7. Bullying

I was smaller than the other kids. Less motivated too. Which made gym class basically hell.

Today, our teacher decided basketball was the safer option compared to dodgeball. "Less dangerous," he said, like chucking a heavy ball at people's heads was somehow more civilized just because there was a hoop involved.

But for me? It wasn't going to be a pleasant game either way.

I was always the one pushed around when the teacher wasn't looking. Someone would conveniently "trip" near me. A shove here. A foot stuck out there. Always the same trio of jocks trailing behind Victor like lost dogs—Walter, Aaron, and Craig. Sometimes other students joined in for the fun.

Today had gone okay so far. No bruises. No verbal abuse. The guys hadn't managed to pull any of their usual stunts. But near the end of class, the teacher gave us free time.

That was when it started.

I drifted to the corner of the gym, pretending to tie my shoelaces, doing anything to avoid attention.

'There's the loser Lara warned me about. And Victor isn't here, so it won't be much of a problem.'

I tried to make myself invisible against the wall, but invisibility wasn't a power I had—just the curse of hearing everyone's rotten thoughts.

The three of them approached, each carrying a basketball.

I didn't look at them. Maybe if I didn't acknowledge them, they'd get bored.

Walter threw his ball first. I jumped left.

Aaron followed up with a shot on that same side. I dodged again, shielding my head with my arms.

Then Craig fired one—hard. It smacked into my stomach like a hammer. I stumbled backward and hit the wall, air knocked from my lungs.

They burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

I got up slowly, not because it hurt, but because humiliation makes you move like your bones weigh more. My face burned—not from pain, but from knowing people were watching.

Of course they were watching.

I retreated to the bench, trying to look casual. Just tying my shoes, that's all. No big deal.

And then WHAM—a basketball flew into the side of my face with full force.

The impact knocked me sideways onto the floor.

"Holy shit!"

"Are you okay?"

"Dude! She's a girl!"

"What the hell's wrong with those guys?"

"Who the hell did that?"

"Did you hear that sound when it bounced off?"

"Is she bleeding?"

Yep. The usual.

They always acted horrified when it got really bad—but none of them ever stepped in to stop it. Even if I begged, they'd just watch.

"Oh, my apologies," Craig said loudly, mockingly. "But who told her to sit near the basket?"

"We're far away from the basket!" a girl pointed out.

Exactly. This wasn't an accident.

Craig didn't even need Lara as a reason to go after me. He hated me on his own.

See, after my mom left, I had a phase where I read people's thoughts constantly—no filter, no control. And unfortunately for Craig, I once announced in front of a whole group that he was stealing from a teacher's purse.

He's hated me ever since. And now, jacked up on who knows what, he was worse than ever.

'She's not gonna do shit. Nobody ever does.'

Wrong.

"Teacher!" I called across the gym. "Craig was just smoking a cigarette on school property!"

That got heads turning.

"What?!" the teacher snapped.

"What?! No!" Craig shouted. "That's just because I was near the teacher's ashtray!"

The teacher sniffed and frowned. "It's empty. And you smell like a fresh cigarette. Come with me to the office. Now."

"What?!"

"Check his right pocket!" I added for good measure.

Craig spun on me with a hateful glare.

"You asshole!"

I flipped him off, smiling. "Enjoy your write-up."

'I'll get her back for this. This motherfucker—'

Let him try. Some people never learn.

***

Later, I got to my locker and saw the vandalism. Slurs, nasty sketches, cheap insults. All over the door like a kindergarten meltdown.

Craig.

No doubt.

Lara probably had him wrapped around her finger. The guy wanted to sleep with her so bad he'd do anything she suggested. And now that I'd gotten him written up, he was unleashed. Off his leash and off his meds, apparently.

I slammed my locker shut.

Then I heard it.

"Oh, it's the Milkman!" Craig bellowed down the hall to draw attention. "Why haven't you covered up that eye so you stop freaking people out? Do you even need it? Can I knock it out?"

Ignore him. Just ignore him.

"Shouldn't you be shooting up somewhere, you steroid cow?" I hissed, louder than I meant to. "Get fucked, Craig!"

He grinned wide. "Aw, Milky, I didn't know you played for the other team now. Is you following Victor around starting to change you?"

"Fuck off. And what I like is none of your business." I stepped toward him, feeling that heat bubbling in my chest. "Why don't you go stick your arm up some more—you oof!"

