One of the Bullied | ✔

Chapter 3 - Broken Glasses and Shattered Hopes

My glasses are broken again. It's the third pair in two months. I don't think my parents are quite taking the "I tripped and they smashed on the curb" excuse any more. It's not really working quite so well.

I'll probably have to pay for them myself, and then I won't have the money for the new classics editions that are coming out in a month. And it's all, as always, down to the stupid freaks who want to ruin my life. I kick the grass angrily, my temper flaring up quickly.

But I keep it down, because if someone sees me it'll just get worse. I know I should stand up for myself, but there's more of them, and there's only so much someone can take. Checking my watch, I realise it's getting late. School is about to finish; I can just see the rest of the class heading off. Not even the teacher comes over to me.

I shove the cracked glasses on and limp slowly back to the school, hoping I'm late enough to miss most of the bullies who didn't get a go at me yet. Thankfully, it takes me about ten minutes to get in, and most people are gone from the corridor.

Opening my locker, I take out the books I need, together with about six or seven calculus books, and three history ones. Homework. Don't even ask me how they get them into my locker. I don't even care. All I know is it's here, and if I don't hand it back to them, completed, tomorrow, I get beat up or pranked.

If at least I did the work and there was some kind of pact, like they didn't say anything for a couple of days or something, it would be okay. But all I get for it, is, when everything is right on it, more bullying.

Once I tried, not to do it. I had written five essays for English Literature and it was past midnight. I only had one left. My greatest mistake, was, I didn't check whose it was. If it had been a girl she would have just called me some names.

But it was Luke's. When I realised I tried to put something together quickly but I didn't have the time. He got so angry at me.

"What are you even useful for, Zerd? No one cares about you because you can't even write a fucking essay!"

"I wrote six already."

"AND YOU COULDN'T WRITE ONE MORE! You're a stupid bitch. All the work you do is shit anyway." Before I can react his hand comes shooting forward, catching me under the jaw. I fall back against the lockers, groaning in pain. As I do, my books fall from my grasp, together with the scores hidden between them I was planning to practice during break.

Luke stoops down, suddenly interested. "Ooh, so you play, do you, Zerd?" I don't even answer, waiting for him to rip it up, punch me again and leave. He rips up the scores but doesn't move an inch. Then he stoops again, plucking up my files. He wrenches out a handwritten five-page essay due in today for Calculus.

I make a snatch for it but he holds it above my head. I reach up but I get kicked in the thigh. I collapse against the lockers, sinking to the floor as someone kicks my stomach, just for good measure.

"Oops, there goes your work, Zerd." He leans down so he's eye level with me. "Now, you better make something for me before Lit, haven't you. I expect it before lunch. Now get your pathetic self out of here." He spits. I don't move - it's my locker I'm leaning against. There goes all my work.

Homework for a whole week, ripped apart. And my stomach: it hurts. It fucking hurts.

I shake off the flashback as soon as I remember - I don't want to think back to that. It's bad enough at the moment. So I just pack all the books into my bag and leave the school best as I can.

At home, I run upstairs before my parents get back and start writing out essays. I change the writing style and my handwriting for each essay. I get through the three history essays quickly, and then I do mine, putting more effort and time into it.