was doing – he was squeezing my lower arm so hard I thought it would break and to my shame begain to whimper.

I was scared, I looked around, the loos where empty and he was pinning me up against a wall and then… then he looked at me with a strange intensity, I could not fathom what was going on in his head, he was smiling slightly at me. My body and brian were both confused was he going to kill me? Was he going to rape me?

The doors burst open and boys from our over lapping social goup gently prized his fingers off of me and lead him away whilst one of them helped me out asking if I was hurt. I shook my head but my arm was already swelling and he noticed me whince.

I still have no idea what this encounter was about I loathed my body for the tratior it had been the response deep inside the thought that floated that said this might be a sexual thing though hated his bullying shovanism and his looks were not my prefered type of the muscled geek.

These were strange experiences and I feel that they both shook me up and scared me but also showed me that I could stand up to even the biggest and even if he had beaten me up or what ever he had in mind I would have won, I had glared at him whilst pinned there and I felt the strength of who I was pulsing in my veins.