"Come eat your dinner," said Dad.
"How am I supposed to hide these injuries?" I thought to myself. I decided to wear a jacket and went to eat dinner.
"Why are you wearing a jacket inside, weirdo?" said my sister, Lyra.
To her, I was more of a "Useless Space Occupier" than a brother. I brushed it off, saying I had caught a cold, though Dad still looked skeptical. He didn't say anything.
My name is Daniel.I'm your average victim.Yes, you heard that right — a victim.That's what people have thought of me my entire life.
I'm in the second year of high school — or should I say, hell.
The weekend was bearable, almost fun — not suffering for a change. But tomorrow is Monday, and that meant going back. I was already thinking about faking being sick. Luckily, I had the perfect excuse: the "cold."
"Dad, I don't think I can go to school tomorrow. The cold is making me feel really sick," I told him.
He agreed without a second thought.
My dad runs a small ramen shop. He loves us, no doubt — but work keeps him so busy he rarely has time for us.I don't mind.He's the only person who's never bad-mouthed me — and that's more than enough.
Our mother died in a car accident when I was three.Since then, he's raised us on his own — running a business while being a parent
[The Next Day]
The walls of my room were silent. No screaming. No shoes slamming against lockers. No laughter that felt like knives in the back.
Just stillness.
I didn't go to school today. I didn't have to.
Wrapped in my jacket, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling fan as it spun in lazy, uncaring circles. The light filtering through the window didn't feel warm — it just made the dust in the air visible. Like everything I'd been trying to forget was floating above me, waiting to settle.
It must be lunchtime now.
Right about now, someone's getting thrown into a trash can.
Probably Nate. Or maybe Aven. Maybe both. The so-called "losers' table" — we're all frequent flyers in the daily punishment circuit. No one asks why. No one stops it. We exist just to take hits and pretend it's normal.
I should feel worse about it.And maybe I do — somewhere deep down, in a part of me I keep buried under layers of fake smiles and blank stares.
But if I'm being honest?
Right now, lying here in the quiet, far away from the fists, the names, the stares?
I feel good.
I feel safe.
And that safety tastes so sweet, it makes the guilt easier to swallow.
Let them bleed today.Let them cry in the hallway, heads down, pretending their ribs don't hurt.Just for one day... it's not me.
And that's a victory.A pathetic, hollow, guilty victory — but still a victory.
Because when every day feels like drowning, even not sinking for a little while feels like heaven.