Chapter 2, Part 3 - A Strange Pity for a Bully

«Hmm...»

He makes a brief gesture to draw the attention of two other boys. I see them move, I see them get ready to appear before my eyes.
They arrive, and I can do nothing to stop it.

In front of me there is only the one who started it all, always accompanied by that strange smile of his, perhaps more of a smirk, something I would consider a bit... mean, I guess.
But who am I to judge based on a facial expression? I can't draw conclusions out of nothing, unless things go the way they usually do.

I don't look at him, my gaze is lowered, intimidated by the whole situation. He doesn't look like someone who wants to have a peaceful interaction; in fact, it would be more accurate to say that with me, he has never been calm.

«What's wrong? Why that sad little face? Were you dreaming about Prince Charming before coming here?»

«Not...»

«Not? If you keep talking like that, I can't understand you.»

His allies, my... enemies? They're coming closer now, they're just a step away from my desk.
What will they say? What will they ask?

Usually they just copy my homework before class starts. Could that be why they're here? Are they angry because now they have less time to copy before the teacher arrives?

«Come on, Marco, do you really think a girl like her could find a Prince Charming?»

«Why not? Don't you see how easily she gives up? I'm sure someone likes this type of girl—weak and insignificant.»

They're right. I never do anything to protect myself. I can't. I never have.
Changing is hard. Changing would mean altering the whole atmosphere around me: everyone would start acting differently, everyone.
And I don't know if I can handle change. I don't know if I'm capable of living in a world that treats me differently.

«With that face of hers, she'll definitely end up alone. Come on, just look at her, there's no need to say anything else.»

They aren't the ones who lowered my self-esteem: it's always been nonexistent.
I criticize my appearance, I criticize my personality, I criticize everything about myself.
They're just a repetition of those thoughts, a constant reminder of what I am.

«Maybe Tommaso is interested, look how he's staring at her,» he says, glancing teasingly at his friend.

«Are you crazy? I'd never be with a weirdo like her!»

«Sure? No secret feelings?»

«Go to hell.»

«Hey, relax, I'm just joking.»

I hear them snickering as they savor the control they have over me. I never asked for this, and I don't think I've ever done anything to deserve it, so why does it happen?
Why am I subjected to this? It makes no sense, and even if someone had done something wrong, I don't think they should receive such a painful punishment.

The leader, Marco, suddenly grabs my head and lifts it slightly. Now I can see their faces, and they can see the object of their mockery.

«No one gave you permission to look away. A little slave should be polite and not do anything without her masters' orders.»

What does he want now? Why do I have to look at him? I don't like eye contact, I don't like looking people in the eyes.
And then... master? Orders? Slave? I start to feel scared. Do they have limits, or not? How far would they go? Would they really be capable of hurting me?

My mind can think, but my body... trembles.

«Oh, how cute, she's shaking,» Marco says, letting go of me.

Cute... they use that word when someone is helpless. How can someone be "cute" when they're only moved by fear?

«Wow, squirrel, try not to wet yourself. You wouldn't want to humiliate yourself even more, right?»

The more they call me that, the more they insult those small, defenseless animals looking for acorns. No one should be compared to me. No one should reach such a low level.

«If that happens, I'll laugh from now until next week.»

When I was little, it happened: I wet the bed many times. I don't know exactly why, but it did. Maybe I didn't go to the bathroom at the right time, maybe I had nightmares, or maybe I just couldn't control myself while I was having nice dreams.
But now I should be grown up. I can't allow things like that to happen anymore.

«Alright guys, we've had our fun. Now let's get serious. Squirrel, how about letting us copy your homework? You'd be doing us a big favor.»

I'd like to say no, but if I did, I don't know what they'd do to me. Besides, I feel like refusing to help classmates is wrong. I know they're not normal classmates, but I don't want to be seen as an obstacle. If I can help, I should.

They try to neutralize their boredom through me. They hate this place, they have no intention of studying, so they need something to pass the time.

