Shattered Glass
Here is part 1 of Shattered Glass.
Shattered Glass: Chapter 1Warning: This is a gay romance novel, if you are offended by any of this, please don't read!3:45, October 12, 2015 They're gone. I'm safe. I'll be fine. I calm myself down as I watch the students scramble to the old paint-chipped busses that take me to this hell every day. The air is moist. Still lingers the sweat and blood that was shed today. This is not a warzone. It is a school. And it is I who is bleeding. I tremble at how weak I feel for sitting down against the lockers, my knees groaning as I slide over to my locker. I open it up slowly, as the blue, but graffitied red locker swung open. My locker had the essentials, a few books, gym clothes, and a mirror in case I get a bedhead. I look in it. My face might've looked nice, but all of the scars and bruises cover it to the point I can't even tell what I might've looked like without them. I had honey eyes though, a feature that I could still pick out that I liked. I now had a bright purple bruise right over my left cheek . I dab it with some medicine or facewash I have in my backpack. Not that it matters anyway, they'll punch it tomorrow so it won't heal at all. I stare at myself in the mirror. And I cry. It's okay to do so now. They're gone. They won't seem to notice. If I cry in front of them, they have won, so I won't. Beads drop down the side of my face only hurting me more, as they are applying pressure to the areas that are broken. But, I hurt everywhere. They have broken me. Shattered glass lay in my hopes that this will stop. It will never stop. They have bullied me from day 1 this year, and will continue to do so until May 25. I apply a sufficient amount of cream to my wounds to hide them from my parents. In this world, help from adults is a sign of weakness, which means they have won. I won't let them win. My friends, or so called "friends", left me. In fact, some of the people who I was close to became a dagger in my back. Some are now my bulliers. I am a nice person, but some just don't see that. They only see one thing: I'm gay. They call me faggot, and much more. They beat me up, and the school won't do a damn thing for "religious reasons". I can't grow close to anyone befause they can become my attackers. I live paranoid. Scared that the bullies will come back anytime to finish me off, or just make another beating. I cry especialy at the fact that I used to have a fun life. Carefree, until they started assuming. I walk into the bathroom to take care of business. I look into the bigger mirror to observe myself once again. I hear a knock.I see a guy walk through. "Shi-" "Why are you still here?" He asked "I might ask you the same thing." "Oh," he said with a sheepish smile while scratching the back of his head, " I needed to find my locker
before school started tomorrow. I wanted to get it knocked out tonight!" He was dressed in blue jeans and a button-down shirt with gray plaid, compared to my kakis and blue pullover sweater. "Oh, I can help you find your locker. What number is it?" "318" I began walking down the hallway, which while I was unaware, had grown dark signaling I was probably late for dinner. AGAIN. "Are you the new student, Kyle?" I ask. "Yeah, came a long way actually." "Did you like your oldschool?" He looked away as to avoid the question and sighed,"I'd rather not talk about it. Too many painful memories." He looked back at me, and for the first time, I got a really good look at his eyes. They were blue, but beneath that I could see the pain I thought I only knew. "Well, you'll like it here, but here's some advice: don't become friends with me. The bullies will get to you. Can't let that happen to someone on their first week!" I sigh. "Wait, you're bullied?" Sign of weakness, he can become an enemy, deny everything... I thought. He cut off my thought train. "The reason I actually left my old school was because I was bullied." I caught myself. "Well, you're not alone. Best to stay away from me. Everyone deserves a chance to be bully-free." "Why would they bully you? You're really nice!" "Some people don't look beneath the surface." We walked up to his locker and he started putting in the codes. He then put something in there, it looked like a photo, but I couldn't tell. "Hey, I'm going to stick up for you. You're too nice too be bullied. If they bully me, let them." "You really, really don't want to do that." "Hey, why don't we just stick up for each other, sound better?" "I guess." "I never got your name." "John" "Here's my number John, call me when you want to hang out!" He left when I gave him my number. I haven't felt this feeling before. I look back far into the past when I wasn't bullied and realize, this is what having a friend felt like. I also felt dread, something I was always familiar with. He had noo idea how wrong he was to mess with these bullies. But that's where I can help him.___________________________________________________________