2. No One Cares

Ethan walked through the empty hallway, his steps slow, unsteady. His uniform was stained with food, his hair messy, his hands still shaking. He could feel the stares from the few students passing by—some filled with pity, some with amusement, but most just indifferent.

His chest ached. Not just from the bruises but from something deeper. Something heavier.

He reached the teachers' lounge and hesitated at the door. A part of him told him to turn back. That this was useless. That no one would help.

But he had to try.

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

Inside, three teachers sat at a long table, sipping coffee and chatting. The room smelled of old books and burnt toast.

Mr. Callahan, the school's head disciplinarian, looked up from his newspaper. His sharp eyes landed on Ethan, and his brows furrowed in irritation.

"What is it, Collins?" His voice was cold, impatient.

Ethan swallowed, stepping forward. "Sir, I—I need help." His voice was weak, almost breaking.

The other two teachers, Mrs. Harris and Mr. Donovan, glanced at him briefly before returning to their conversation.

Mr. Callahan sighed, setting down his paper. "What happened?"

Ethan hesitated. He hated this. Hated having to beg. But he had no choice.

"It's Damian and his friends," he whispered, his fingers gripping his sleeves. "They… they humiliated me again. They made me eat food off the floor. Everyone saw. They pushed me, hurt me. And this isn't the first time. It's been happening for years, sir."

He took a shaky breath. "Please. Do something."

For a moment, silence filled the room.

Then, Mr. Callahan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Ethan," he said, his tone tired, dismissive. "I've told you before. You need to toughen up."

Ethan's stomach dropped. "What?"

"You keep coming in here, complaining about the same thing," Callahan continued. "But what do you expect me to do? Kick out the school's top students because you're too weak to stand up for yourself?"

Ethan's breath caught. His fingers curled into fists. "But—they're hurting me."

Callahan sighed, picking up his coffee. "Boys will be boys."

Boys will be boys.

The words stabbed into Ethan like a knife.

"Sir, please," he whispered. "They won't stop. They—"

"Then stay out of their way," Callahan snapped. "If you stopped acting like a victim all the time, maybe they wouldn't pick on you."

Ethan felt his throat close up.

Was this his fault?

Was he the problem?

Mrs. Harris finally spoke, though she didn't look up from her tea. "Ethan, maybe you should just try to ignore them."

Ignore them.

How could he ignore it when every bruise, every humiliation, burned into his skin, into his soul?

"But—"

"I think we're done here," Mr. Callahan interrupted, already returning to his newspaper.

Ethan felt the air leave his lungs.

It was over.

They weren't going to help him.

No one was.

Slowly, he turned and walked out. The hallway felt colder now, emptier. His vision blurred, but he forced himself not to cry. Not yet.

He still had one more hope.

---

Ethan reached the courtyard where his only two friends, Jonah and Felix, sat under a tree.

His heart ached as he saw them, laughing over a shared joke. For a moment, he let himself hope.

Maybe they'd listen. Maybe they'd stand by him.

He rushed forward. "Jonah! Felix!"

The two boys turned, their smiles fading when they saw him.

Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat. "Guys, I—" He hesitated, his voice cracking. "I need your help."

Jonah glanced around nervously. Felix shifted uncomfortably.

Ethan took a deep breath. "Damian and his guys… they did it again. They made me—" His voice wavered. "They made me eat food off the floor. They—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I can't take it anymore. Please. I just—I need someone to have my back."

Silence.

Felix wouldn't even meet his eyes.

Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Ethan… I get it. What they do is messed up. But—" He sighed. "You know how it is. If we get involved…"

"They'll come after us too," Felix finished quietly.

Ethan's breath hitched.

"But—you're my friends," he whispered. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

Jonah flinched. "Of course it does, man. But we can't fight them. They're too powerful. If we speak up, they'll ruin us too."

Felix nodded. "We're sorry, Ethan. Really. But we can't help you."

Ethan felt his chest cave in.

Not them too.

Not the only people he trusted.

His lips trembled. "So… that's it? You're just going to let them do this to me?"

Jonah looked away. "I'm sorry."

Ethan let out a shaky breath. He felt something inside him break.

His friends—his only friends—were abandoning him.

His vision blurred as he turned away. "Forget it," he muttered, his voice hollow.

He walked off without looking back.

They didn't call him. They didn't stop him.

And that hurt more than any punch Damian had ever thrown.

---

Ethan sat on his bed, staring at the wall.

His dorm was dark, silent.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn't bother wiping them away.

He had tried.

He had begged.

But no one cared.

The teachers dismissed him. His friends left him. The students watched him suffer and did nothing.

No one was going to save him.

No one was going to stop the pain.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

Maybe Mr. Callahan was right. Maybe he was too weak.

Maybe this was his fault.

Maybe he really was nothing.

His fingers dug into his sheets as a single thought filled his mind.

If no one would save him…

Then maybe it was time to stop waiting.

Maybe it was time to stop being weak.

Maybe it was time to stop being human.