They Bully Me

Chapter 3 ~Skipping School~

Emma's PoV

I finished my homework rather quickly, it wasn't too hard and it wasn't that much.

But now I had nothing to do until around 9, when I would go to sleep.

I walked around my room boredly, lightly brushing my fingertips on everything, just thinking about my life and how much it sucked.

Everyone at school hated me, the boys the most. But I did absolutely no wrong. We were friends before. But then there was just this one day, the boys changed into totally different people.

I still remember the first time. They were acting weird around me. So I playfully punched all four of them. And that was when all this torture started. But it couldn't be of just a playful punch, then they would've already gotten me long ago. No, I did something worse, I just have no idea what it is.

But they have sort of like separate jobs when it comes to beating me up, their hobby.

Zain: embarrassment

Liam: mental abuse

Louis: physical abuse

Harry: s*xual abuse

Harry was absolutely the worse. Just plain horrible worst. He was the one who broke me and shattered me into a million pieces and then stomped on them, making them microscopic. There was absolutely no way anyone could fix me.

But I was still fighting to be strong. There probably was no way I could be completely fixed, but with time, I could at least be halfway. There is always the right moment, you just need to wait for it.

My fingers brushed a plastic box, the box where I kept all my old collages and scrapbooks. Something I used to be interested in. But it was a bit too girly, and I didn't want to be girly while bullied.

I pulled the plastic box out from under by bed and took the lid off, looking at the first few things that came into view.

All of the pictures of the lads and I. But happy, not like we are now.

Tear stung in my eyes, threatening to come out and show the world how weak I am. I did my best to hold them in. But I cried anyways. No one can bottle up tears. You have to let them go, no matter if it shows you're weak.

The tears flowed out of my eyes like a hole in the waterworks. They wouldn't stop, they had no reason to. They stained the paper, distorting the faces and making the chemicals move around, changing the color.

But I soon ran out of tears, even if I had more than one million reasons to cry.

I should go out, forget about my life for now and fade into music or anything. Getting reminded of things I dread, isn't exactly fun. And being in this room just makes me sad. There is way too much that reminds me of my broken life now.

I dried my eyes and did my best to look at least "decent". It was late March. It wouldn't be too cold.

I took my MP3 and my headphones and some notes that I stole from my parents. I had to, they never did supply me with any money nor did they hardly ever buy things for me.

My mom still wasn't home, and my dad had at least moved away from the stairway. He now sat on the couch, watching God knows what. I was sneaking out, I couldn't let him see me.

I slowly took my old and faded brown coat off the rack and tried slipping it on, without any noise. Then I put on my pair of old sneakers, I didn't want to use my money to buy new ones.

A house key was already in my coat pocket, and I placed my other things in there. Then, I quietly got out of the house.

The earphones went immediately into my ears and played whatever came on. I pulled my hood over my head and made sure that my long black hair covered up the rest of my face, I didn't want anyone seeing me or recognizing me.