Bullied

by Vera Hollins

  He’d left me alone in that forest during the night with no means of coming back home, and it was another step too far. Too many steps too far. How could one human do such things without even caring about the consequences?

  I’d been terrified when I couldn’t hear the sound of Hayden’s bike anymore, left high and dry in the middle of an eerie silence. The sky had become almost completely dark, making walking a hard row to hoe without a flashlight. Since there was no light or the presence of other people, I felt like I was being watched, which gave me the creeps, and I couldn’t fight off that feeling.

  Luckily enough, I’d had internet signal, so I did my best not to freak out, focusing on getting out of that forest using an online map. I’d taken an Uber ride to get back home, refusing to think about the dent that the Uber’s fee put in my college fund.

  To my immense relief, Hayden didn’t show up for today’s classes, so I didn’t have to worry about seeing him after the last night’s fiasco. I had a hard time coming to terms with it, pushing the memory aside because I was afraid I might fall apart if I reminisced about it any longer. I didn’t want to remember the way he played with my mind and emotions by deceiving me with his false attempt of rape. It was downright ugly.

  What did he want from me?

  My phone beeped, pulling me out my gloomy thoughts, notifying me of Melissa’s new message.

  “Do you have Snapchat?”

  I rolled my eyes. She was persistent. She’d started texting me about an hour ago and had been sending me texts ever since.

  I’d been putting the finishing touches to my latest drawing when she sent me the first message.

  “HEY! It is I, the Pesterer.”

  Really? Who used the word “pesterer” these days? Did this word even exist in the dictionary?

  “Do you remember me?”

  “Hey, I know you’re rolling your eyes now. DON’T. You’ll go blind.”

  She’d continued spamming me with her texts, making me more and more anxious. I’d been thinking so carefully about my answer as if I was trying to write a scientific research paper about the black holes, which produced a rather pitiful message.

  “Hello! How are you?”

  This situation was worthy of not one but two facepalms. Kudos to the antisocial me.

  “I’m terrible and heartbroken.”

  I frowned. What happened?

  “Why? What happened?”

  “You didn’t text me for 2 whole days!”

  I could almost hear her whining voice. I’d breathed out, embarrassed for missing her joke in the first place. My inexperience led to awkward social interactions.

  “So I waited patiently for you to come to your senses and admit that you miss me.”

  “But my pestering urge made me send you the message first.”

  “Hello? Anybody there?”

  I’d smiled against my will. She really must be bored.

  “Yep, I’m here. Reading your spam on my phone.”

  “Sarcastic, are we? That’s good. I heard the scientists have proved that people who are sarcastic have 97% more chance to live longer than the rest of the world.”

  I’d burst out laughing. Somehow, I felt nice. I felt warm inside. No matter how nuts she was, Melissa was actually trying to befriend me.

  I admired people who could easily make friends. Melissa was all that I wasn’t. She was easy going, relaxed, and cheerful, which made me wonder why she bothered with me. After all, I was a reserved girl with no social skills.

  I replied to her last message. “No, I don’t have Snapchat. It’s boring.”

  I couldn’t admit to her that the reason for not having any personal social accounts was because I wanted to avoid being cyberbullied by my classmates. My Instagram and YouTube art accounts didn’t contain my photos or my real name, so no one knew who the person behind my accounts was.

  “Really? Boring? You must be from another planet.”

  I barely had time to read her text before she sent another one. “Do you have Instagram?”

  Why was she so insistent?

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Do you have Facebook?”

  Oh my God.

  “Do you even know what the Internet is?”

  I was just about to send her some excuse when I heard the front door slam. I jumped to my feet, leaving my phone on the bed, and sprinted downstairs. I was surprised that mom came home because she was supposed to be working her night shift.

  Just as I climbed down the last step a loud crash came from the kitchen, and all my senses went into high alert. Scared of what I might see, I bolted to the kitchen and found my mother surrounded by broken plate shards. My blood ran cold.

  “Mom?”

  Her mascara ran down her face, her eyes bloodshot as she looked through me. She was swaying, standing at a rather strange angle, which conveyed just how drunk she was.

  “What do you want?” she sneered at me.

  I hated when she was like this. I hated when she became aggressive and despised everyone and everything.

  “A-Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m not okay.”

  Something must have happened at her work. “Why aren’t you working?”

  She pivoted and opened the top cabinet stuffed with her liquor. She snatched a bottle of bourbon, opened it brusquely, and took a swig straight out of it. It sickened me to see my own mother doing this to herself. She didn’t even care that her daughter was watching her go to rack and ruin all the while.

  I’d thrown her alcohol away so many times before, but it made no difference. We always ended up fighting, but I could never get my point across, and despite all my pleas, she kept buying it without even trying to stop. That was what hurt me the most. She never tried to stop drinking. She didn’t care that it pained me to see her like this. I needed a mother, not this angry, uncaring stranger.

  “Is everything okay with your job?” She didn’t answer or face me, taking another gulp from the bottle. “Mom, did something happen at work?”

