Bullied

Chapter 1 ~ Dried Tears

ϟ ~ ϟ Chapter 1 ϟ ~ ϟ

I groaned in pain, tears escaping my eyes, while watching the school’s 3 bad boys walking away. This was usual. They always did that, since my junior year in high-school. And now I’m in my senior. I thought that they would get bored sometime but no. It just kept going and going.

Every day, after school hours end, I would exit the building and they would be there waiting for me to show up. Then, they would approach me and before I could even take a breath, I would already be laying on the cold, hard pavement with my knees on my stomach, trying to at least reduce the pain. Today was no different.  I got out of the building and once again I was met with the pavement. Believe me, I have tried so many times to avoid them, but it’s not easy. There was that one time that I left the school from another exit and that noon I wasn’t hurt. The next day though, was the worst of all. Not only did they beat me up before and after school, but they had brought friends with them. 10 muscular guys against one weak, harmless girl. I remember that day I tried suicide, but then I thought ‘why do them a favor?’, ‘they don’t deserve it.’ So that day I put down the pills on the counter and went to eat dinner with my family. My parents and little brother don’t know about it. We’re way too close and I just can’t tell them. I’m sure that by the end of this year my bullies will forget about me. Hopefully.

I laid a few more minutes on the pavement trying to absorb as much pain as possible, but that was just an excuse. I just wanted a little more time to calm down before my long walk to home. I was thankful that they never touched my face. Not even one punch. If my parents saw it abused, they would freak out. They’re way too emotional to handle it. That’s one of the reasons why they still don’t know about their older child being bullied all day long.

Oh right, I should have mentioned that the other kids at school also bully me. Not all of them do it physically though. Most of them with words. Believe it or not, I’m the only student that others turn to express their anger. And they’re all very good at doing so. The boys beat me and the girls mostly use words that I grew to believe through these years. I told myself I wouldn’t let it bother me, but after listening to the same words each day, I couldn’t help but think that I indeed was at least one of them.

Stupid.

 

Ugly.

 

Loser.

 

Freak.

 

Emo.

 

Not enough.

 

Fat.

 

Slut.

 

Fake.

 

Bitch.

 

Attention whore.

 

These were their everyday words towards me. I wasn’t exactly an emo. I just didn’t like light colored clothes. My hear may be dark but I always have it up in a messy bun. I don’t wear make-up but I do wear a lot of bracelets and rings. And I also wear my black army boots almost every moment. Emos are nothing like me. Not that I have something against them, but I sure am not like them. Or so I think. People in school have their own idea of what an emo is. That’s why no one hangs out with me. Not even one person. I’m not an A+ student. I get mostly B’s and sometimes A’s or even C’s. In class, I sit at the back on the far left desk and away from others. At lunch I have my own table to eat. I never talk to anyone. I don’t think I have ever talked to anyone at school these past few years. It is possible that nobody in there has heard my voice.