ʙᴀʜ, ʙᴀʜ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ sʜᴇᴇᴘ🐑 (MarkYong) [SLOW UPDATES]

三: Break

"Please, stop!" No matter how much I begged, they kept on kicking. Three upperclassmen, none of which I knew, had cornered me here in the bathroom about five, ten minutes ago? Either way, it felt like an eternity, and I would probably not go without at least a few bruised ribs.

They spat insult after insult, and they kicked, and they kicked, and they never stopped. Not even for a second. A kick to the ribs, another kick to the spine, sometimes a kick to the head.

But they never once stopped.

Not when I begged them to, not when I gave up trying, and certainly not when I coughed up blood.

I don't know if the world was always this cruel, or if it woke up one day and decided to hate people just a little bit more than it had. But it wasn't fun. It hurt.

Even when they finally stopped, blood rushing down the side of my head as I tried to breathe, I could still feel it lingering. The impression that a polished doc Martin leaves on your stomach, and the way that it rips at the soft skin on your skull. It isn't something you forget easily.

I have to drag myself towards the sink, using the counter to pull myself up, even though it hurts.

Even though it's just going to happen again, and again.

I still have to fight.

I can barely recognize myself in the mirror, red covers me in a thick blanket that I can't escape.

But my father used to tell me something when I used to come home bruised in middle school.

"Spit your blood and bare your teeth, kid. Let them see you cry, but never let them see you break."

I wipe the blood out of my eyes, spit it out of my mouth, and look back at my reflection as I wash away the rest of it. Once the blood is washed away, it doesn't seem so bad.

Sure, it hurts, and I wish it had never happend, but it has. And there's only one thing I can do about it.

Never let them see me break.