Have you ever felt like the blood in your body was boiling at a hundred degrees Celsius? Like your veins were pulsing, and even when you were so mad, you wanted to erupt, but you weren't getting it out and ended up doing the exact opposite.
That's how I felt when I was bullied for the hundredth time by Chloe, my classmate in high school.
It was scorching hot weather, and the heat could bake a bread. This summer, the whole country experienced heat like never before. And Detroit wasn't spared.
I wasn't feeling so great and was completely under the weather. Our teacher had us practice music, and she wasn't accommodating to our mistakes.
My school, Detroit High School, was going to compete with Florence High School in a week, and the woman wanted to make sure we were in line, not breaking the rhyme, and making our own melody.
She seemed to have forgotten that we were just fourteen, not twenty. I just turned fourteen last month.
Just when I had just finished that class, Chloe and her lackeys dragged me to the back of the school canteen.
I stood before her with a rock in my hands, gripping it like I would crush it with my piny strength, while I glared at her for calling me and my mom weirdos and ugly ducklings.
I already knew I was different. While most girls my age had long, flowing hair, my hair was a wild mass of curls that never seemed to get straight, no matter how much I combed it or tried to straighten it. It was my defining feature, but unfortunately, it also made me the target of relentless bullying.
And there is another: I have an eye defect, shortsightedness. The doctor who gave me these glasses perhaps bore a secret grudge against me, for she refused to change them no matter how I pleaded.
From the day I set foot in school with my glasses, I became the school's 'best person' and Chloe decided to pick me as 'her favorite person'.
The memories of how she had bullied me flooded my mind, and all I wanted to do was throw the stone straight at her nose and see her bleed. However, even before I had the chance to, Mr. Wilson, the principal, walked right into us, and I heard.
"Hailey Branson, you put that down right this instant!"
Yeah, the sucker man, I thought, shifting my glare to him.
"I said put that down," he thundered, walking towards me with long strides. His huge tummy was bouncing as he walked in haste. His round face and wide eyes were glaring with anger and judgment.
Chloe had by now started her princess cry, rubbing her eyes to make them red so she would look pitiful.
"You should have been in the acting academy," I muttered through gritted teeth.
Mr. Wilson walked towards me and grabbed me on my right shoulder. He took my hand where I held the stone and snatched it from me, all the while glaring at me like he was seeing a condemned criminal.
I was condemned already.
"Hailey, what has gotten over you? How dare you bully your classmate? Come with me." Mr. Wilson took me by my shirt and began to drag me.
I fought the urge to cry. I didn't want to give Chloe the satisfaction of seeing me spill tears. I felt like spilling blood, but that feeling was quick to evaporate when I was made to kneel outside Mr. Wilson's balcony.
The sun fell directly on my face, weakening my already weak body. I remembered my lunch, which I hadn't taken a bite of before it was dumped into the waste bin. I was tired and famished.
Mr. Wilson had called my mother, requesting her presence at the school immediately, or I wouldn't return home and instead be sent to the police station for bullying.
The man was blinded by greed and prejudiced against me. Chloe's father was a minister, while I am just the daughter of a weird-looking librarian.
Chloe kept crying and acting like a white lotus, and it pained me so much that I passed out.
Believe it or not, it wasn't the lack of food or scorching heat but the bottled-up resentment and anger that I couldn't express that caused me to faint.
My anger was like an inferno, but I was like a puddle in Mr. Wilson's office.
I didn't know how long I blacked out, but when I woke up, I was greeted with the familiar brown ceiling.
I sat up to realize that I was back at my house. From the biscuit box-sized room that barely contained our wardrobe, the small bed, a dressing table, and my study table, I saw my mom making something in our tiny kitchen.
Getting down from the bed, I walked to where she was.
"What time is it?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
"Time for you to stop causing trouble," my mom replied. She had her hair hidden inside her cap. Her brown eyes turning to look into mine. Apart from her hair and eyes, I inherited nothing else.
