It is Thanksgiving 2020, and what resides at the top of my “do yourself a favor and don’t think about this” list is what I have to be thankful for this year. I’m not short on “blessings” — truly, my current situation could be far, far worse — but that would require reflecting on this past year, and you know what? Doing such a dangerous task with a hangover sounds like a good way to end up crying so hard that I vomit, so instead, I am going to write about how I got suspended from school sophomore year for getting beat up to the point where my boyfriend had to intervene.
(He merely restrained her by pressing his knee into her throat. She turned purple as she experienced severe difficulty breathing, struggling to gasp out, “SOMEONE GET THIS FUCKING [insensitive slur for gay men, don’t make me repeat it] OFF OF ME,” but still, this upset a lot of people; an angry mob of teenagers formed on Facebook.)
After three weeks, I finally returned to school, assuming that shit, I’ve been gone a long time! There was simply no possibility of anyone remembering that embarrassing little skirmish! Certainly those who were threatening death upon my boo for beating up a girl (kind-of-sort-of, but not really… you know how rumors fly and people just love adding their own spice to a story… who knows that better than a writer, and I was even one back then because I didn’t have any friends and thought that if I talked to myself on paper, I would finally shut the fuck up for good) forgot all about their elaborate plans for violent retribution!
I sidled into my first period. Someone immediately yelled, “ROSE IS BACK! WOOT WOOT! ROSE WAS SUSPENDED BECAUSE SHE AND HER BOYFRIEND BEAT UP SOME GIRL, REMEMBER? FUCK YEAH, ROSE! Y’ALL WHOOPED HER ASS!”
He high-fived me, but I think he meant well. I sunk into my seat.
The fight started over the girl taking it upon herself to defend my best friend’s honor after her and I had a brief and petulant falling out. She posted “Rose Damian is a cum guzzling thunder cunt” on Facebook — I left a comment impolitely disclosing I found her to be a tad overweight — she responded by politely disclosing that she was going to beat the fuck out of me the next day. I turned to my boyfriend.
“It has been brought to my attention that she is going to beat the fuck out of me tomorrow.”
“It’s just Facebook,” he shrugged. “You know she won’t do shit.”
Well, tomorrow came, and I heard her ominously sauntering to my direction from afar because she was wearing those scratchy pants made out of windbreaker material and I thought, “Oh, god damnit…. I am supposed to get beat up today! She came prepared! She’s in loungewear! How did I forget?”
“Rose, you’re a dumb fucking bitch and if call me fat to my fucking face, I will rip your fucking hair out,” she spat.
I, a dumb fucking bitch with a miserable fucking attitude when I was a teenager despite possessing not once ounce of physical force to back any horrendous statement my fucking mouth loved to spew out, smiled.
“Okay.” I paused for dramatic flair. “…Fatty.”
A woman of her word, she ripped my fucking hair out.
My boyfriend was napping against my shoulder because for him, night time was for playing World of Warcraft, and school time was for sleeping. (He spent his entire four-year high-school career in the ninth grade.) He continued to nap through the first ten seconds, later admitting that he “felt me get pulled away but thought I just got up to hug somebody” — a completely illogical deduction because I had no friends and I do not hug. He was finally roused from his idyllic, angelic baby slumber by me yelling, “FUCKIN’ HELP ME!”
He snapped her fingers back so she would let go of my hair; owie; her fingers hurt and she didn’t like that; now mad as shit, she started beating him up… and that brings us back to him sitting on top of her with his knee in her throat, her yelling [insensitive slur for gay men, don’t make me repeat it, I only included it to unload some of the well-deserved ignominy I will receive for admitting that I frequently fat-shamed other girls when I was 15 onto her], the principal pulling my boyfriend off of her, and me back-handing her in the face good and hard because I saw an opportunity and I went for it, like most pussies (or “cum guzzling thunder cunts”).
That’s how I got suspended and legally charged with aggravated assault and disorderly conduct. Had I not taken my cheap shot like the spoiled bitch I was, or, as the principal suggested, “put a chair between her and I to prevent her from attacking me” (as if after somehow releasing myself from her talons’ grip, I would run to the cafeteria, grab a chair, and run back to place it between us instead of RUNNING THE WHOLE FUCKING WAY HOME TO MY MOMMY), I wouldn’t have been punished.
Now, there is no doubt that I fully deserved losing a few chunks of hair1 for being an incorrigible asshole who took great pleasure in running her incorrigible asshole of a mouth, but the girl who whooped my actual asshole apologized to my (now ex) boyfriend a few years ago, and I was fuckin’ indignant. I never expected an apology because I did not deserve one; honestly, had I ran into her somewhere, I would have offered repentance for being a turd. What perplexed me was what warped, sad, gender-inferiority complex she had to be under the influence of to feel obligated to apologize to him… What did she even say? “I’m sorry I had to beat your girlfriend up because she was a bitch, but I am more sorry that you had to get involved because she was a LITTLE bitch?”
Dumbass, in her fuckin’ scratchy, noisy-ass parachute pants…
1I would like to note that prior to this incident, my over-processed-scene-queen locks had been reduced to brittle, delicate straw, and had she stroked my hair in a gesture of physical intimacy, the same amount probably would have broken off between her grubby fingers, and yes, I am undermining her strength over a decade later because I am still a fucking dick.
ROSE DAMIAN 