  She slammed the bottle down on the counter and swiveled toward me, her eyes filled with burning animosity.

  “Will you just shut up?!” she screamed. “I can’t stand your voice right now!”

  “How can you expect me to shut up?! You just popped up here and you’re drunk! Stop doing that to yourself!”

  I marched over and reached for the bottle, but she grabbed it at the same time and yanked it. I pulled it back, trying to snatch it away from her, but she was strong. “Give me the bottle!”

  “No! Get away from me!”

  I lost my grip on the bottle, and she jerked it away, pushing me forcefully into the counter. “What I do is none of your business!”

  “You’re my mother!” I bellowed. “You’re always getting wasted, and you don’t even care about me! Stop doing this! Stop ruining us both!”

  She slapped me, and the pain fogged my mind. I watched her with my hands curled into fists and bared teeth, my anger rising rapidly. I wanted to hit my own mother. I wanted to make her feel the same pain I felt next to her, both emotionally and physically.

  “You will not speak to me like that!” She tried to push me again, but I grasped her wrist, defending myself.

  “Don’t touch me anymore, mom! Enough!” I let go of her and took a step back. “I’m sick and tired of you! I’m embarrassed to talk about you to anyone. I’m ashamed to have you as my mother—”

  She slapped me twice, cutting me off. I met her raging eyes, horrified by the intensity of her hostility. She hadn’t held back when she slapped me. She’d made my lip crack when it collided with my teeth, and I could taste the blood on my lips, feeling shattered. This will never end. Never.

  “Get out!” I backed away, her shriek piercing my ears. “Get out of my sight!”

  I darted out of the kitchen, rushing to escape her and this oppressive feeling. It spread inside of me—this blackness, this anxiety�
�and I couldn’t be in the same house as her anymore. I needed to run away.

  I grabbed my running shoes and jacket, but I didn’t get far, because just as I scurried out to the porch, she came after me. “Where are you going? Come back here, cunt!”

  I turned on my heel to face her and saw her charge at me with the bourbon in her hand. I staggered backward, terrified of her.

  “You’re not allowed to leave the house this late! You will go to your room and stay there. Do you hear me?!” She was yelling so loud that I was sure all the neighboring houses around us could hear her. This wasn’t the first time she made a scene, but that fact didn’t make this situation any less humiliating.

  “No! I can’t stand to be in the same place as you. I’m leaving!”

  I turned around and took several steps, barely noticing Hayden and Blake watch us from his yard, when the bottle missed me by a few inches, crashing next to my feet on the ground. I jumped aside, yelping, and looked at her in horror. I couldn’t believe my own mother threw a bottle at me. No, no, no.

  “If you leave, you aren’t my daughter anymore, Sarah!” she said these cruel words, certainly not for the first time.

  This always hurt. Everything hurt so damn much when she had these aggressive-drunk episodes, and I couldn’t bear it. I glanced at Hayden, who was watching me, and I felt even more humiliated because he got to witness this. He wanted this. He reveled in this. I couldn’t stand that now he had even more ammunition to attack me.

  My mother never meant this threat, but that didn’t matter. Drunk or not, she had no right to attack me under the pretense of not being able to control herself. Nothing justified the hateful speech and violence.

  “I don’t care,” I retorted and ran away as fast as I could.

  IT DIDN’T HELP. NO matter how fast I ran, trying to break free from the demons, it was useless. They were always next to me, clutching me, pressing their claws into me, making me bleed profusely. I didn’t want to go back there. I didn’t want to be stuck living this kind of life anymore.

  I had no idea for how long I’d run when I heard the motorbike near me from behind. It slowed to a stop in front of me, and I halted when my gaze landed on Hayden, who removed his helmet and got off his Kawasaki. What was he doing here?

  He advanced toward me, but I darted in the direction I’d come before he could come any closer. Unfortunately, my escape was short-lived because he easily caught me and spun me around to face him.

  “Where do you think you are going?”

  “Let me go!”

  “Are you really planning to run away?”

  “And so what if I am? That’s none of your goddamn business.” I writhed against him to set myself free, but his grip was as solid as ever.

  “You really are incapable of getting some things into that stupid head of yours. Everything about you is my business. You don’t get to make any move without me knowing about it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re not God.”

  “No, I just own you.”

  “You don’t own me!”

  “Do I have to remind you about last night?”

  I tensed, instantly disgusted by the memory of his forced touches and kisses. “You don’t have to remind me. I remember it very well. Especially the moment when you left me all alone with no way of getting back home.”

  His hands actually loosened their grip on me, and I used this chance to pull away from him. He just studied me, searching for something in my eyes. I wondered if that was regret I saw in his.

  No, that can’t be. You're delusional, Sarah. Why would he feel even a particle of remorse when he does everything with the intention to harm you? Besides, he crossed the line too many times.

