No one moved to help.
Fear?
Indulgence?
I didn't care anymore.
This was my life. And no one was going to help.
This wasn't some fairy tale.
This was real life.
And in the real world—
The world watched.
Breathing.
Quiet.
Pretending.
Like nothing had happened.
Like nothing ever did.
My back burned where it had struck the desk. My head throbbed in slow, dull pulses that refused to fade. Something warm trailed down my skin—slow, steady—slipping beneath my collar, soaking into fabric that suddenly felt too heavy to wear.
I didn't wipe it.
Didn't check.
Didn't care enough to move that much.
The laughter had softened.
Not gone.
Just… satisfied.
Like a crowd that had already seen what it came for.
I pressed my hands against the floor.
Held myself there.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
For a second—
that was enough.
Then I pushed.
My arms trembled immediately, strain shooting through them before I was even halfway up. My legs followed a second too late, unsteady, unreliable—
—and gave out.
I caught myself on the desk before I could hit the ground again.
Barely.
A chair scraped somewhere behind me.
Someone shifted.
A whisper slipped through the air.
Not loud enough to matter.
But loud enough to exist.
I stayed there for a moment, hunched, gripping the desk like it was the only solid thing left in the room.
Then I tried again.
Slower this time.
Deliberate.
My knees shook as I forced myself upright, fingers dragging along the desk for balance. The wood creaked faintly under the pressure.
The room tilted.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Like the world had decided it didn't need to sit level anymore.
Like I was the only thing still trying to hold onto it.
"Look who's finally grown some balls—"
I didn't look at him.
Didn't answer.
But this time—
I didn't go down either.
That was new.
A breath left me.
Not a laugh.
Not even close.
Just air.
"Yeah…" I muttered, voice rough, thin. "I'm fine."
It sounded wrong.
Flat.
Unconvincing.
Not even to me.
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It pressed in.
Waiting.
Watching.
Like the room itself was holding its breath—
for something.
Something shifted.
Not in the room.
Deeper.
Inside me.
A pull.
Subtle.
Patient.
Curious.
I went still.
Completely still.
It didn't speak.
It didn't have to.
I felt it.
Before I understood it.
Kellan said something again.
I didn't catch the words.
Didn't need to.
They hit something—
and stopped.
Like they'd run into a wall that hadn't been there before.
Something I couldn't see.
But could feel.
And somehow—
it held.
The laughter thinned.
The murmurs faded.
The room felt… distant.
Like I was standing just outside of it.
Looking in.
And then it hit me—
I wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
And whatever it was—
it hadn't finished with me.
Watching.
Testing.
Measuring.
My knees shook harder now.
My vision blurred.
Pain flared in my ribs, sharp enough to pull me back into my body—
but something else held me upright.
Something cold.
Certain.
Waiting.
And I knew—
The moment it fully touched me—
nothing in that classroom would remain the same.
"Why does it always feel like this is normal?"
The thought slipped through.
Quiet.
Uninvited.
Not mine.
"Why am I the one who has to endure it?"
This time—
I answered it.
My fingers tightened against the desk.
Something stirred in my chest.
Weak.
Unsteady.
Almost fragile enough to collapse under its own weight.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Just the shape of it.
Forming.
Then—
A hand grabbed my collar.
Hard.
Sudden.
I was yanked forward before I could react, my balance snapping instantly as my feet slid uselessly against the floor.
Kellan.
Too close.
Always too close.
His grip tightened, knuckles pressing into the fabric like he was testing how much pressure it would take before something tore.
"You're nothing," he said. "You hear me? You will always be nothing. Look who's finally grown some balls—no wonder your own father left. Why can't you just die?"
The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
They landed clean.
Heavy.
Sharper than anything physical.
I felt them sink deeper than anything he'd ever done before.
Not in my skin—
underneath it.
Somewhere that didn't heal the same way.
My breath caught.
"Trust me… I've asked myself that question a million times," I thought.
For a second—
everything narrowed.
The room.
The noise.
The watching.
Gone.
Just those words.
Echoing.
"You're nothing."
Then—
he let go.
Not out of mercy.
Not because I deserved it.
Because he was done.
Because I wasn't interesting anymore.
My shirt slipped from his grip as he stepped back, already turning away like I wasn't worth finishing the moment.
The others followed.
One by one.
Chairs scraped.
Footsteps faded.
Laughter dissolved into nothing.
Like it had never mattered at all.
The classroom emptied in waves.
Just like yesterday.
And the day before that.
Just like always.
I stayed where I was.
Standing.
Barely.
Breathing.
I was used to pain.
It had become… familiar.
Close.
Minutes passed.
Or seconds.
Maybe longer.
Time didn't feel interested in explaining itself.
Then—
The room went quiet.
Not the usual quiet.
Something deeper.
Heavier.
Like silence had weight now.
I exhaled slowly.
Let my shoulders drop.
Let my grip on the desk loosen.
For a moment—
there was nothing.
No voices.
No movement.
No pressure.
Just me.
And then—
A voice.
Not external.
Not loud.
Closer than that.
It came from inside.
"You're right."
I froze.
Not because I understood it.
Because I didn't.
The voice didn't sound like mine.
But it fit too well to ignore.
Like it had been there longer than I had.
Waiting.
Listening.
My fingers twitched slightly against the desk.
"…who said that?"
Silence answered.
But it wasn't empty anymore.
Something had slipped into it.
Not soft.
Not uncertain.
It pressed into the edges of my mind—
probing.
Measuring.
Learning.
And then I understood—
It wasn't just watching anymore.
It was aware of me.
Every breath.
Every tremor.
Every thought I tried to bury.
And it was testing something.
Me.
A sharp pain flared in my abdomen.
My eyes dropped immediately.
My hand moved without thinking—
pressed against it.
Wet.
Warm.
Too much.
That's when I saw it.
Blood.
A lot of it.
Pouring from my stomach—
relentless and unchecked—
like a hosepipe turned on full force with no one left to shut it off.