Metanoia.「skephalo」

28 | Ilomilo.

With a muffled thud, Zak's hand smashed a couple of pieces of paper on the familiar dark wood desk, right beside the golden tag with the Principal's name and surname printed on it.

An annoyed and irritated glance from the middle-aged woman landed on the short boy's angry and hateful eyes.
Her expression quickly shifted after swiftly studying the sheets on the table, and with a small grin growing on her lips, she looked back at Zak, almost pleased.

"I'm so fucking done with this bullshit, you have to do something about it." the boy in black harshly spat, his fingers pressing against the multiple copies of several School Journals under them. "For real, this time." his eyes narrowed.

Scoffing at Zak's demand, the Principal smirked and leaned against the backrest of her giant leather black chair. She didn't even bother to hide how badly she was waiting for that moment, her malicious grin widened instead.

"They're just words, Carder. By now, you should be able to get over them, or am I wrong?" a hint of pleasure shone from her voice.

"Are you fucking okay in the head?" he retorted tight-lipped, tapping his index finger against his temple. "Darryl closed himself in his fucking room, both him and me got beaten up and threatened for this shit." his finger slid down his face and pressed on a band-aid, the one covering the cut Dave gifted him the night before. "If you haven't noticed."

The principal's hands connected, and so did hers and Zak's eyes. Hate shone through the short boy's ones.

He was done. Staying silent was no longer in his options.

"It's not my problem, Carder. After all, faggots like you two deserve this type of treatment." she stated, slightly rising his chin.

A wave of pure anger hit Zak.
Adrenaline took control over his body, causing to his legs to shake. He felt his heart exploding in his chest for how fast it was beating.
His knuckles turned white as his right hand clenched itself into a fist, trying to overcome the need to punch something. Or, in this case, someone.

A literal ticking bomb, about to explode at any given moment.
That was what he became.

"Shouldn't you have gotten used to getting beaten up, anyways?" the woman added before the short boy could reply, with her smirk widening. "I mean..." her eyes slowly ran across his face, from the scar on his cheek bone, to his bandaged neck.

Her words felt like a punch right in the stomach, leaving Zak without oxygen in his lungs.

"Are you fucking serious." the short boy slowly muttered, the rage in his voice marking every single word. The hand still pressing on the sheets on the desk closed into a fist too, violently slamming then on the wooden surface. "Are you fucking serious?!" he now shouted as he glared at her, eyes brimming with hate.

"Carder," the woman calmly recalled, lifting her chin up with superiority. "language and respect to your superiors." her eyes narrowed as she adjusted the extremities of her uniform in a quick and professional motion.

Zak frowned in disbelief at the Principal words, his open mouth moving without producing any sound, unable to express himself for a good moment.

"Respect?" he shook his head, scoffing at the old woman. "Are you actually fucking serious? You're talking about respect when you never, and I emphasize never, ever respected me. Never. Not a single fucking time in the four years I've been here in this shit hole you're so proud of. And really, you could be the fucking president or God itself and I still wouldn't give a single fuck about you being superior or whatever, because I'm so done with you being a massive bitch to me. You kept, and still keep fucking with my situation, teasing me and taking advantage of my trauma and past to put me down, and you perfectly know how close I am to going and try killing myself again." he leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "For the fourth time, I remind you." his voice broke at the end of the sentence.