The Snob – chapter 2
continuing the story of the vendetta between a spirited young woman and an arrogant overprivileged youth
Rosie turned round. She saw not only the boy who had asked her for help outside, but four others. She realised they must have been waiting with their backs pressed to the wall, either side of the door, so she would not have seen them as she entered the room, preoccupied as she was with the “casualty.”
“What the hell is going on?” Rosie said . It was some trick, and it was making her mad. Partly mad with herself for being fooled. The boys were all about the same age, with a confidence beyond their years that came from wealth and privilege. It was an air typical of the academy boys. They were as different from local kids as a pedigree Siamese from an alley tomcat. Rosie felt her rage building up: these kids were everything she despised and resented.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” she said, louder.
“Temper temper,” said one of the boys. He was tall for his age, maybe an inch taller than Rosie herself. All the boys looked arrogant, but he was the most cocky of all, his face bore a smiling sneer. He would clearly be handsome when a man, and conceit was present in his expression as well. He was clearly the leader . Longish brown hair gave him a foppish look, but there was a wicked mischievous look in his clear hazel eyes. He spoke again. “Nice work, Ralph.”
Ralph was the one who had approached her outside. “No problem, Dominic. It was a piece of cake. If she’s have refused to come up, I’d have threatened to report her for ignoring an accident.” He was as big-headed as the rest of them; Rosie wondered how she could have been fooled by him.
“I don’t know what shit this is,” she said, “but I’m leaving NOW!” She strode toward the door, but the boys were standing in her way and they didn’t budge. Rosie had been wild in her teenage years, getting into her share of girl fights. Then as a nurse, she had helped restrain drunks on A and E. Violence didn’t freak her out. She was stocky and strong, and she wasn’t going to take any shit from these young turds. But her nurse training made her assess the situation. She was outnumbered six to one, and that wasn’t good odds. She halted.
“Last chance,” she said, trying to sound as unruffled as she could. “Get out of my way now, and I’ll forget this happened. Do you know it’s a criminal offence to detain someone against their will?”
“You’re going nowhere,” the one called Dominic said. “And you can drop the barrack-room lawyer act. The law can’t touch us, the oldest of us is only 14. And our parents will get us the best lawyers money can buy. What will we get, community service?” The boys all laughed. “Now then, here’s the deal. We’re fed up with you plebs from the town using our grounds as if you had a right to be in them. So we’re going to make an example of you. You can finish your bike ride in your bra and panties. We’ll take that uniform as a souvenir. Get it off. Now.”
His words made her forget the odds, forget everything except that the personification of what she hated was right in front of her. She tried to barge past them, and everything happened quickly. Hands grabbed at her – she tried to punch but the press of bodies hampered her movement. She kicked out with her powerfully-muscled legs, but her uniform dress impeded her and then two of the boys were kneeling, wrapping their arms round her knees. It was a melee – she was fighting like a maniac, any one of the boys would have stood no chance against her, but the 6 of them were working as a team, shouting encouragement and advice to each other, while Rosie yelled curses and threats and insults, trying to stamp on the ones who were holding her legs, to free her arms and strike out, but the boys hung on for grim death. They didn’t try to hit her; they were relying on weight of numbers to overpower her. Arrogant Dominic was standing right in front of her – she tried to butt him but he was just out of range.
Then he pulled down the zip of her uniform dress. She saw the look of delighted surprise on his face as her full breasts were revealed. She exploded in a new frenzy, she writhed and bucked and twisted, and almost broke free, but the boys managed to hold her, and she couldn’t get the zip of her dress back up.
There was less noise now; only panting, the struggle even more intense as Rosie fought to keep her dress against the eager hands trying to pull it over her head. For a minute or so, it was deadlock, but then she felt something tighten against her left leg, just above the ankle. Shit! They were trying to tie her legs together with something…from somewhere she found the strength to struggle even harder, but she still couldn’t get in a clean hit or kick, and someone was tying her right leg as well – she tried desperately to stop it happening, but her legs were bound together, with only a short space between her ankles. She knew the struggle had swung decisively against her, but she kept fighting against the hands that were trying to undress her. She had thought of the boys as languid young fops, but they were as determined and motivated as her. And now, as she tired, her fury was no match for their persistence and teamwork. They managed to force her dress over her head and down her arms, leaving her naked from the knees up except for her brief black knickers and black half-cup brassiere. She clung desperately to the dress …a hand smacked her bottom and she screamed with renewed rage, knowing only too well the indignities that were in store if she lost, but she was losing, fighting with the last of her strength as her hands were forced behind her back, and a school tie was knotted round her left wrist. They mustn’t tie her hands behind her back…the boys were almost as exhausted as she was, and she managed to force her hands apart for a few moments, but she was only delaying the inevitable. They forced her hands back together, and this time she was utterly exhausted…her right wrist was tied as well. She tried to keep struggling, because to do otherwise would be to admit that she had lost; but she could only manage a feeble, useless, unintentionally sensuous jerking against the hands and ties that had defeated her.