need help

3

Macau sat at his desk, the exam paper in front of him, but the words on the page seemed to swim together, blurring into a mess of ink that he couldn’t make sense of. His headache throbbed, sharp and unrelenting, as if a hammer was driving nails into his skull. He pressed his hand to his temple, trying to concentrate, but the pain only grew worse with each passing second.

The room felt too bright, too loud. Every scratch of pencil on paper, every whispered conversation among the students sent sharp jolts of pain through his head. He could hear the invigilator pacing up and down the aisles, their footsteps echoing in his mind like thunder. But worse than that was the voice. That voice, always whispering in the back of his mind, reminding him of everything he had lost, everything he had suffered.

*You’re worthless…* 
*They’ll never believe you…* 
*They all hate you, Macau. Just give up.*

Macau gripped the edges of his desk, his vision going dark around the edges as he tried to push the voice away. He couldn’t think straight. The headache was unbearable, the nausea building in his stomach with each breath.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure was too much.

Raising his hand, Macau barely managed to mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom before stumbling out of the exam room. His legs felt weak, shaky, and he had to steady himself against the walls as he made his way down the empty hallway.

The moment he reached the bathroom, he collapsed against the sink, barely making it to the toilet before the nausea overtook him. He retched violently, the force of it making his body shake uncontrollably. His stomach churned painfully, and he vomited until there was nothing left but bile—and then, blood.

His eyes widened as he saw the dark red streaks in the toilet, panic gripping his chest. He tried to stop, but his body wouldn’t listen. He vomited again, more blood splattering against the porcelain, and his heart raced. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop. He wanted it to end.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the vomiting slowed. Macau wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trembling as he leaned against the wall for support. His throat burned, and his body felt weak, like all the strength had been drained out of him.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. His face was pale, almost ghostly, and his eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles etched beneath them from countless sleepless nights. He looked like a shell of himself, like someone who had been hollowed out by pain and exhaustion.

For a brief moment, he thought about staying there, in the bathroom, letting the world forget he existed. But he couldn’t. He had to go back. He had to face whatever came next, no matter how much it hurt.

Taking a shaky breath, Macau splashed cold water on his face, trying to steady himself before stepping out of the bathroom. He was halfway down the hall, trying to make it back to the exam room, when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Hey, Macau!”

The voice was familiar, mocking. Macau froze in place, dread sinking in his stomach. He turned slowly, his worst fears confirmed as he saw a group of seniors walking toward him. They were Chay’s friends, a tight-knit group of boys who had always treated Macau like he was beneath them. They loved Chay, adored him, and ever since Chay had turned the family against Macau, these boys had followed suit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” one of them sneered, stepping closer. “You think you can just walk around here after what you did to Chay?”

Macau didn’t respond. He had nothing left to say. His body was too weak, his mind too fogged with pain. All he could do was stand there, trying to brace himself for what he knew was coming.

The first blow came without warning—a hard punch to his stomach that knocked the wind out of him. Macau doubled over, gasping for breath, but he didn’t fight back. He couldn’t.

“You think you’re special?” another boy said, grabbing Macau by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “Chay told us everything. You’re a piece of trash, Macau. Nobody wants you around.”

Macau’s head hit the wall with a dull thud, and his vision blurred for a moment. But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t cry out. He just let them hit him, over and over again, each punch and kick more painful than the last. His ribs ached, his stomach burned, but the worst pain was the one that gripped his heart.

*Chay told us everything.*

Chay had turned even them against him. His brother had made sure there was no one left for Macau to turn to, not even at school. They weren’t just doing this because they hated Macau—they were doing it because they loved Chay.

“Come on, say something,” one of the boys taunted, his fist colliding with Macau’s jaw. “Tell us how sorry you are for hurting Chay.”

Macau remained silent, biting down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much they beat him, he wouldn’t beg for forgiveness.

He could barely stand by the time they were done, his body bruised and aching all over. He was covered in dirt, his uniform torn, his lip split open. But the seniors walked away laughing, satisfied with their work.

Macau stayed where he was, slumped against the wall, breathing heavily as pain pulsed through his entire body. His mind was blank, empty, as if the beating had taken away even his ability to think.

It wasn’t just physical pain—it was deeper than that. Chay had taken everything from him. His family, his friends, even the people at school. They all believed Chay’s lies, and now Macau had nothing left.

Slowly, Macau pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. He stumbled back toward the bathroom, each step more painful than the last, but he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t let them see him like this.

Once inside, he locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the floor, his back against the wall. His body hurt, but the emotional weight was heavier.

He pressed his hands against his face, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to break down, but it was too much. It was all too much.

Alone in the bathroom, Macau let the tears fall.