Ewan's Fears

Part 2

Tears threatened to spill out of my already swollen eyes as I ran through the metal double doors and sprinted down the hallway to the bathrooms. I turned to face the cracked mirror in the boy's bathroom and placed my hands on the chiseled porcelain sink. I found myself focused on the reflection in front of me. A bruised, bleak, and broken teen stared back wearily. He had embarrassed me yet again and I had no courage to stand up against him. My breathing came out in short intervals, and my tongue felt like a coarse sponge in my desert-dry mouth. My heartbeat rapidly picked up speed and pounded against my chest. I pursed my cracked bleeding lips and closed my eyes, willing myself to not cry. At least not at school. The day just had to keep getting worse. It took a while for me to realize Derek had not hit me with a dodgeball, rather, he had snuck in a baseball. My eyes were too glazed over by tears and I hadn't noticed the small white leathered, red-threaded ball on the floor behind me.

I took a big breath, eyes nervously darting to the left and right, back hunched and head bowed down. I'm going to confront him this time, I told my hesitant self as I strode down the brightly lit hallway, faded red lockers lined each side. The older students were like leafless trees in a misty, fantasy forest that loomed over me as I walked deeper into the building. I made a beeline towards my own locker, getting flashbacks of how Derek the bully had stuffed me into the confined space just a few weeks before. Seeing Derek leering around the corner, I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the pain to hit and darkness to overwhelm me. Surprisingly, he jogged right past me without sparing a glance my way. I let out a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding. Cocking my head to the side in confusion and disbelief, I picked up my frayed bag from the terrazzo-tiled floor and entered the classroom for my last block. Seventy-two minutes of class went by in a flash.

Three years. I couldn't take this anymore, I had to take action. Something so drastic that he would never approach me ever again. I sat idly on my unmade bed sinking into a reverie. An assortment of secondhand clothes were strewn across the floor. My small wardrobe sat in one lonely corner while my desk overflowed with short stacks of overdue homework, class textbooks, and whatnot.

That morning, I had sauntered halfway down the staircase to the living room, close enough to hear the constant squabbling of my father and mother in the kitchen. They had never been on good terms, most of the time they plastered fake smiles onto their faces and used the silent treatment on each other. I dreaded moments like those because they were hiding the fact that they were planning a divorce, but I knew better than to ask about it.

Then there was this problem with Derek Ashford. I was going to have to find out myself. Maybe there was a reason behind why Derek was so focused on ruining my school life, hurting me.