Me.
Me.
Me, and only me.

No one else is targeted the same way. As they said, I'm their toy. I have no strength, no friends who could save me from this situation.

There are many people here, and surely someone is witnessing the scene, yet no one intends to save me, no one intends to defend me, no one feels pity—because it doesn't concern them.

I have to give in.
I have to give in to the question the universe has just asked me.

Do you want to be free or not?

«I-I'll get them r-right away.»

«Good girl! That's how it's done! Hurry up though, I don't know how much time we have.»

I turn toward my backpack and start looking for my Italian notebook. Today's exercises weren't that hard, and the fact that I'm saying that says a lot.
Anyone could have done them, yet the people in front of me didn't even try. Well... that's exactly it.

The growing tension in my body and the awareness of their stares make me clumsier than usual. I can't find it. I can't do it—or at least I can't do it properly.
Why? Why is it so hard to pull out something I know for sure is in this backpack? I don't understand, and yet it always goes like this.

I hear sounds of impatience. They don't want to wait anymore, they don't want to waste time on someone as insignificant as me. I get it. Sometimes I wouldn't want to spend time with myself either.

«How long is it going to take?» one of them says impatiently. «Hurry up!»

Right after that, more words reach my ears, of course nothing good.

«Are you sure you brought it? You didn't forget it, did you?»

The tone is threatening. Automatically, a shiver runs through my body—a feeling I've experienced many times before.

I've always been absent-minded and messy, so I often lose my school supplies or forget notebooks and books.
As for objects, I've always thought they dematerialized. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I've never found a rational explanation: something falls to the ground, I bend down to pick it up... and it's gone. Nothing. Not a trace.

Knowing those three, sometimes I've thought they might be the ones stealing my things, even though I've lost stuff even when they weren't around. At this point I wonder if a ghost really exists whose only purpose is to harm me.

In any case, when I forget my notebooks, things never go well. Teachers criticize my carelessness and say I should be more attentive, and all of this only worsens my school performance.

But that's not the biggest problem.

If these three can't copy from me, they'll go to someone else—that's certain. But not before pulling some kind of prank on me.
I don't want to remember those things.
Not now.

Suddenly Marco's hands hit mine. A simple blow. A sharp slap.
That gesture just took away the only power I had left: the small and insignificant control over my backpack.

«Move aside and let me do it. If we wait for you, we'll still be here tomorrow morning.»

It hurts... it wasn't very strong, but it wasn't just a warning either. I try to ease the pain by gently rubbing my left hand with my right.

«What's on the cover?» he asks.

I don't want to say it. If I could, I'd avoid it.
I'm sure they'll make fun of me as soon as I answer. One hundred percent sure.

«C-cats.»

He looks at me, barely holding back a laugh.

«Got it. A stupid notebook for a stupid girl. What else could I have expected?»

What? Why would cats be stupid? I think they're very intelligent, and I find them adorable too. I think I'd like to have one, even if I'm not sure I'd be able to take care of it properly... that scares me a bit.

Having a pet requires a lot of commitment, and besides, I don't even know if my parents would agree.
Dad doesn't really like animals—not that he hates them, he just doesn't like having them in the house.
Mom would like one, something small and cute, but I'm not completely convinced. I know her well, and I'm afraid that if the animal did its business where it shouldn't, she'd get very angry. And honestly, I wouldn't want to live in that kind of situation.

Still, I think I have a connection with cats. Every time one sees me while I'm sitting somewhere, it comes right over and sits on my lap. It feels nice, though it attracts too much attention, and I don't like being the center of it.

Anyway, having a notebook with a cat on it shouldn't be weird. I'd understand if it were a cartoon, but we're talking about real animals.

Marco finds it immediately. The notebook is already in his hands, just a few seconds after he removed me from the "throne" of my backpack.
He stands up again.

«Here it is. Come on, squirrel, easier than that and you die.»

Tommaso is about to add something else. How do they manage to talk so much? I wish I had that ability.

