Bullied: Isabella's Story

Chapter Seven: Pessimism

It was just another ordinary lunch period - me perched on the wall, reading.

Reading released the pressure of the school day; took my mind off of all my issues concerning Charlene and her 'crew'.

On this day, I'd been in the world of Tris, from 'Divergent'.

I idolised her; I loved how she'd had the courage to join Dauntless, despite her uncertainty of the future if she made that choice. I knew that I'd never be that person - that I'd never be reckless, valiant, heroic. I was just me. Plain, old me.

Engrossed in the story, I was oblivious to the happenings around me. From now until the bell rang to convey next lesson's beginning, my universe - my everything - orbited around Tris and I.

Then, a sharp, forceful hand on my back-

Within milliseconds, I was on the malodorous, damp earth, the brick wall I was relaxed on moments beforehand towering over me. 'Divergent' had been mangled, only a few pages still intact.

As I gathered myself up, dusting the muck to the best of my ability from my jeans, a chorus of chuckling and chortling echoed throughout, what it seemed, the majority of the schools building and turf.

I should've known who it was by now.

"Oh! Look at you!" Ava remarked, "The little swot!"

"Did you enjoy your text from us last night?" Frankie retorted.

I narrowed my eyes at her, infuriated now, that I hadn't figured that out sooner. Filled with anguish, I opened my mouth to speak, only to find that I was too cowardly to do so.

"All that stuff is completely true, y'know," Charlene grinned cunningly, "Nobody likes you. You're a mistake. That's all you'll ever be."

"Never heard anything so true in my life."

"She's such a freak."

"Ugly, too."

"You can say that again."

"Little, ratty bitch."

"I feel sorry for her mom and dad - they have to live with her."

Each of their statements stabbed into my very soul, leaving an eternal scar behind in it's place. Every one of their insults teared a gaping hole so large in my chest that I could hardly believe that it wasn't visible. I held it securely to prevent it from ripping itself apart.

I finally substantiated the truth; they weren't lying. I was unwanted - a mistake.

I focussed on reminding myself how to breathe, as they continued to rant at me. Everything merged into one pile of worthlessness; nothing mattered anymore.

I planted myself in the dirt; remained there even after the bell tolled. I could only stare down at the floor. I knew then that pessimism had taken control of me, and that I wasn't strong enough to fight it off. Life was winning the boxing match; I was on the edge of a knock out, I could feel it.

"Isabella... Isabella... Please answer me," a low voice beseeched, "Please, if you can hear me."

My eyes broke away from their meaningless gaze, and locked onto the voice's origin; Mr Murphy, my English teacher.

"Hi," I muttered.

"Isabella? Why aren't you in class?"

"I just didn't want to go."

"You're usually in class on time, before anyone else - is everything okay?"

I nodded.

His eyes critically scanned my face.

"Is everything alright at home?"

"Yes. Everything's okay," I barely even whispered now.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded once more.

"Well then... Would you like to come to class with me or aren't you ready yet?"

Without a word spoken, he led the way to English, me biting my nails anxiously, with knowledge that the cycle would never end; getting up, being beaten, then sleep again.

What was the point of living another day in this hell?