"I didn't cause trouble. Mr. Wilson is a dog playing judge between a cat and a mouse," I said.
"Then, when you know you are a mouse, you should avoid both of them," my mom countered, placing the omelet on a plate.
I don't understand why she always thinks I'm the one to avoid others and has never stood up for me when it concerns Chloe.
I kept quiet, knowing there was no use in arguing with her. We've gone over this conversation so many times that I've grown tired of it.
Sometimes, I wish our neighbor was my own mom. One time a kid at school bullied her child, and she went to school and caused a scene. The other kid's parents, even though they were rich, had to apologize.
But mom would never do that. She would always say, "I have no plans of arguing with some self-absorbed bunch of rich people whose standards can't even be compared to my footwear." I avoid trouble not because I'm weak but because I'm too busy to mind them."
That philosophy works only for her; for me, ignoring them meant agreeing that I am a coward.
We ate our food in silence inside our makeshift kitchen, and when I finished doing the dishes, mom gave me shocking news.
We were moving out and away from Detroit.
Chapter 2: Too hard to turn away.
"Mom!" I exclaimed, staring wide-eyed. "Why so suddenly?" I was mortified. My exams were around the corner, and there was the competition.
My mom replied, "I got a new job in California, and I need to report next week."
"But mom..." I started, but mom raised her hand to silence me. She said there was no room for argument, and she wasn't changing her mind.
I felt that something was wrong and thought maybe she had gotten into some kind of serious trouble that would make her decide to move out suddenly.
It was because Mom took my education seriously, and she had never let me skip school before, not even when I pretended to be sick or not in the mood for school.
All through the night, I thought of what kind of trouble my mom got into, but I didn't expect the problem to be me.
The next morning, I woke up and prepared to go to school, but Mom said I should pack up. I was sad, but there was nothing I could do but pack up.
When she left to buy something, I sneaked out of the house, taking the short route through the railway, and ran all the way to school.
Although I was bullied a lot, I had friends, and it would be bad to leave without saying goodbye.
But I didn't even get to see my friends because I was stopped at the gate by the security man.
"Where are you going, girl? Step back!" the man shouted. He was a black man with bald hair.
"I'm a student, sir. I'm here to see someone," I told the man, but he looked me over and said.
"You aren't allowed anywhere close to the school, young lady, you've been expelled." His tone was dismissive and cold.
Expelled? When? How? Why? I gaped at him with wide eyes. My mind went blank for a few minutes before it slowly dawned on me why Mom insisted we move out.
Turning, I began to walk. I felt like a broken machine.
How was life so unfair?
No people were unfair and wicked.
I was the one who was bullied, and I'm the one who's been expelled. Does that even sound right?
All these years, Chloe and her friends have tormented me, but yesterday, when I felt like fighting back—which I didn't—I got expelled.
"I merely held the stone," I mumbled. Regret filled my mind. Maybe I should have thrown it. I would get expelled anyway, but I'll feel less of a loser.
The thoughts clouded my mind, and suddenly I made up my mind to do that.
The anger in my mind made me sneak into the school through a backway. Teachers weren't aware of that gateway, as the students were careful not to let a whisper about it be heard.
I hid myself in Chloe's hideout and waited patiently for lunch break. I wouldn't leave until I had my revenge.
Chloe and her cronies arrived, dragging another student. With me expelled, they had found someone else to toy with. This was going to go on, like a viscous circle.
I looked around and found a plank nearby. I took it and revealed myself.
"You aren't going to stop, are you?" I asked, glaring at the girls with the plank in my hands.
Chloe looked surprised to see me and even more surprised to see the weapon in my hands. "Oh, our dear Hailey is here. Hailey, I missed you," she said in a sing-song voice.
"Oh, that's very thoughtful, but I never think about you. I'd rather have my mind filled with junk than remember you," I replied.
My reply shocked them. I've never spoken like that before, like never. Chloe's face turned black, and she glared, saying.
"What's the use of carrying a weapon when you won't use it?"