«I knew you were useless, but failing at something this simple really makes you special.»

Their words cut me, but I already have so many cuts that I can endure this one too. Even if... once they leave, I think tears will form in my eyes. They won't fall, but they'll be there.

«Anyway, let me tell you this: you're really boring. Always silent, never protesting. How are we supposed to have fun like this?»

They're waiting. For my words. My answer. The hiss from my lips.

«I...»

«'I, I, I'—is that all you can say?»

Tommaso taps Marco's shoulder.

«Hey, don't waste any more time on her. Let's go copy before it's too late.»

«You're right, why am I even talking to her...»

I'll never answer their provocations. I can't now, and maybe I never will. This is only the first year of high school, which means I'll be their rag for four more years. I have to endure it, even if I don't know why.

He gives me one last look of contempt before walking away with the other two.

«Hope they're right, or you know what's coming.»

I don't want to think about it. I don't even want to imagine that possibility.

As soon as I see them focusing on my homework, I let out a sigh of relief. They're not here anymore, and technically no one is staring at me now. I'm free from their eyes. I'm free.

Now I just have to hope the day passes quickly, so I can go home and live the rest of the day without worries... or at least until all of this becomes just a memory.

Marco. The leader of a trio that doesn't hesitate to hurt me. In a way, I know him quite well. Our families are... not friends, but acquaintances of a certain level. So even outside school, we've been forced to see each other.

Bad moments. Horrible experiences. Of course, neither family knows how he treats me, and I doubt they ever will. I'm too cowardly to say anything, and as for him, it's obvious he never would.

Because of the school system in the small town where I live, we've always been in the same class since kindergarten, and that only worsened the situation. When I was little, even though I wasn't very social, I still brought toys to play with, and many times he took them from me. I don't know why: he'd use them for five minutes and then leave them there.

Sometimes I wonder what satisfaction he got from taking them from me, especially considering he was just a child.

As time passed, he became popular—partly because he entertains people with his actions, or his bullying, and partly because he's good-looking and has lots of girls around him.

How can he have all this, even though he behaves so horribly? If we talked about bad actions, he'd have an entire file just about me. That shouldn't give him a good reputation. And yet, the more harm he causes, the more fear he generates.

Everyone is afraid of being bullied. No one wants that fate. So no one stands up to him, even when it's obvious he's saying nonsense. Maybe it's a harsh view, but I believe it's true: I've never seen him do a good deed. Never.

I don't think he's evil. That word can't be explained so simply. Evil isn't something you're born with—it's something you acquire in life. And yet, if he had followed his parents' example, I don't think he would have become like this.

I've met them, and they seem kind—maybe too kind. What if it's all an act? Many people hide their true selves to appear good. Could his parents have been a bad influence? Or maybe something deeply affected him during childhood.

Wait... he started bothering me in kindergarten, but back then it was different. Maybe it was just his nature, whereas now it's much more aggressive. Things are definitely not the same as when he was a child.

I'm terrible. I can't just throw out wild theories to explain his behavior. Now I'm the bad one, just for thinking his parents might be pretending.

You can't explain everything without knowing someone's full story. And besides... who am I to judge? I don't even deserve the right to.

I only see the negative side of him, not the positive one that others might see. After all, he has lots of friends and can talk to anyone.

What if all those people stay around him just to feel strong? That would be horrible. It would mean his friendships are held together by an invisible thread—one that practically doesn't exist.

Just thinking about it unsettles me. I don't have friends, but at least I'm protected from lies. He, on the other hand, might be living nothing but an illusion.

If that were the case... I'd feel sorry for him.

Sorry... why would I feel something like that for my bully?

Why do I feel something moving inside me, even though I'm just building baseless scenarios?

Would I want to be in his place? No. I don't want to bother people, I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't like it, and even if I've done it unintentionally, I don't want my actions to exist just to hurt someone.

I'm only twisting my own thoughts. I should stop and get ready for the teacher to arrive.