Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 16 | Keep moving forward

THE BELL RANG OUT like a death toll in the crowded halls of Elmwood Heights High, signaling the beginning of another week that James had already begun to dread. His feet shuffled across the linoleum floors, a cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The familiar weight of his Polaroid hung around his neck like a shield, though he knew, deep down, it would do nothing to protect him from what was coming.

The bullying had started small—barely noticeable. It began with sneers thrown his way from across the cafeteria, or snide remarks as William's friends passed him in the halls. The names they called him stung like little cuts that built up over time, carving out pieces of him, leaving invisible scars he couldn't heal. But over the past week, those cuts had deepened, the small jabs now replaced with something more physical, something more cruel.

James pushed open the door to his locker, the metal creaking as it swung open. He winced as he leaned down, feeling the dull ache in his ribs from last Friday. The boys hadn't hurt him too badly, but the bruises had bloomed purple and blue along his torso like angry reminders of his mistakes. It wasn't Sandra's fault—she had been understanding when he apologized, forgiving him for the photos he had taken without her permission. But that hadn't stopped her from becoming a topic of ridicule among William's friends, and by association, James was their target too.

He had thought maybe the harassment would die down after the weekend. Maybe they'd forget about it. Maybe he'd stop being their punching bag. But as he gathered his books, he felt the familiar, heavy presence approach from behind.

Markus, Trent, and Ethan. The same trio that had confronted him in the bathroom last week. They were like predators, always lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce the moment James let his guard down. Today, they weren't even trying to be subtle. He could hear their footsteps echoing behind him, the low murmur of their voices growing louder as they closed in.

James swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned, trying to make himself as small as possible, but it was no use. The moment Markus caught sight of him, his face lit up with a twisted grin.

"Well, well, look who it is," Markus said, his voice dripping with mockery. He leaned against the locker beside James, crossing his arms as the others gathered around him like a pack of wolves circling their prey.

Trent, tall and broad-shouldered, gave James a once-over, his lip curling in disgust. "Still carrying that stupid camera, huh? What, you gonna take more pictures of Sandra? Or maybe you're just here to take some of us. You seem to like taking pictures of guys, don't you?"

Ethan snickered, his eyes narrowing as he elbowed Trent in the ribs. "He's probably waiting for William to show up. That's what he really wants."

The mention of William sent a spike of adrenaline through James' veins, but he kept his expression as neutral as possible. He couldn't let them see the effect that name had on him, couldn't let them know how deeply their words cut. He clutched the strap of his Polaroid tighter, willing himself to stay calm, to not react.

"I don't want anything from you," James muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Markus raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. "Oh, really? So you're not into the whole stalking thing? 'Cause you sure as hell looked like it last week when you were taking pictures of Sandra without her knowing. What's the matter, freak? Can't talk to girls like a normal person?"

The words stung, but James knew better than to engage. He kept his gaze down, focusing on the scuffed tips of his shoes as the taunts continued. They always knew how to find the weak spots, always knew how to dig the knife in just a little deeper.

Trent moved closer, his hulking frame casting a shadow over James. "You know, it's kind of pathetic," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You walking around with that camera like it's gonna make you special. Like anyone actually cares about your stupid pictures. You think you're an artist or something? 'Cause to us, you're just a creep."

James clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. The words echoed in his head, repeating over and over, making his stomach churn with nausea. He wasn't a creep. He wasn't—

Before he could finish the thought, Trent shoved him—hard—against the lockers. The metal rattled as James' shoulder slammed into it, pain shooting down his arm. He gritted his teeth, biting back the hiss that threatened to escape. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him in pain. Not again.

"Careful," Markus said with a smirk, "he's fragile. Wouldn't want him to break before lunch."

Ethan snorted, clearly enjoying the show. "Yeah, besides, we've got P.E. later. Don't want him skipping out on that, do we?"

James straightened himself as best as he could, ignoring the throbbing ache in his shoulder. They hadn't broken his camera, at least. That was all he cared about. If they had shattered it, he wasn't sure what he would have done. The thought of losing the one thing that gave him a sense of control, a sense of distance from the world, was unbearable.

"Just leave me alone," James muttered, his voice barely audible.

Markus laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the quiet hallway. "Leave you alone? Why would we do that? You're too much fun to mess with."

But before they could push any further, the sound of the bell cut through the tension like a knife. Its shrill ring echoed through the halls, signaling the end of their little game. Markus shot a glance at the clock before turning back to James, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Saved by the bell," he said with a mocking wink. "You're lucky we've got class."

James didn't say anything, didn't move. He stayed still, his body tense, waiting for them to leave. Trent gave him one last shove before they all turned and walked away, laughing among themselves as they disappeared into the throngs of students.

James stood there for a moment, his heart still racing, his entire body trembling with adrenaline. His ribs ached, his shoulder throbbed, but he sucked it up, forcing himself to act like it hadn't hurt. He had learned how to do that over the years—how to swallow the pain, how to bury it so deep inside that it wouldn't show on his face. It was a survival mechanism, one he had perfected long ago.

He took a deep breath, adjusting his camera strap before pushing himself off the lockers. The hall had emptied out now, the noise fading as students made their way to class. James stared after the boys, his jaw clenched tight as he walked in the opposite direction, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he'd see William in P.E. class today.

The idea of seeing him gave James something to hold onto, a lifeline in the chaos of the school day. He ignored the dull ache in his ribs, the sting in his shoulder. It didn't matter. All that mattered was seeing William. Just a glimpse would be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

James kept his head down as he walked, his thoughts spiraling into the familiar haze of obsession. William—golden, beautiful, perfect—was the only thing that made any of this worth it. And if he had to endure a few more bruises, a few more beatings, just for the chance to see him again, then so be it.

James sucked in a breath and straightened his shoulders, determined to keep moving forward, no matter how much it hurt.