"Tell me everything." He muttered as he sat slumped behind a dark wooden desk, his out of date glasses on the tip of his nose. "Tell me how this person bullies you." It was funny, if i do say so myself.
Two whole years and no-ones picked up on it.
"Why?" I asked simple but effective. Why is the one word, the one question you can repeat over and over until there are no more answers left to give.
The man then shook his head and sighed. "Well because i want to help you." Help? I thought. HA! I'm beyond help.
"So, you want to know how I'm bullied?" I questioned. He simply nodded.
"Well, they say awful things, truly awful it'd make you sick. They kick me to the dirt and spit their venom in my face. They tear me down until theres nothing more than a shattered heart and a void soul. They then take a thick marker and label me as if I'm a product." The man listened intently.
"Sometimes they'll leave me alone, sometimes as long as a month but as short as a few minutes. But they always come back. They rip me apart, their words like wrecking balls against my skin. For you see my skin isn't thick, it's as soft and delicate as a piece of satin or a rose petal. My body and mind wasn't built for this and i just need it to stop. I need the pain to stop. I need the sweet release of freedom. I need for it to be okay again."
He lowered his gaze and coughed subtly as he rustled through a few papers he had lying on his desk. He soon looked back at me.
"Who's doing this to you?" I laughed. How can anyone be so clueless?
"Can you not tell?" I took a short breath and stared him in the eye.
"It's me..."
