BBS Ships (one shots)

(Terroriser x Moo) Bully

I don't know why he does it. It's just so stupid. Why me, out of everybody else in school? My normal skin color is black and blue because of him! The scars that he left will never leave! All the things he's said to me will stay in my mind forever because I can't let them go!

The worst part, though, is that I sit there, and take it. Why? Inside, I'm like a pile of books. Every time someone says or does something hurtful, a new book is added. I could fall anytime, but I keep my balance. However, everything has a limit, and when that final book comes, I'll collapse. While I'm falling apart, those people who stacked the books, will get hurt, and it wouldn't be my fault.

Everyday, I act like playground equipment for him. Sometimes I'm the monkey bars; I have to support both of our weight, but if I fall, we're both going down. Being his jungle gym is terrible; He climbs all over me, and I can't push him off. The swing is the worst; I get pushed away, hoping I could leave, but I always fall back.

I looked in the mirror to see if the black eye was gone, "Well, it looks better than it did yesterday."

"Brock!" My mom screamed from downstairs, "You're going to miss the bus!"

I put on my baseball cap and sped walked out the door. I walked to the bus stop and looked down the road. People around me talked among their own friends.

That's another thing: I don't have friends. I'm just too awkward. Plus, getting the living daylight kick out of you every time you leave the house is time consuming.

The bus came to a screeching stop and we piled in. I sat in my usual seat: The back.

I sat on the uncomfortable, brown leather seat and looked out the window. I always did that, but I never payed attention to what I was looking at; I usually day dream about the day I stood up to him.

Suddenly, I felt the seat droop a bit. I turned my head and met a pear of dark, brown eyes-the color of coffee beans. He had light brown skin and pink, pale lips. His black hair was very curly and short.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" He asked. He seemed scared.

"Yeah," I said, "why do you seem scared?"

He got comfortable and looked at me, "Well, I just moved here and it's my first day of school. I'm a freshman."

I nodded and made an 'oh.' face, "Well, I'm Brock."

He looked at me and smiled, "I'm Marcel."

I don't know what it was, but the fact that he sat next to me made me feel like I could talk to him. Maybe because he didn't know me, or maybe because he wasn't rude to me. All I know is that during the whole bus ride, it was nice to actually sit and talk to someone.

"What happened to your eye?" He asked

I looked away, "Long story."

He bent his head a bit so I would notice him and look up, "Well, we've got nothing but time."

I told Marcel about him. He was concerned, but also mad. It seemed like the more I told him, the more he got mad.

"How long has this been going on?"

Fifth grade...sixth grade...seventh grade...eighth grade...now, "About five years."

His eyes widened, "And the teachers don't do anything about it?"

I shook my head, "No. They believe you have to solve your own problems now, so you can be prepared later in life."

"That's stupid!"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Later in life, if my house gets robbed, I ain't gonna a sit there and try to crack the code myself; I'm callin' the police!"