Page 12 of His Hell Girl

"You're not lying to me, are you?" I narrow my eyes at her, and she promptly shakes her head. "If… someone was doing this to you, you'd tell me right?" I add for good measure, knowing just how easy it is to get picked on.

I'd sported my fair share of bruises growing up, and things had only changed in the last few years when I'd simply refused to play the bullies' game. Instead of showing them fear like I'd done in the past, I didn't bother with them at all. My indifference seems to have worked since after some time they simply stopped bothering with me, unable to coax a response out of me.

After all, that brand of evil feeds on fear, shame and self-loathing — and I'd had buckets of all three.

"Nothing happened, Aunt Sisi," she reiterates, "I just tripped."

I hold her gaze a bit longer, wanting to make sure she's saying the truth.

"Fine," I sigh, "you can keep playing, but don't go out of my sight, okay?"

She readily agrees, taking off once more.

Mildly satisfied with her answers but still a little suspicious, I banish all thoughts from my head and start focusing on my assignment.

Here it goes.

I stumbleout of the classroom, my palms almost bleeding from the teacher's lesson. I'd done my assignment, and I'd laid out all my honest thoughts on paper, eschewing the standard interpretation in favor of my own.

Big mistake.

Sister Matilde, my teacher, had been scandalized when she'd read my essay and she'd asked me to sit in front of the whole classroom, while she taught me yet another lesson. She'd taken a wooden stick and slapped my open palms with it until the skin broke, blood almost reaching the surface.

I'd taken it all without showing any weakness. I could tell, just like Cressida and her gang, that Sister Matilde was waiting for my tears to flow, for my knees to buckle when I kneeled to ask for forgiveness.

I'd given her none of that.

I'd stood still, stoically enduring the pain and the jibes that my classmates were throwing at me. I'd taken all the pain without a sound, just waiting until Sister Matilde got tired of hitting me.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on not giving in to the pain. It's not like it's the first time this has happened. But it's certainly the one time Sister Matilde had not held anything back.

I walk slowly toward my room when I spot Claudia. Head down, shoulders slumped, she's following a group of girls her age toward the back of the cloisters.

Confused, since I've never heard Claudia mention any school friends, I follow closely.

The open area allows me to see exactly what's happening, and I gasp when Claudia's pushed to the ground.

The girls, forming a circle around her, start taunting her and calling her all sorts of ugly names. The situation is entirely too familiar as I watch Claudia take it all. Head bent low; she's not even trying to defend herself when one girl tries to hit her.

I jump out of my hiding place, running toward her and trying to disband this awful mob.

Lord, you'd think in a place of God people would be more… godly. But no. Taught from young that beinggoodmeans you are above everyone else makes these girls think that because Claudia was born out of wedlock she deserves their contempt.

"Stop it!" I call out, worming my way inside their circle and taking Claudia in my arms. "What do you think you're doing?" I ask, shaking my head at them in reproach.

Some girls have the decency to look ashamed at being caught, but one in particular, the leader I'm guessing, still has a look of arrogance on her face.

"Are you okay?" I quickly ask Claudia and she nods, her eyes full of unshed tears.

"You can't go around abusing people." I turn to the others, their gazes now focused on the ground.

"How would you feel if someone did this to you, too?" I ask, but no one replies.

Shaking my head in disgust, I tug Claudia to her feet, drawing her closer to my side.

"Go now before I give you a taste of your own medicine," I say in my most adult voice, and watch as the girls scurry away. Their leader is the only one trailing behind, but even she leaves when she sees she's lost her support.

"Are you hurt?" I ask Claudia, worried she might have gotten new bruises. She shakes her head, but I'm not convinced. I start patting her down when I hear another familiar voice.

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