~CAKE~
Silence is usually louder after a fight.
My hands are still shaking when I peel the tape off my knuckles. Not fear. Not anymore. Just the leftover electricity of survival.
Iron Fist had it out for me.
I replay it over and over while I sit on the bench, hunched forward, elbows on my knees. The way she kept muttering under her breath. I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.
I almost believed her. Almost. Until she got reckless.
She always did.
That was her mistake.
I stand slowly and turn toward the mirror bolted to the locker wall.
Jesus.
I had a torn lower lip. A cut along my cheekbone, already darkening. One eye swelling, purpling at the edges. I tilt my head, studying the damage like it belongs to someone else.
“Damn, girl,” I mutter. “You took a hit.”
Laughing hurts. My
