Out of control

David's Story-"send help"

Silently, I stared down at my phone. I was sitting in the tram on my way to school. I sat quietly, listening to my music through my AirPods. My dark hair was tucked under the hood of my black hoodie.

I didn't want to go to school. It was a terrible place—at least, for me. I wasn't exactly doing poorly in my classes, and I didn't feel much pressure to perform. But every single school day, I had to survive my homophobic classmates. I was gay, and when I came out, I hadn't realized what a storm it would stir up. Actually, I had only come out to my then-best friend, Jeffrey. It was during the summer break. I trusted him and thought he'd take it in stride. But he was shocked and barely said a word at first. I figured he'd come around after a few days, maybe a few weeks. But he didn't contact me for the rest of the summer. And when I went back to school, the entire class knew. David was gay.

No one but Jeffrey could have told them, because no one else knew—not even my parents. But the guys in my class dealt with it much worse than Jeffrey had. They didn't avoid or ignore me; they started insulting me. After that summer, I became the school's biggest freak. No guy wanted to be in the same locker room as me, scared I'd fall in love with them. But things got worse outside of school. Clayton, a guy from my class who seemed to have the biggest issue with me being "gay," made it his mission to corner me every day after school with his friends. They'd hit me, beat me up, call me names. When someone asked where the bruises on my face and arms came from, I said I'd fallen. If someone asked why I'd grown so withdrawn, I said it was the stress from school.

My life was a web of lies. I told my parents and distant relatives nothing about any of it—not the beatings, and certainly not that I wasn't interested in girls. Why would I? The last thing I wanted was to go through that kind of rejection again, like I'd already faced from my classmates—especially from Jeffrey.

The tram pulled to a stop, and I stepped out, bracing myself for what lay ahead. My school loomed just a few blocks away, gray and cold under the early morning sky. I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie pockets, keeping my head down as I trudged along the pavement, hoping to stay invisible for as long as possible.

Inside, the familiar scent of cleaning supplies and cafeteria food hit me as I walked down the hall to my classroom. My stomach twisted. I tried to remind myself to just get through the day, just survive one period at a time. But the minute I stepped through the door, I felt their eyes on me. And sure enough, Clayton was the first to sneer.

"Well, if it isn't the school's little fairy," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. His friends laughed, nudging each other and shooting me smug, mocking looks. I forced myself to look away, keeping my gaze fixed on the empty seat near the back of the room. If I could just make it there, maybe they'd lose interest. But Clayton wasn't finished. As I passed, he stuck out his leg just enough to trip me. I stumbled, catching myself before I fell, but the laughter around me only grew louder. I bit down hard, tasting metal as I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to keep moving.

The first two hours passed in a blur, every second crawling by, the weight of every glance and snicker pressing down on me. By the time the bell finally rang, signaling the start of break, I could barely breathe. I needed to get away, to find some space, anywhere they couldn't follow.

I slipped out of the classroom as quickly as I could, weaving through the crowded hallway until I found the bathroom at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open, looking over my shoulder to make sure Clayton and his friends hadn't noticed me leave. Once inside, I headed straight for the farthest stall, shutting and locking the door behind me.

Inside, the silence closed in, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights. I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension in my chest spill over. With trembling fingers, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, cold blade. It was the only thing I felt like I had control over these days, the only way to release some of the pain that had been building inside me for so long. My hand shook as I held it, feeling the edge press lightly against my skin.

But just as I was about to press down, I heard it—a voice outside the stall door, low and mocking.

"David? You hiding in here?" Clayton's voice sent a chill through me, sharp and paralyzing.

My hand froze, the blade slipping from my fingers and clattering softly onto the floor. I pressed myself against the stall wall, praying he wouldn't come any closer, praying he wouldn't know just how close he'd brought me to the edge. I waited, hardly daring to breathe, hoping he'd leave.