Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 18 | A broken, discarded thing, unwanted and humiliated

THE RAIN HAD ALREADY drenched the world in gray by the time James parked his car that morning. It was relentless, hammering down like the sky itself was weeping for some unknown tragedy. He watched it through the windshield, the rhythmic thrumming almost hypnotic, a temporary escape from the noise in his own head. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed his backpack and shoved open the door, bracing himself for the inevitable cold splash of water that would meet him the moment his feet hit the ground.

It was worse than he imagined.

The rain came at him from all angles, soaking through his jacket and into his skin within seconds. He cursed under his breath, yanking his hood over his head, though it did little to protect him from the sheets of rain that poured down. He ran for the building, his shoes squelching in the puddles as he went, but it was no use. By the time he reached the entrance, he was drenched, water dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin.

He didn't even bother going to his first period. There was no way he could sit in class like this, shivering and miserable, while his clothes slowly dried. Instead, he slipped into one of the bathrooms, hoping to at least make himself presentable before anyone saw him. He spent the better part of an hour trying to wring out his jacket and dry his hair with the useless paper towels from the dispenser, but it barely made a difference. His reflection in the mirror looked as bleak as the weather outside—dark circles under his eyes, lips pale from the cold, his hair still plastered to his forehead.

By the time he finally made it to class, the bell had already rung, and he slunk into his seat unnoticed, hoping to just make it through the rest of the day without further incident. But of course, that was too much to ask for.

The rain hadn't let up when lunch came around, and the clouds above felt as heavy as the weight inside James' chest. He tried to blend into the background, but that was nearly impossible. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual energy, and he could feel the stares, hear the whispers—the jocks hadn't let up since the day they caught him snapping pictures of Sandra.

But the real trouble came after. Between third and fourth period, when the rain had only grown more intense, James was cornered.

Markus, Ethan, Trent, and the other boys—Tyler and Joel—blocked his path in the hall. Their collective presence felt like a wall he couldn't breach, and his pulse quickened, blood rushing in his ears as he realized what was coming. Markus smirked, the smugness thick on his face as his fingers cracked in anticipation.

"Well, well, look who's trying to slink by," Markus said, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You think we'd forget about you, James?"

James clenched his jaw but said nothing. His eyes darted to the floor, to his shoes, anywhere but their faces. He wanted to disappear, melt into the cracks between the tiles. His heart hammered against his ribcage, fear crawling up his spine like ice.

Ethan pushed him roughly against the lockers, the sound of his body hitting the cold metal loud enough to make the few other students lingering in the hallway glance their way before scurrying off.

"You've been real quiet lately," Trent sneered, leaning in close. "What's the matter, freak? Cat got your tongue?"

James tried to steady his breathing, tried to will the shaking in his hands to stop. He wasn't in the mood for this, not today. But they were relentless, like wolves circling their prey. He could feel the pressure building, and he knew what was coming next.

Tyler stepped forward, shoving him hard in the chest. "We're talking to you!"

In the process, James lost his grip on his jacket. It slipped off his shoulders, and before he could stop it, something tumbled out of the pockets. Polaroids. Dozens of them, spilling across the floor like a secret being violently exposed to daylight.