"This," I said, raising the short plank. If I hit her twice and rubbed her face in the waste bin twice, she would understand what it means to be at someone's mercy.
Yet I didn't; instead, I said, "You are right. I won't need to use a plank on you. I'm not your father who hits others, only barbarians do that."
"What did you say?" Chloe fumed. The red in her eyes made it obvious that I had hit the right spot.
Only a few knew that Chloe's father hit his wife and others.
I scoffed, and when she tried to attack me, I raised the plank high as if I would hit her. She stumbled back and fell, then started shouting.
Alarmed by her screams, I took to my heels, escaping the school and returning home. I didn't care about hitting her. My words were enough.
When I got home to meet mom, she loaded our things in a car.
"Where have you been, young lady?" She asked.
"Causing trouble as usual," I replied, going into the basement where we stayed.
I heard Mom sigh, then the sound of her footsteps as she followed me. I sat on the counter and looked at the now-empty house, thinking that I was right when I compared it to a biscuit box.
Mom held my hands in her right hand and stroked my errant hair with the other. She said, "It isn't that I don't want to defend you, darling, but in this world, the rich are allowed to talk while the poor just listen. I don't want your future to be jeopardized for a moment of rage because of an injustice done to you."
"Look at me. My hair is just like yours," she said, removing her cap to reveal her hair, which was in the same condition as mine. "I don't curse because of how it looks, do I? It's God's beautiful creation, and you'd just have to accept yourself and love yourself."
"You can talk because you aren't the one being bullied," I bit back bitterly.
"Who said that?" Mom chuckled. "Have you had your hair trimmed and dumped in poop before? I had it worse, but I didn't fight—not because I couldn't, but because I didn't have to. If you look at it, most of the bullies are mentally weak. They sought for people to exercise the power they crave but couldn't get among their own people."
"Have you ever seen a rich man bully his fellow rich man? Nope, that's because they can't. They look for places to show their dominance, and that's why they bully others. You are much stronger than that, Chloe, and in the future you will realize it."
Mom had given me a long sermon, and for the first time, I felt her words sink into my head. She was right; Chloe might not be as happy as she appears to be, and in front of some kids, she acts like a puppy.
I hadn't heard about mom being bullied before. Or maybe she had told me about it, but I didn't listen.
Chapter 3: a new beginning.
One thing was for sure: I will never let my kids suffer what I suffered. I made up my mind to go to California, study hard, and make money so no one would bully my kids.
Mom seemed to have noticed that her words had changed something in me as she smiled brightly and said, "That place is going to be different."
She was positive, but I was skeptical. Unless I find something to do with my hair, I will never be at peace. And I was throwing these glasses, I thought.
I forgot all about Chloe and the little stunt I pulled. I didn't even know what my actions had caused. I joined Mom in the car, and we got on the road and went to California.
California was as good as Mom said. I didn't realize mom was seeing a man until we moved in and settled.
I had my hair cut low and permed for the whole of high school, and when my mom finally married my stepfather, she spent a fortune to change the condition of my hair.
I knew then that money was everything. If we had the money then, I wouldn't have been mocked regularly for my hair.
Eight years later, I was a big girl, making dollars, and working in a five star hotel as a general manager. My dad owned it, and I was allowed to manage it.
Mom used to say that the world was a small place and that you could meet someone when you least expected it.
True, because I had forgotten all about Chloe until I ran into her at my hotel. Don't ask how I knew her because her face didn't change much, and neither did mine.
But she didn't recognize me. My hair was no longer like a hive or a bird nest. It was longer, curled, and pulled up in a short pony, and I don't wear glasses anymore.
When I saw her walking into the hotel and booking a room with a guy, I decided to ignore her, but something caught my attention.
The haughty air and arrogance of a rich girl were no longer there, and the emotions I had never seen on her face before were there.
She looked anxious and fearful, and her sluggish movements were a sign that she didn't want to be anywhere near that man.
