They say revenge is a dish best served cold... And I can't say I disagree with that sentiment.
Rebecca Richmond was a slim redhead, weighing about 150 pounds soaking wet. She'd been somewhat of an awkward child at school, with several skin conditions and a few mental tics, but she never let these hinder her aggression. I really couldn't believe that in five years, this arrogant, awkward bitch who had ruined my childhood had become a beautiful young woman, with pale skin and big eyes that would just suck you in. She'd dyed her hair blonde, which suited her, in my opinion. She would always be, to me, an airhead. But hey, that was just my thoughts on the matter.
Rebecca was not a nice person. I knew that there were excuses, but I never really cared for them, because they didn't make up for what she'd done. I was the active, friendly, ADHD kid that everyone knew. I came with my own set of issues, true, but nothing I did warranted the cruelty she heaped on me. And oh, she did. This young woman had little ambition in her younger years except to rule the small private school we went to, and she did it well. Of course, this meant I had to end up at the bottom. And so I became her personal target, and ended up damaged from her constant abuse. When we all graduated that school, I swore, I would get revenge on her, by going further than she ever did. But, as most of these stories go, I barely went anywhere at all. Crippling social phobias and a complete lack of understanding when it came to societal norms really aren't your best bets for making new friends and soaring among the stars.
But I wasn't the only one who screwed up. I stayed in school, stayed clean, and got out with average grades that hardly represented the near-MENSA level of intellect I apparently possessed. She, on the other hand, was forced to drop out during a drinking fiasco before finals during sophomore year, and ended up being tossed into the local private school, full of uniforms and religion, where they'd keep a closer eye on her. Me, I was free to wander the halls of the public high school, enjoying almost every second of my liberation. No longer did I worry about the snide whispers behind my back, or the mockery in the wake of my footsteps. Sure, her cronies were still there, but she was gone, and without her, they were limited to small little jokes that soon got boring, and some meaningless gossip. I, on the other hand, was not so confined.
Whilst Rebecca was away, I'd been barely surviving school, yes, and dealing with a host of mental problems, but one thing I never forgot was my childhood. I never forgot how I came to fear her face and her words... And also came to desire them. See, in my later years of high school, I began to realize I had a crush on Rebecca, the girl who I could single-handedly blame for messing me up so badly. That topic certainly was avoided in therapy. I wasn't about to admit my thoughts about her, not to anyone! But as I grew, so did these thoughts, blossoming from a bud of an idea into a full-fledged fantasy, becoming so prominent in my mind, I could not shake them. So when I ran into Rebecca again, I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do.
I never moved away from the town we grew up in, and it was only inevitable that we cross paths sometime. For me, it was at Rose's, the local (and only) sex shop in town. I'd been there a couple times, being a single pansexual with a healthy sex drive, but never without friends. So when I stepped out of the busy street and into the cool, AC'ed store, I never expected to see a certain long-haired bitch across the store from me. And I certainly never expected to see her at the rack for remote-controlled sex toys, specifically the kind for subtle public play. My first instinct was to leave. Heaven forbid she catch me here! But my second one was to snap a picture of her, which I promptly did. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, and tugging my hat low over my face, I let my hair down and began to browse the wares I knew all too well.
But, before I give you the tantalizing details of what happened next, I should tell you what I look like, no? I'm about 5'5", of average height and slim build. I weigh no more than 130 pounds on a good day, and have medium-length dark brown hair. My skin is relatively pale, dotted with scars, and I have deep hazel eyes, which can appear to change color, depending on my mood. I'm a bit of a dyke, and prefer boyish clothing. You won't catch me wearing dresses or skirts, and make-up is pointless to me. I just don't like such things. I ever wore a suit to prom. I'm almost always found wearing a baseball cap, though, it's my favorite accessory. I practice martial arts (a habit picked up from the days I knew Rebecca in), walk several miles daily, and exercise. So, I am in relatively good shape. A bit of a change from the slim, gawky kid people knew growing up. No doubt she'd be hard-pressed to recognize me now. But that wasn't something I was willing to bet on.
As it was, my luck wasn't strong. She turned as I walked closer to her, heading for the rack of vibrators. It took her a moment, and I saw her do a double-take, before finally, she realized who she was looking at.
"Samantha?"
I grimaced under my hat, and looked up at her, tilting the brim back from my face. "Rebecca. Hey."
"Wow, what are you doing here? Still can't get a guy to go for all that psycho?"
"Real mature, Becca. Reaaaaal mature." I drew out the first word, letting the scorn sink in. She still hadn't grown up. What a shock.
