Robin Richards (arealcircusact) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-06-06 01:19:00 |
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Current mood: | sore |
Entry tags: | june 2010, solo |
Who: Robin & NPC!Jocks
What: Swirlies and other such things
Where: School
When: Thursday, May 27th, during school
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions bullying and physical violence, don't read if you dislike that sort of thing.
Status: Completed/Closed
You know you never get a true appreciation of how fish feel until you’ve had your head stuffed down a toilet and had water flushed over it mercilessly as some dumb jock pins you there with his ridiculously huge arms.
Thankfully even jocks knew when they should pull you out before you drowned, not that it stopped them from laughing at you as you splutter and gag, feeling a little light-headed. The punch to your nose doesn’t help either, especially as it draws blood. Shit, fuck, ow! Most of the time your body seems to fold beneath their fists, but this time you were so unfocused that you just took the hit and it was painful to say the least.
With one last parting jeer and kick they leave you to nurse your wounded pride amongst many other things. Usually you’re like Teflon and most anything can bounce right off of you, but this time, for whatever reason, it’s really got to you. You try to breathe, but that just hurts your nose. And that in turn causes your eyes to water, which of course makes you angry because you shouldn’t be upset, not when you’re so fucking used to this bullshit. You should be over it, over feeling hurt and upset, but clearly you’re not.
Fuck.
You cough for the last and final time, sinking back against the nearby wall as you attempt to piece yourself together, one fractured part at a time. Your fingers go to your hair and you don’t even want to imagine what might be living in the strands now, but you shove it back regardless. The next thing you do is stem the flow of blood from your nose before you just close your eyes and breathe, trying to find some sort of composure as yours is completely shredded.
Can’t let them see that they got to you, can’t let them know that you feel things just as keenly if not more keenly than others, can’t let them win. It’s a pride thing.
You pick yourself up off the ground and force yourself out of the cubicle into the harsh lighting of a bathroom that’s seen better decorating days and just work on cleaning yourself up as best you can. You know they’re going to be outside, waiting for you, waiting to laugh and nudge each other in the side like they’re the most amazing people in the whole fucking world.
Assholes.
It takes you a while and you might be able to clean up your face, but you can’t wipe away the rapid bruising nor can you dab away the watery blood stain on the front of your white t-shirt. Why you chose this day of all days to wear white is completely beyond you. Never again.
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror and mutter, “you’re better than all of them,” before you turn and leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. Predictably they’re all there and it takes all of your strength not to turn right back around, shoving your way through the crowd that feels like a pack of hyenas mauling their latest carcass.
Nevermind the looks you’re getting from everybody else.
Ignoring them is difficult, it always is, but you’ve gotten pretty good. You desperately want to cry, but you can’t, not right now anyways. You have to prove something whatever that something is, you’re not quite sure right now. The bell rings and you do the only thing you can do you attend class, finding your seat as you just force yourself to think about everything but the pain and the humiliation. Your face is probably burning, but you’re just ignoring it, trying to pretend like everything is okay.
It’s the only way to keep going.