Free Nails In A Coffin (Demi Reynolds Book 1) by Luis Samways Page B

She pondered some more as she lay there, trying to ignore her impending fate. She realized that she had no control over what was about to happen to her, so she lay there thinking, analyzing, and attempting to understand herself.
    She knew she had it in her to kill from an early age. She didn’t know she’d become a contract killer for the London underworld, but she did know she had it in her to end someone’s life. Her earliest memories of such thoughts were when she was seven years old. She was standing in the middle of the playground at her primary school, Avishayes. She was surrounded by six or seven kids. She stood in the middle of them. They formed a crude circle around her. They were all holding hands and skipping in a united circle. They chanted many horrible things at her, things that still made her feel sad to this day. She remembered vividly the complete lack of control she had that day. The teasing was bad, but the lack of control was what hit her worst. She remembered thinking that she never wanted to feel like that again. She never wanted to feel as if she didn’t have control of her limbs or her brain. So she planned and she schemed. One way or another, she’d get her control back.
    At three-thirty in the afternoon as the final bell rang and the kids rushed out of class, she stayed sat in her seat, her head in her hands, sobbing her little heart out. The teacher immediately attempted to console her. But she didn’t need consoling. Her plan was working. Day by day, she cried some more. The teachers began to notice her a lot. The girl who cried. The girl who held in secrets. Until there weren’t any secrets to hold in anymore.
    The kids continued to bully her. The boys would punch and kick her. They wouldn’t leave any marks, but it still hurt nonetheless. She wanted to kill them. She wanted to hurt them bad. But she didn’t. She came up with a better plan. After months of her crying and not speaking, the teachers grew so concerned that they held a meeting with her mum and dad. Demi stayed quiet at first during the meeting, but as her plan began to unfold, she was smiling inside. It was time to make them pay. It was time to take their control away.
    “The boys touched me,” she finally said out loud to her teachers.
    She remembered the look on her father’s face. He was confused.
    “What do you mean they touched you?” he asked.
    She pointed down at her dress and lightly brushed her private area. She then tilted her head down and began to cry. The teachers were horrified. Her parents were close to vomiting, and Demi was nothing but smiles inside.
    Those kids never touched her down there, but Demi knew from that moment that with a little bit of patience and a whole lot of planning, someone could hurt somebody really bad without even lifting a fist to strike them. It hurt just as bad, if not worse.
    Those kids were all expelled, and she was never bullied again. Some of them carried around the stigma of molesting a little girl for years before it was too much, and they either moved away or killed themselves.
    She knew that two of the boys from her school who bullied her actually went on to rape a girl. They got sent down and were killed in prison.
    Demi remembered the feeling of justice that ran through her when she found out that her tormenters were finally silenced. They couldn’t hurt anybody. Their control was gone. But a funny thing happened. She now had their control, just like they had hers before. And it felt great to have it. Did that make her a bully now? She didn’t know. But she wanted more control. And as the years went on and she grew older, the amount of control she had doubled, then tripled, then quadrupled, until she was the girl with the most control.
    Demi lay there in the middle of that tight coffin with an expression on her face. The darkness was concealing it, but it was an expression of sadness. Throughout all those years, all Demi wanted was her control back. But now she had