His eyes flickered towards me and slightly widened, I'm sure the messily hidden bruise was the cause. I met his gaze before he glanced down and looked away. His leg started to shake as he tapped his fingers and would occasionally look up.
Detention only lasted for another thirty minutes and then I knew there would be a confrontation. I could only cross my fingers and pray that it was short. He was about as enjoyable as drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth.
I glanced over at the monotone clock that just kept on moving. Although it's moments were rhythmic, it followed a constant pattern. It never changed the order in which it rotated or the direction. It was boring, yet necessary for us humans to use for our own leisure.
If there was a way to sympathize with an inanimate object, the clock would receive my sympathy. Because really, I was no more interesting than anyone else. I followed a basic pattern, but that would occasionally change.
I was used by others, for their convenience and their benefit. Used by my mother as her punching bag. Used by boys for sex. Used by my peers to feel better about themselves.
And I frankly couldn't give a shit.
It didn't matter anymore to me. My opinion of myself didn't matter anymore to me.
And maybe that was the saddest thing of all.
