Blood Game

By John Walker Lee

When Caroline met Leyla she thought that her life would be better, after all, they share a secret, they play the same game, but their shared hobby grows into something they can't control. Before long they have unleashed mayhem on the quiet town of Colma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Walker Lee
• Release date: Dec 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310904592

John Walker Lee

John Lee was born in Africa but found the issues he wrote about were perfectly set in American towns A method writer, he acts out scenes in his books with actors and models to better understand the nuances of each character. John started writing as a young teen and published his first short story in the school newspaper at just 12. He loves novellas and short stories but occasionally delves into deeper topics in novels.

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Blood Game

Published by John Walker Lee

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 John Walker Lee

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to a real person, place, or product is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Chapter 1

I've cut myself so many times.

I'm alone in my room, cutting my leg. From somewhere I watch the blade creep along my skin on my inner thigh, see it scrape back and forth, tempting the skin to open. It feels like I'm watching my hand move across my skin from far away. From far away I see a girl coax two straight lines from the skin of her thigh. I can't remember how long I've been doing this. I don't remember ever not cutting myself.

Nothing happens at first, the paring knife I took from the kitchen just leaves a raised, red line with little white dots, a little pink railway track running down my leg. I run the knife over the raised red line again, harder this time, and now a trickle of blood seeps out and forms a ball. The perfect little ball of blood at the end of the line is the most beautiful thing in my world. My own blood. My life. And I can make it appear whenever I want, all I have to do is take the paring knife from the kitchen and disappear into my room. If anyone sees I can tell them, hey, it's just my period, and they'd probably shut up and leave me alone. I just came back from visiting my uncle, all twisted up in a wheelchair. It was the most boring day of my life, but now I have something to feel.

I lie back on my bed and read my book and sip my chocolate milk, wallowing in the entwined sensation of pleasure and pain.

###

I meet Leyla three months later while I'm walking home from the worst day of school. It's a breezy Autumn day two months before the end of my final year, and I have no idea what I'm going to do next year.

Today wasn't a great day, I got hauled out by Mrs Thompson for not concentrating in class, something that happens a lot lately. She called me up to finish a calculation on the board and when I couldn't do it she yelled at me for being asinine. She said no one would ever love someone so stupid.

Colma isn't exactly the city of opportunity, it is the only town with more dead residents than living, thanks to some old law that made moving bodies illegal. This is what my history teacher keeps telling us in his boring drawl every Tuesday. Every week he tells us the same story about Colma, the dead town. It certainly feels more dead than alive here. Some idiots in my class pushed me around during break, chipping my glasses. I'm glad to be out of there, Sacred Heart High School is my personal version of hell. I got in on financial aid, and all the students remind me of it any chance they get.

I walk cautiously to avoid chafing the cuts on my leg, but I enjoy the pain rippling up my thighs and up into my stomach, it's a comforting pain. It makes anything they do seem inconsequential and childish by comparison.

I wipe a smudge from my thick glasses and hoist up my school-bag, heavy with school books, and also my extra favorites that I like to read in break while the others mill around and smoke and act emo.

I see another girl walking and singing, like she's oblivious to the people around her. I haven't seen her before. I would know, I know everyone, but no one knows me, I am invisible. She looks back at me momentarily and I look away.

The girl's expensive headphones and fashionable dark glasses look alien against her school uniform. We're the only school in Colma with a uniform.

She is tall and thin, her long dark hair flutters in the breeze as she strolls down the street. I can tell from behind that she is beautiful, all beautiful girls walk with confidence like that.

She has obviously shortened her dress, surely that is against Sacred Heart's Catholic regulations?

I look away for a second and she's gone, but as I walk past a tree she jumps out and taps me on the shoulder.

Hey, short stuff. You following me, bitch?

Um, no. I blush and look down. I don't like confrontation.

Just kidding. The girl smiles and holds out her hand, Leyla. Her big brown eyes light up and I try to count the freckles on her face. I shake her hand, and notice that her nails are perfectly manicured and covered in patterned gloss. Another breach of the school's dress code. I can't help but like that.

Caroline. Are you new? My messy blonde hair blows into my mouth and Leyla reaches forward and pulls it aside.

Yeah, first day here. I transferred from New York. Most boring fucking day ever.

I pull my hair from my face and Leyla catches sight of my hand that is slightly clawed and covered in a patchwork of scars.

What happened there?

Just an accident, I say, pulling my hand away, from when I was a kid.

She is taller than me by a head.

Leyla takes me by the arm. Come, you're my new friend.

We walk together, arm in arm. Leyla hums a tune I don’t recognize and I try to focus on the path ahead. My glasses need another adjustment.

What grade are you in? I ask and I notice a few other people from school walking near us. It looks like they are laughing at us.

Twelfth. You?

Same. I'm with Mrs Thompson.

I've got Drummond, what a fucking boring cock. Leyla mimes a blowjob and I can't help but laugh. I have Drummond for Biology and he is a boring cock indeed.

Leyla pulls me into the shade and sits next to the tree. Come sit for bit. Tell me who the biffs are.

I can't, I have to get home. My dad hates it if I take too long.

Come on, five minutes, I'm sweating here.

I don't want to risk losing my new and only friend. I put my bag on the grass and sit next to Leyla.

Biffs?

Yeah, you know, Leyla pulls out a cigarette from her blazer, the idiots. The ones who make school hell. Smoke? I look around for any teachers or parents that might be passing.

I'd better not. My dad will smell it.

Yo, girl, your dad sounds like a dick. Leyla lights the cigarette and leans back against the tree.

My parents are very strict. I shift my weight, the bruise on my ass the size of an orange a testament to their beliefs on corporal punishment.

Leyla offers me the cigarette. Go on, sweet Caroline, one puff won't kill you. I take the cigarette and watch the smoke idle up into the breeze. I take a

breath of the dry, burning smoke and cough because it burns like hell. Leyla laughs.

You never smoked before? Come on, take a deep one. It just takes practice.

I can't, I'm sorry. I really want to though. I give back the cigarette, stand up, and pick up my bag. I'll see you tomorrow, Leyla, okay?

Hey, shortstack, what are those marks on your leg? I notice my dress is riding up the back of my leg.

Nothing, I say as I pull down my dress to exactly one hand above my knee.

Haha, bullshit. Check it out. Leyla pulls her dress up all the way to her crotch and looks up at me. I see a hint of her white panties against her tanned legs. I count five perfect lines along Leyla's thigh.

Nice. I say. I have some on my arms too, but. I gotta go. I want to stay there and look at her legs and her scars all day, but I can't be late. It's the first day of the month and I have an inspection.

Sure, take it easy, girl.

I wave and run down the street with my over-sized school-bag thumping against my back.

###

Where've you been? My dad is home. He lost his job a few weeks back and now every day is hell because he's always drunk and he's pissed off because he got caught stealing from work.

He stands in the doorway in his vest and shorts, sipping his beer. He pulls me inside by my neck, into the kitchen where my stepmom is peeling potatoes.

Just walking, I say. It's a nice day so I thought I'd walk past the bakery.

My voice wavers as I say this and I think he picks up on it. He starts sniffing.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniffing at me like a police dog looking for drugs. He walks around me.

Have you been smoking?

"No, some people were