The first thing I noticed was how loud the classroom got when I hit the floor.
Not the impact. Not the sudden burst of pain that rippled through my ribs like a struck bell. Not even the sharp scrape of my palm against the tiles as I tried to catch myself.
It was the silence after.
That strange, heavy silence that swallows a room whole—the kind that only exists when something goes wrong enough to make people stop pretending it's normal.
Then the whispers came.
Soft at first. Like static gathering in the corners of my mind.
"Did he just—"
"No way, he's still—"
"Look at him…"
I kept my face turned toward the floor.
Tiles. White. Cracked in thin, branching lines like something had once tried to break free and failed.
That felt… familiar.
A hand grabbed my shirt and yanked me upward.
The world lurched with it.
My vision swam, the ceiling tilting like a slow, lazy wave. A chair scraped somewhere behind me, metal legs screaming against the floor. Someone laughed.
Close.
Too close.
"You always do this," a voice said.
I didn't look at him.
I didn't have to.
Kellan.
They always waited until the bell rang.
Not because they were afraid of teachers.
Because silence made it better.
The last classroom emptied in waves—laughter, footsteps, noise fading into the distance—until it was just me… and them.
I didn't run.
Running makes it worse. It turns it into a game.
And I was tired of being chased.
"Stand up."
I didn't.
The first kick flipped the chair anyway.
The impact echoed louder than it should have.
Pain wasn't sharp anymore.
Not like it used to be.
It came dull now. Familiar. Like something my body had already accepted before it happened.
Laughter.
Always laughter.
"Look at him."
"Say something."
I tasted blood and dust.
His grip tightened, bunching my shirt in his fist like I was nothing more than fabric he could wrinkle and toss aside.
"You come in here," he continued, voice low enough that the others had to lean in to hear, "sit down, and pretend you belong."
A pause.
Then the first shove.
My back slammed into the desk behind me.
Wood hit spine.
Pain flared—bright, sharp, immediate.
"Say something," Kellan said.
I didn't.
That was always the problem.
Say something, and it gets worse. Stay quiet, and it still gets worse.
There didn't seem to be a winning option.
Another shove.
This time harder.
The desk screeched backward, legs scraping grooves into the floor as it dragged with me.
Laughter spread now. Not loud. Not explosive.
Controlled.
Measured.
The kind of laughter people use when they don't want to admit they're enjoying something.
"Look at him," someone muttered. "He doesn't even fight back."
"He never does."
"Why does he even come to school?"
A question I'd asked myself more than once.
Kellan leaned closer.
His breath brushed my ear, warm and unpleasant.
"You know what I think?" he whispered. "I think you like this."
Something inside me tightened.
Not fear.
Something smaller.
Something quieter.
"…no," I said.
It came out weaker than I wanted.
He smiled.
I could hear it.
"Then prove it."
His hand released my shirt only to slam into my shoulder.
Hard.
I stumbled sideways, my footing slipping out from under me as if the floor had decided to stop supporting me altogether.
My knees hit the ground again.
That same place.
The same position.
The same outcome.
The room tilted.
A few desks away, someone kicked their chair back and leaned forward, elbows on their knees, watching like this was entertainment.
Like I was.
My palms pressed against the floor.
Cold.
Unmoving.
I pushed.
Muscles trembled as I tried to force myself upright.
Just stand.
That's all I had to do.
Just stand.
But my body refused.
It felt heavy. Too heavy. Like gravity had doubled its grip on me, pulling me down with a quiet, relentless insistence.
I got halfway up.
Then my arm gave out.
My shoulder hit the desk again, knocking it sideways with a dull thud.
Laughter followed.
Always laughter.
"Again," Kellan said.
Not a request.
A command.
I tried.
My legs shook violently as I forced myself up once more. My vision blurred at the edges, a faint ringing starting somewhere behind my ears.
The room felt… further away.
Like I was slowly sinking into it instead of standing in it.
My fingers slipped.
My knee buckled.
I fell again.
Harder this time.
A chair scraped as someone leaned back.
"Pathetic."
"Just give up already."
"Yeah, why keep trying?"
The words blended together.
They always did.
But one of them stuck.
Just for a moment.
Give up.
It sounded… easier.
If I stopped trying, maybe the hits would stop.
Maybe the noise would stop.
Maybe the pain would finally decide it had done enough.
My chest tightened.
My fingers curled against the floor.
"If I stop getting up…"
The thought slid in quietly.
Like it had been waiting.
"…maybe it'll stop hurting."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It pressed against me.
Heavy.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then—
Something else.
Not a voice.
Not exactly.
Something colder.
Something… certain.
"If you stop getting up…"
It didn't sound like anyone in the room.
It didn't sound like me.
"…they win."
My breath caught.
Just for a second.
The world narrowed.
The laughter blurred.
Kellan's voice—distant now—spoke again, but I didn't catch the words.
All I could feel was that thought echoing inside my head.
Not mine.
But somehow… more real than anything else.
I pushed myself up again.
My arms trembled violently.
My vision flickered.
My legs barely responded.
But I stood.
Barely.
Wobbling.
Unsteady.
Kellan stared at me.
For a moment, something like surprise flickered across his face.
Then it was gone.
"Still trying?" he said.
Before I could respond, his hand shot forward.
He shoved me.
Not lightly.
Not playfully.
With force.
My back slammed into the desk behind me. The wood cracked under the impact.
And this time—
Something gave.
The world snapped.
A sharp, blinding jolt of pain exploded in the back of my head as I toppled sideways. The desk followed, tipping with me as everything came crashing down in a chaotic, tangled mess of wood and metal.
My skull struck something hard.
The sound echoed.
Too loud.
Too close.
The room tilted violently, spinning in a slow, nauseating arc. The ceiling stretched, twisted, folded into itself. Colors smeared together like wet paint dragged across glass.
And then—
Laughter.
Right next to me.
Too clear.
Too sharp.
I blinked, but the world didn't stabilize.
A figure leaned over me, face distorted by the spinning.
Kellan.
Or maybe not.
It was hard to tell.
My ears rang.
My breath came shallow.
Every inhale felt like dragging air through water.
"Hey," someone said, voice echoing oddly. "He's still moving."
A pause.
Then another laugh.
"Not for long."
My fingers twitched against the floor.
Tried to move.
Failed.
The strength… just wasn't there anymore.
My body felt distant.
Detached.
Like it didn't belong to me.
Like it was something I was only borrowing.
The noise of the room faded.
Not all at once.
Gradually.
As if someone was lowering a volume dial, step by step, until everything became… muffled.
Far away.
The ceiling above me blurred into a soft, pale shape.
Breathing in.
Breathing out.
Each one harder than the last.
My eyes fluttered.
Closed.
Opened.
Closed again.
The world didn't feel real anymore.
It felt… thin.
Fragile.
Like it might disappear if I stopped paying attention.
Somewhere in the distance, footsteps moved.
Someone spoke.
I couldn't hear the words.
Only the tone.
Satisfied.
Amused.
Like nothing here mattered.
My chest rose.
Fell.
Slower now.
Heavier.
My fingers loosened against the floor.
There was no strength left to push.
No will left to fight.
Just the quiet hum of a world moving on without me.
And then—
Something else.
Something that didn't belong to the room.
Something that didn't belong to me.
A thought.
Clear.
Sharp.
Undeniable.
"That's enough."