His fist landed in my stomach like a wrecking ball. The air fled my lungs. I dropped to the floor, vision swimming.

Oh hell no.

"Did you have something to say?!" he sneered above me.

I gasped, clutching my side. "You shit bitch! You should've been swallowed!"

People started to murmur around us.

"Stupid fucking steroid stupid fuck! Shitty dumbass!" I spit from the floor. "Go fuck yourself! You're just trying to get in Lara's wide ass pants! Something you're too small to even fit in, you fucking shitty steroid bitch!"

Craig's face turned beet red, his fist tightening at his side.

And honestly?

I was daring him to try again.

"Still sticking up for yourself, loser?" Craig sneered, his voice booming down the hallway.

"I'm just pointing out that you can't fill a gaping hole," I shot back.

That did it.

"Dude, just shut the fuck up!" Craig growled, fists clenched and face flushed with rage.

"Make me, bitch!" I snapped—stupidly—before lunging at him.

It was over in a second.

I hit the floor again, hard. My cheek stung and I could already feel the swelling start. The coppery taste of blood hit my tongue, pooling from the side of my mouth.

"Bitch!" Craig yelled loud enough for half the school to hear.

Laughter exploded around us.

Same as always.

No one stepped in. No one would ever stop him. I was used to that part. But it didn't make the heat behind my eyes sting any less.

Fuck it though. Let them laugh.

I'm ready for it all.

***

"Hi, Milkman."

Great. Here comes the sequel.

Lara approached with a smirk, her perfect hair bouncing like it had its own stylist following her around. Her makeup, as usual, was flawless, and her skin looked like it belonged in a Bollywood ad.

She pointed at my head. "Did you have an accident with the hairbrush?"

I said nothing.

She gave my shoulder a once-over and scrunched her nose. "Well, at least it's not as ugly as your face."

I glared at her, mind going blank. I wanted to hurl something back, but my thoughts were scrambled. And before I could respond, her two sidekicks materialized—Miss Pop Music and Miss Perma-Bored. I guess they'd put their fight on hold just to torment me.

Lara leaned in and whispered something to them, nodding toward my eye.

The Pop Music one faked a gag, loud and dramatic, and the others laughed like it was the most original joke in the world.

Why were they even here? Why now?

I'd already told Lara she could have Victor. So what was the point?

The bored one strolled up and placed her perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder in mock sympathy.

"Don't worry, Milkman. After four or five plastic surgeries for that eye, you'd actually be pretty to look at."

More laughter.

I should've walked away.

I should've.

Instead, my big mouth decided it had other plans.

"That's not what Victor thinks," I muttered.

Their laughter stopped. The air shifted.

"What did you tell Victor?!" Lara snapped. Her fake smile vanished.

Too easy.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"I know you told him some evil rumor about me! All the other girls say they heard him talking about me like I'm some kind of witch!"

Her face was red—furious. She looked like she was about to explode.

"Well," I said, suppressing a grin, "I wouldn't call you a witch. I'd call you something worse."

But instead, I told her flatly, "I didn't say anything about you."

Steam should've been pouring out of her ears.

"I hate you," she seethed, jabbing me in the chest with every word, "and I will make your life absolutely miserable."

"Just try it, bitch," I shrugged.

'She's talking to her again. That's it. She's dead.'

Victor's voice in my head sent a chill through me.

Right on cue, he turned the corner, smiling that fake, school-prince smile that made girls swoon and teachers fawn.

"Say something!" Lara barked at me.

"You should just chill out," I said carefully, "before something happens to you."

"What—"

"Hey, what's going on here?" Victor asked smoothly, strolling up.

Lara's transformation from demonic to darling was instant.

"Just finished up a talk with her again," she said sweetly, fake-smiling before spinning on her heel and marching off with her posse.

Coward.

I turned to Victor. "What are you smiling about? This is all your fault!"

He walked next to me, matching my pace without missing a step. "What would you think," he asked, "if everyone who bullied you just... disappeared?"

His thoughts weren't violent. Not this time. They were quiet. Serene.

And that was scarier.

"I don't know," I said warily.

He just looked at me and smiled again. Thinking about making out, like none of this mattered. Like he hadn't just fantasized about murdering someone for me two days ago.

How could he be thinking about kissing me while suggesting mass disappearances?

Victor was more off than I thought.

And I had no idea what he'd do next.