stuff my teachers thought were notes lol

(Give me a title for this)

A/N another depressing story for u to enjoy

"Pl-please stop-p," I pleaded to the towering giant above me. Punches were coming at me left and right. I was unable to brace myself for the pain, as my eyes were swollen shut from the beating my body had taken earlier that day.

"Aw, look at the little wimp!" I could make out voices taunting me, but their words no longer affected me. I had hit rock bottom a long time ago.

A hard kick found its way to my abdomen, causing immense pain. I let out a groan before covering my stomach. But, they kept kicking, most likely giving me a broken arm, as a crack was heard immediately after making contact.

"Hey Logan! Should I punish the little punk? I heard it's been trying to avoid us."

Obviously, I thought. Nobody even remotely in their right mind would not try to avoid getting abused each day.

"Of course. So now you've been running from us? Huh?"

I didn't answer the question, as it was rhetorical. I knew the drill; answer and get punched for 'being smart' or don't answer and get hit for 'ignoring authority'. I decided not to waste my breath.

Soon, my short hair was being pulled up and I tried my best to relieve the pain by attempting to stand on my weak and wobbly legs. The person let go of my hair once I was upright, and instead took my most likely broken wrist. For a split second, I feared that they would discover my slashed wrist, but I was quixkly reminded that a) they were the cause of my harm and, b) they didn't give a crap, when they slammed me into a locker.

I couldn't be bothered to try anymore, so I let my body go limp. I was surprised when my abuser picked me up bridal-style. "Sorry," he mumbled, but it was so quiet that I was positive it was my imagination.

"I'm taking this... thing, to the bathroom to take care of it, if you know what I mean." The rest of the group laughed menacingly.

My mind was busy thinking about what he'd do to me. Most likely, it'd just be another beating, just on the disgusting floor, as everyone knew I was a bit of a germaphobe. But, he could also drown me in the toilet water, lock my in the nasty room with the lights off, wrap me up in toilet paper-again- pee on me, or worst of all, rape me.

Although it hadn't happened to me, there were numerous stories about Logan and his group sexually abusing their punching bags.

The kidnapper sat me on the counter, leaning me up against the grimy wall. I pried my eyes open as far as they'd go to see a worried-looking, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy examining me.

"I'm really sorry. Honestly. I had no idea they were this bad until about a month ago, and I've been trying to figure out a way to help."

I wanted to be mad at the boy, but he seemed so sincere. His big brown eyes were begging for forgiveness. But I had my plans for tonight set in stone.

"Okay," I mumbled.

He pulled out a first-aid kit from his book bag (surprisingly) and started to dab the blood from my legs and face. Once he added the disinfectant, it started to burn, but it felt like heaven compared to the rest of my body.

I did, however, let out a hiss of pain when he started to clean my lip.

"Sorry."

He continued to pat at my scars. Once he was done with my face, the brown-haired boy tried to roll up my sleeves. I couldn't bring myself to open up to him now, though, as I grabbed my sleeves and gave myself sweater paws.

The boy gave me a pitiful look before rolling up his own sleeves. Scars littered both of his forearms. Some of the cuts looked fairly fresh.

"You can trust me. I know what it's like."

Hesitantly, I loosened my grip. He rolled up my sleeves to reveal two sickly-thin arms, covered in stripes of red. Bit of them were bleeding again, and one arm was quite obviously broken.

I watched as the boy meticulously wiped away every trace of fresh blood from my forearms before applying a thin layer of gauze around my almost-as-thin limbs. Next, he wrapped an ace bandage around my unbroken arm.

"I take it you don't want to go to the hospital to got your arm checked out?" I shook my head, only to end up wincing in pain, as my neck was also injured.

"Well my brother is an EMT, so we are going to see him," he informed.

Before I could respond, a shrill sound signaled the end of the period. He took of his grey hoodie and tossed it to me.

"Wear this," he ordered, "keep the hood up and your head down."

The next thing I knew, his hand was latched onto my good wrist and he was dragging me through the sea of kids. Luckily, no one noticed us.

We passed through the crowded hallways with ease, making it to his black Toyota Camry in a mere two minutes.

As we sat in the boy'a car, I noticed that he wasn't buff like the other guys. He was actually quite thin. He wasn't bony like me, but more lean.

"Excuse me,"

"James," he filled in.

"James, could you just drop me off at my house? I'll be okay."

He gave me a skeptical look before sighing and asking for directions.

Upon arriving at my house, I dashed out of his car, hobbling a little, and quickly made my way upstairs.

Although today had kind of ended well, I still had taken the beating of my life. My arm was still in excruciating pain and there was no way I was going to let anybody see it. Not while I was alive, at least.

Using my good hand, I rummaged through my bedside drawer, searching for the bottle of sleeping pills and a can of Sprite.

After opening the bottle with my teeth, I poured 6 or 7 of the extra strength capsules into the palm of my hand.

Unexpectedly, I heard footsteps from downstairs. "Hey! I forgot my jacket, can I have it back? It's a bit chilly and that's the only one I have," James loudly explained.

His steps grew louder, as I imagine he was looking for me. It's now or never, I thought to myself.

Sprite in one hand, pills in the other, I dumped the oils onto my tongue, then used my aching arm to chase them with the soda.

The drink acted as a river, carrying the pill-boats towards a cliff known as the back of my throat, creating a waterfall down my esophagus. The metaphorical rafts were deposited in a lake of acid alternately referred to as my stomach.

Just as the journey ended, James burst through my door. One glance around my surroundings and a look in my eyes told him everything.

I took a deep breath in.

"James."

(1210 words)