Prince... No, a princess??

2. Typical Day

The beast grabbed my legs and dragged me towards the edge of the cliff. I clawed at the ground begging for my fingers to catch onto something, but it was to no avail. I looked over my shoulder hoping that for some mysterious reason that the beast would look into my pleading eyes and spare my life.

My gaze shifted slightly behind the beast and I realized that my fate was sealed. It flung me over the edge. I was falling, almost weightless for a second, but then... Thud.

My eyes shot open and a stinging feeling crept from my head and down through my spine. I was on the floor peering up at my bed from which I was currently safely resting. I was slightly impressed that in such a small room I was able to crash on the floor while managing to leave the rest of the furniture unscathed by my destructible path.

I lived in the attic of my tyrannical care taker. My parents died while I was quite young. The memories I have of them always filled me with joy mixed with a desperate ache of longing to have them back in my life. I was thrown into the foster system and soon realized that not every guardian was innately loving.

When I was about 12 I was adopted by a seemingly loving couple. However, the loving facade from the father figure died with the death of his wife a year later. I went from a huge room, love, and a prestigious education to a cramped attic, apathy, and a crummy careless school environment.

As the so-called father figure spiraled into bitterness and hatred, I vowed to move out when I turned 18. Although the opportunity to go to the free community college a few blocks away, live in a rent free house, and not have to waste gas money was too good to pass up. Plus he normally just sits on the couch and broods, and I can access the attic without ever having to come in contact with him. So, I decided that I would settle for moving out once I graduated from college.

Once I got washed up, brushed my teeth, and got changed I biked the few miles to my college. As I looked up to the sky, my mind drifted from reality and autopilot kicked in as I imagined a world where life was enjoyable. I was jolted back to boring society as a foot collided with my front tire. Losing control for a second, the bike swerved towards a tree, but I quickly corrected my trajectory and came to a skidding stop.

Before I could grasp the entirety of the situation a hand yanked me off my bike and threw me to the ground. A huge mass stood looming over me and before my eyes could even focus, I knew who the attacker was, Nick, my bully from high school. He was tall, mean, and seemed to never grow out of his immature high school phase. In fact, his education capacity remained at his minimalistic high school level which was highlighted by him failing all of his courses.

Nick called me a sissy faggot and then kicked me right in the stomach before marching straight into class. I would say that he's extremely homophobic, but his best friend is an openly gay man, and Nick has no problems with him. My guess to this unwarranted hatred is that my feminine features and frame make him feel an attraction that he doesn't want. That adding to the fact that he feels like he lost control of his emotions leads to him creating his own sense of control by trying to tear me to shreds physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Trying not to be late I rushed to my first course, which just so happens to be with Nick. After class I walked out unscathed with only a piercing glare of hatred from Nick. He learned when his first bullying lesson was cut short that these college students don't passively avoid harassment. They stopped him immediately and muttered something about his sophomoric nature.

He didn't know that sophomoric was a synonym for immature, but I was able to tell that he caught the gist of the meaning by the red glow of embarrassment that plastered his face that day. Since then he has resorted to bullying me when no one was around. This meant that I could enjoy my day safely while going to my courses.