Random smuts & stuff

The Buddy Bench

     I stared at the red bench biting my lip softly. The words of the superintendent of the school district coming to mind.
     "Although this bench is meant only for elementary kids, we are setting up benches in every school, regardless of age. So the middle and high schools will also be getting at least one bench to promote a more inclusive student body."

     I took a deep breath as I continued to stare. I'd watched a couple people go onto that bench over the past couple of weeks, but I knew their circumstances were different.
     They weren't getting severally bullied and beat up by the populars and jocks.
     And I hadn't told anybody.

     I felt guilty about it too! I knew I should have talked to someone... but they all kept threatening me.

     But I couldn't take this anymore. I needed to do something. It was getting harder to handle the abuse on my own.

     So, taking a deep breath, I stood up with my bag and walked over to the bench. Some people glanced at me when I plopped myself down on the red material.
     I saw looks of surprise. After all I was someone constantly seen around since my outfits were... not exactly manly. And I guess some of the people didn't realize that the jocks and preps constantly surrounding me weren't my friends, after all I was on the cheer squad.
     Not because of the popularity! It was because I genuinely liked the sport. I had done gymnastics since a young age after all and adored it.

I sat on the bench for about a minute before one of my well known bullies walked over. I shrunk into my seat. "H-hey," I greeted and they simply stared down at me.
     "You really think this stupid bench will help you make any friends?" He sneered and I bit my lip to keep the trembling down.
     "W-well some other people have been," I responded softly and he laughed loudly.
     "Yeah other people," he shrugs as he crosses his arms. "The difference is you're fucking pathetic!" He spits at me and I flinch. He roughly grips my hair and tilts my head up.
     "You should just go and fucking kill yourself," he snarled before throwing my head down onto the bench and stomping away.

     After a second I hesitantly lifted my head and sat back up. I felt the blood trickling down my nose and grabbed a tissue out of my backpack. Letting my fluffy pink hair fall into my face. I started crying softly, trying to keep myself quiet.

     But I just couldn't.

     My body became wracked with sobs as I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my long red cardigan around myself.
     Some of the girls who had been picking on me with their boyfriends came over to me and echoed the message of me being worthless, a pathetic waste of space, and how I should just kill myself.
     "You're so fucking fake," one says with an audible eye roll. "Such a fucking loser," she says before I feel gum being stuck in my hair. Whimpering softly they howl with laughter and prance off.

     No one came to my aid. They just stared at me before walking away. I felt utterly hopeless sitting their like a little kid.
     And for the half an hour left of lunch nobody came to help me

     The bell rang, signaling to go back to classes, which is when I heard the usual chatter of the punk gang entering the courtyard.
     But instead of scurrying away with the rest of the students I stayed. Sitting on the red buddy bench and staring at the ground like the pathetic loser I was.

     "Who- Wait... Max?" A pair of familiar combat boots with yellow laces appeared on the brick ground beneath me. Those shoes belonged to one man and one man alone. Tyrell Clark, one of the most known punks at the school.
     His pitch black hair, ruby red lips, and eyes so brown they seemed black very fitting for his character. A sharp jaw line complimented his angular features and tall frame. Exclusively he wore band t's, black jackets covered in patches, and tight fitting jeans of the ripped variety. He usually stuck to monochromatic colors with dashes of red. And he always wore the same pair of boots and spiked cuffs around his wrists.
     He was cold hearted and snobby to outsiders, but seemed deeply loyal to his close friends. He wasn't someone to be messed with, which made me worried about why he walked up.