I looked away when she looked my way. However, from the corner of my eyes, I pictured her despondent eyes, she was silently asking for help.
Turning away, I walked to the couch in the lobby and sat down. It has been a habit I have cultivated since I turned twenty. I would sit there and watch the people going in and out.
I wiped out my phone and checked on Chloe's father. The news wasn't good. After he was removed from his position as a minister, he started a business in Hong Kong, but it wasn't doing so well.
Chloe had started a career as a model, but her reputation wasn't fair.
Thirty minutes passed, and I wasn't getting the peace I wanted. My mind kept playing the scene with Chloe. I couldn't ignore it, no matter how hard I tried.
It wasn't any of my business whatever happened to her, but I worried.
"Seriously, this girl made my life hell," I groaned, rubbing my forehead.
After five minutes, I realized I couldn't be Chloe. I couldn't leave someone who was in trouble.
I went to the girl who attended to them and asked for their room number, then I went to my office and took the master card for the room.
I went to the control room and checked the CCTV footage to know if I wasn't being anxious for nothing.
True to my feelings, something really bad was going on in that room. A minute after Chloe and that man entered the room, two other men went in.
The room was booked for two, then why did two others go in? With the way they hid their faces, it proved that something was not going well.
"Send three guards up to this room." I ordered the men there before running all the way to the elevator that took me to the tenth floor.
Without knocking on the door, I unlocked it and barged in to witness what I hadn't seen before.
My body froze, and I stood there like a statue.
Were they shooting a raunchy video in my hotel?
The men turned and stared at me with shock before pointing, and one of them said,.
"Did you invite this one? Wow, this will be fun," he laughed, moving towards me.
My eyes skimmed over Chloe, and I noticed the way she was trembling. Then I saw the camera in the room. I glared up at the men, walked past them, and went to cover Chloe's body.
Turning around, I gripped the lamppost and pulled it out. It cost a few thousand dollars, but I didn't care.
Chapter 4:
"Who are you?" The man who came with Chloe asked.
"Your murderer." As soon as the words left my mouth, I attacked them, kicking, punching, and slapping.
I think I learned how to fight for this day. Until now, I've never hurt a fly with what I learned, and it was my first time hitting people.
They deserved it.
I did more kicking, more punching, and more hitting until all three men were lying on the floor with glaring bruises on their bodies and blood on the floor.
The guards who arrived stared dumbly for a second before calling an ambulance.
I turned to Chloe. She wasn't the girl I knew.
She was crying and shivering. She seemed to recognize me, but at the same time, it didn't feel like it, or it was guilt and shame eating her up.
"Call doctor McKnight to check on her before she leaves," I ordered the assistant manager. "I'm going to the station myself."
I knew that if word spread out about this incident, Chloe's reputation would be at stake. It was a surprise that she was subjected to such a thing.
This was called karma. It was vengeful and unforgiving.
That day, when I told Mom about it, she gave me the 'I told you so' kind of look. She must have gloated in her mind.
My stepfather was proud of what I did. He didn't like the fact that such a thing was done in his business. He made the boys make an open apology, and eventually everything was wrapped up, with Chloe not suffering any damage.
Three weeks passed, and on a Sunday, I ran into Chloe at my office.
She kneeled before me and apologized. I wanted to revel in the moment, but I couldn't. I was just happy that she was safe.
She appeared to be genuinely remorseful and eager to make amends. I found it in my heart to forgive her, and we slowly began to form a friendship. Over time, Chloe and I became very close. We discovered that we shared a love for art and music.
Looking back, I realized that our meeting was no coincidence. It was a chance for both of us to learn. Learn that life goes in circles. I learned to forgive and fathom the wisdom in Mom's lectures.
So for everyone out there who is bullied, you don't have to fight head-on to prove your point, and you don't have to be me. Everyone has a story, but all I'm saying is that you learn to forgive someday.
Thank you for reading about my story. My name is Hailey Branson. No, now it's Hailey Hawkins.