  Taking me by surprise, he outstretched his hand and touched my lower lip with his forefinger. I winced, watching him like a prey watching its predator, expecting the worst from him. His finger moved delicately across my lip, tickling me, and I stared back at him, astounded. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered, not even blinking as I read the raw emotions in his eyes—insecurity and bewilderment.

  I tried to read every sign so I would know where the attack would come from. This was a game for him, and he must be acting now. I knew I needed to get away from him, so why did I still stand in place?

  “You have blood on your lip.”

  Without thinking, I darted my tongue out to lick that spot, which was my usual reaction whenever I hurt my lip, and caught his finger with it. We both tensed at the same time, our gazes locked on each other, and I went red.

  What the hell, Sarah? How could you not think at all?

  Could I disappear? Like, now?

  His eyes were fixed on my mouth, non-blinking as he ran his finger over my lips. His touch was so intimate, and I wondered if I was imagining things. He had never touched me like this before. I didn’t want to move, and that was what scared me the most.

  “Why are you doing this now? What is your plan?” I asked suspiciously. My questions obviously flipped some switch in him because he dropped his hand at once and looked at me, perplexed.

  “You’ll turn around and go home.”

  I frowned. “What? No!”

  “Yes. Right now.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you. I have no idea why my whereabouts bother you, but I have no intention of going back to that house.”

  “Then I’ll put you on my bike and bring you back home. Would you rather like that?”

  He reached for me, but I dodged him and backed away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Don’t act like a spoiled kid and go home.”

  “Why do you do this?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Because I can. Just like everything else I do when it comes to you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  I expected him to get ticked off or to yell at me, but his expression remained blank. “Consider it a payback.”

  Of course. He did promise last night that there would be consequences if I stayed friends with Jessica.

  “What are you waiting for? Go home.”

  I gave up trying to reason with him. If I didn’t obey, he would either put me on his motorcycle and drive me back against my will or follow me around, and I didn’t intend to provoke him. I turned and started my sprint back home.

  “Sarah!”

  I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near Kayden’s grave tomorrow. You got this? You’re prohibited from taking even a fucking step in that cemetery.”

  I KNEW HE WOULD SAY something like that. I knew he would forbid me to visit Kay’s grave, just like he did for his first death anniversary. However, back then I disobeyed him for the first time and went to visit Kay’s grave anyway. The next day, Hayden smashed my locker, burned my belongings in the schoolyard in front of everyone, and started a rumor about me being a hooker, inviting all male students to use my “services” freely.

  That particular rumor was not only humiliating but also ironic, considering the fact that everyone knew I was a virgin.

  This year? Who knew what Hayden could do...

  My mother was already passed out on the couch when I returned home last night. She was in such a deep sleep that she didn’t even react when I shook her shoulder to wake her up so she would go to her bed. I covered her with a blanket, cleaned the mess she’d made in the kitchen, and picked up the bottle shards in our yard.

  Back in my room, I found several messages from Melissa, but I wasn’t in the mood for texting anymore. I sent her a message saying I’d been napping and was really tired so I would text her back tomorrow. Although, I doubted I was going to do that, still not sure how I felt about Melissa and her overly friendly attitude.

  It was already hard for me to get up today. Kayden’s death anniversary reminded me of my life-altering mistake, and the guilt I’d suppressed reappeared. The need to ta
lk to him was too strong, creating a pain that verged on physical. I missed his laughter. I missed listening to him talk about astronomy and stars. How could I lose someone so precious?

  Why?

  In school, students called me a murderer for months after Kayden died. There wasn’t a day without their constant insults and hate, combined with Hayden’s and Natalie’s most vicious attacks. My mother turned into a heavy drinker at that time and became even more impossible to deal with. She would hit me every once in a while, failing to remember doing it when she was sober, and the rift between us soon converted into a chasm.

  That had been the scariest and darkest period of my life, but I managed to keep going and focus on studying in hopes of becoming someone better, with a good future ahead of her. I promised myself I would escape everyone, even my own mother.

  I also promised myself I would study hard and go to Yale art college. I wanted to show everyone, mostly myself, that I could become somebody one day, and my mother would see I wasn’t just a nobody, as she used to call me. I could go to a prestigious college no matter the odds and make the most of my drawing talent.

  Soon, I reaped the fruit of my determination. I didn’t have social life, confined to my room, but that allowed me to become a straight-A student more easily, which became the only bright spot in my school life.

  I entered the school, bracing myself for the worst. I didn’t have any classes with Hayden today, but I wouldn’t put it past him to go out of his way to exact his revenge in the most wicked ways. He could be extra difficult today, so I would have to work harder to stay under his radar.

  I headed to calculus, growing redder under the inquisitive and condemning glances of a few students that passed, which heightened the guilt in me.

  I ignored them and entered the classroom with my gaze set on the floor, concentrated on calming my breathing. I could only hope Natalie and Christine wouldn’t give me a hard time during calculus.

  “She’s here,” someone whispered and burst into a chuckle, which stopped me in my tracks.