Don't Fight Me
When George grabbed me, I thought about what would it feel like to get a black eye. I somewhat craved it. Encouraged it. I don't know why, but the moment felt like I would have a fist in my face soon. It called for it.
But then he started blaming me for the fight between his sister and her friend, and for a moment, I just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to grab someone, it didn't matter who, but I wanted to grab this person and shake them, pull at their skin, and just rip them apart. I truly did not care. When he hit my head, I hit back, but I didn't feel any real force. From me to him, and vice versa. He got scared, I got scared. I did not want a fight. I wanted advice.
He didn't want to give advice, he wanted to argue. I guess we both went overboard.
Part of me wondered whether or not we should remain friends. In the end, though, I thought a certain girl who was like that and I decided it was best to not speak. I now have (had) his number on my reject list, but after a while I guess it got deleted (I didn't know it did that!!).
When I think about it, I wonder about what would have happened if he had hit me elsewhere. My face was spared, mostly because I was turned away from him. But my head hurt for the next couple of days. Later that day I felt a bump on the back of my head. The only visible thing that showed that I'd had the argument, was the bruise he left on my left arm.
The reason I'm writing this is because of what I think I should have done. Should I have apologized for going overboard, or should I have hit, and hit, and just vent all of the accusations out?
This wasn't a fight, since we fought MAINLY with words. The physical started and ended very quickly. I wish it was longer and more... confrontational, though. That way, the loss would have been less painful.
In a way, I learned something about myself.
I hate fighting. With, or without words. Only when I feel justified.