Beneath the Bully's Gaze

Wounds and Words

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over Crestwood High's football field. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of excited cheers, the clash of helmets, and the rhythmic thud of the ball being kicked. It was a game that promised to be as intense as it was thrilling. The players, dressed in their team jerseys, moved with precision, the competition hanging thick in the air.

Mira stood at the edge of the field, just beyond the crowd, trying to stay out of sight. Her heart raced with an unusual mix of excitement and dread. She hadn't been planning to come to the game, but Lucas, one of her classmates and a friend, had insisted she watch. He was playing on the opposing team, and despite the turmoil in her head, she'd agreed. But as she watched the game unfold, her gaze kept drifting toward Ethan.

Ethan. The boy who had made her life miserable for as long as she could remember. The one who had taunted her relentlessly, never once showing an ounce of kindness. He was everything she both hated and couldn't seem to ignore.

On the field, though, he was a force of nature—his agility, his confidence, his complete domination over the ball. He moved with a grace that was almost poetic, darting across the field with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey. And despite herself, Mira couldn't help but watch.

Her pulse quickened every time Ethan sprinted past, effortlessly evading opponents and scoring points with that trademark smirk plastered on his face. It was hard to reconcile the cruel bully she knew with the fierce athlete she watched before her. But just as quickly as the admiration bubbled up, she buried it, telling herself that it wasn't worth caring. That he didn't deserve her attention.

The game was intense, both teams desperate for the win, and it became clear as the second half began that Ethan was a key player. He was everywhere on the field, controlling the pace of the game with an almost eerie precision.

But then, as the game neared its peak, disaster struck.

Ethan was in the thick of the action when he collided with an opposing player. The force of the impact sent both players tumbling to the ground. The collective gasp from the crowd felt deafening as time seemed to slow.

Ethan's body twisted unnaturally, and Mira's breath hitched in her chest as he fell hard to the ground, clutching his leg in visible pain.

For a moment, Mira froze, her body paralyzed. She should have felt relieved, or at least indifferent—this was Ethan, after all, the boy who had tormented her for years. But instead, a strange surge of concern overtook her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, lying there on the grass, clearly in pain.

The coach rushed onto the field, yelling orders to get Ethan off the field and to the clinic. The crowd erupted into whispers, the tension palpable. But Mira remained motionless, her gaze fixed on him as he was helped off the field.

Part of her wanted to turn away, to ignore it, but she couldn't. She just stood there, holding herself back from rushing to his side. It was foolish, she knew. He wouldn't want her help. He didn't deserve it. She must not. And yet, some part of her couldn't shake the instinct to help.

Minutes later, after the game had ended, Mira found herself walking down the hallway, the sounds of the game still echoing in her ears. She hadn't planned to visit the clinic—she didn't owe him anything.

But somehow, her feet carried her there, as though her body knew what her mind couldn't quite comprehend. She told herself it was just curiosity. Nothing more.

After all, he was used to getting hurt. It was his way of life. A wound wouldn't stop him. But still, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she should check on him.