“Keep these two apart”

This was the message given to all the teachers at my school when I was in kindergarden. I was a good kid, not great but good. In most situations I was the defender and was a happy and playful child that was very helpful and loved to be useful. Until he was in the picture. Now, to keep this breif I will not name him too much, but he was a kid in my class who was adored by the parents for pretty handwritting. We hated each other. We were horrible to each other. We were at each other's throats, literarly.

There were times where I was sent to nurses office to get bandages, there were times when he ran off to a teacher covered in bruises. There were other times where the teachers had to rip us off of each other, little teeth and nails in the other's skin.

He had ran into the girl's bathroom with waterguns, kicking in the stall to soak all the girls because he knew I was peeing there. I had permeantely stained several shoes with ugly neon dyes becuase he just got brand new Nike. He tried to strangle me with shoe strings, I beat him black and blue with his own belt, he tried to throw glass shards in my eyes, I had him dragged across concrete and gravel. Teachers were not allowed to have scissors out on the desks over the fact that one of us might stab the other with it, and any who didn't heed any of the whispered words were in a corner head down as the others chewed them out while the absolute chaos that we made was cleaned up around us.

I was called a good girl, and a sweet heart. With him, I wasn't