Juxtapose (Boy X Boy)

The Nerd

It was always the same every day.

The constant glances over my shoulder. The feel of hostile eyes everywhere I go. The inability to feel safe with footsteps following my every move, just waiting. Waiting for the moment I slip up.

That's when they pounce.

They usually come in groups, almost like a pack of lions. There'd be two or three, sometimes more. It was all for sport, you see. It was a great bonding activity. It's a shame, but for some reason, I never really understood the fun in all of it.

Go figure.

But no matter how many people made up the pack, there was one that was always a constant addition to the pride. He was like the leader of the gang, always there, glaring at me with that stupid smirk of his. Sometimes, he wouldn't even wait for others to join; he would randomly corner me in between class, placing a kick here or a well-aimed punch there.

The guy would come to beat me up over a tiny, stupid whim.

My step faltered as the strain in my ankle made itself known. Yesterday had been a particularly brutal beating, and I was definitely feeling the abuse today. Desperate to hide the weakness, I quickly straightened my step, evening out my strides despite the waves of pain licking up my spine.

They would just find the pain a sign of weakness, the smell of blood in the water enticing them even more.

Now, at this point, you might be wondering why I don't just go to a teacher, or some other authoritative figure for this. Well, quite simply, pride has a lot to do with it. Because of who I am, people have high expectations for me. They don't want to know that I was affected by something as trivial as a few dumb jocks when my grades suggest that I am the next Einstein. No one even thinks such cliche things happen anymore, and it doesn't play well to the "genius" ideal either. You're smart, figure it out yourself. Plus, I highly doubt the "dumb jocks" would appreciate me running off and tattle-telling to the nearest teacher.

No, if anything, that would make things worse.

It's simply survival of the fittest, really. The strong picking on the weak. Who am I to try to deny nature?

But as I linger outside of the lockeroom, I wonder if it's worth it. Is it worth the paranoid feeling I get every time I step onto campus- or, hell, every time I go outside? Is it worth lying to the few that actually care? Is it worth going out of my way to hide the bruises and cuts? My days consisted of finding ways to blend in to the crowd, to try to not be the nail that sticks up.

I wish my day would change from that.

Having last period gym is a blessing and a curse. Not wanting anyone to see the bruises that my clothes normally hide, I can stay later than others, and no one questions it. Once everyone leaves the lockerroom, I can slip back into the empty room, take a long shower, and dress back in without uncomfortable questions. Dressing out is just a manner of getting here right before the tardy bell, since I don't have to take a shower then.

However, I have to be careful of how long I stay afterwards, and when I hear the telltale sign of the lockerroom door creaking open, I realize I've stayed too long. My shoulders slump, and the towel I had been using to dry off my still wet hair falls to the ground through limp fingers. Please let it be my imagination, I find myself wishing vehemently as footsteps get closer and closer. Let me just have one day...

Why didn't I just run?

"Sup, nerd." A voice all too bone-chillingly familiar drawls from behind me; I can almost hear the sneer in His voice when he speaks.