Caged Animals (A Story of Bullying)

*Chapter Five*

To any of you who have ever been bullied in any way, shape, or form: I have one thing to say to you. You are beautiful. Don't you ever listen to those haters. I know how hard it is; I've been through it myself. I know it's easier to just give in, succumb to what they're saying, and to believe that it's all true. But please know: IT'S NOT TRUE. They're wrong, so, so wrong. You're beautiful; please remember that. And you're not alone. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. Feel free to message me whenever you need to. I LOVE YOU ALL.

"PRETTY, PRETTY PLEASE, DON'T YOU EVER, EVER FEEL...LIKE YOU'RE LESS THAN, LESS THAN PERFECT. PRETTY, PRETTY PLEASE, IF YOU EVER, EVER FEEL...LIKE YOU'RE NOTHIN', YOU ARE PERFECT TO ME." ~Pink

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*Chapter Five*

I couldn’t sleep that night. Whenever I attempted to close my eyes, brutal, torturous images and snatches of words floated through my memory, punctuated by the anxiety of what William was expecting to do with my journals. Publish them in the school newspaper? Make photocopies and pass them out to the student body? Stand on a soap box and announce to the world that Evening Elizabeth Anne Wilcox was an emotional freak?

            I shuddered despite the intense heat that flowed through my body. My breathing had never slowed down to a normal rate, instead fluctuating dramatically, from hasty gasps to holding my breath. My eyes kept watering, but I pushed back the tears, trying to strengthen myself for tomorrow.

            When the sun finally rose, it was both a relief and a curse. My stomach churned, my anxiety balling up into a screaming knot. I was sure that eating barely anything for the past two days added to the discomfort.

            I tried to dress in the most inconspicuous outfit I could, pulling on unassuming jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, accessorized by my typical hoodie. I slipped on dull tennis shoes, taking more time than really necessary to tie the laces. With each step closer to school, my heart grew more restless, banging against my ribcage and thudding painfully in my ears.

            I rose from my bed, glancing at the clock. I had twenty minutes left before I could begin shuffling down the sidewalk. I clutched at my stomach as it twisted again, feeling nauseous. Again, tiresome tears threatened my eyes, but I stubbornly shoved them away.  “No,” I spoke aloud, my voice cracking embarrassingly. “No, Evie, pull yourself together.”

            I thought about grabbing at least a granola bar, swallowing it for strength. I decided against it, looking down at my fat-encased abs. The jeers of “Fatass” rang through my head once again, bobbing hurtfully in my peripheral mind. I inhaled deeply, a pang resounding in my skull, the start of a headache.

            I looked around my room, licking my lips uncomfortably. They were bone dry; I could feel the crevices in their texture. My throat followed their lead, closing up with anxiety and drying my mouth. I shook in my attempts to calm down.

            Would they read them aloud, cackling cruelly with each word? Would they strip me of the little bit of fortitude I had? Would they punch me in the gut, creating an empty hole? Would they post them at stops around the school, inviting one and all to read about my emotions? I bit my knuckles as I contemplated their tactics. One thing I had no doubt of: they meant to hurt me…badly.