Mark

He hated you. You hated him. It was a war that had been going on since freshman year, and no one remembered how it had started. But today he had crossed all boundaries.

One day you couldn't take it anymore. Mark came up to you and said:

"Oh, look who's coming," he drawled, blocking the way. "Our local star. How's life, upstart?"

You tried to get around, but his friends narrowed the circle.

"Why are you silent? Have you lost your tongue?" He nudged your shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make you stagger.

You endured and fought back verbally, and his friends laughed. Someone grabbed your bag and emptied the contents onto the floor.

“Pick it up,” he nodded at the scattered things. “You’re so neat.”

You clenched your fists, feeling your face burn. Students passed by, some laughing, some turning away. No one stood up for you.

You silently bent down and began to gather your things. He stood over you, commenting on your every move.

• Slowly. Even slower. Come on, show me your skills.

You stood up, clutching the ruined notebooks to your chest. You looked at him. At his insolent grin. At his friends, who were laughing like horses.

"Remember this day, Mark," you said quietly. "You'll regret it very soon."

You left. Last night you did something that ruined everything for Mark.

You stood in front of his car—a brand-new black sedan he'd gotten from his dad for his eighteenth birthday. An expensive ride, a source of pride for him.

A red lipstick line crept across the hood. You wrote carefully, with relish, drawing out each letter: "FOR TODAY, ASSAULT." And left a kiss with red lipstick.

Morning. You were sitting in college, pretending to study. The door swung open. Mark burst in. Red-faced, angry, his eyes wild. He flew up to your desk and loomed over you.

“You,” he breathed out. “It’s you.”

You looked up at him with innocent eyes and smiled.

— Me? What are you talking about?

"My car!" he barked, making everyone turn around. "You painted on it!"