Chapter 15: The Breaking Point

Chapter 15: The Breaking Point

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A Trap Without Escape

The bell rings, signaling the end of class.

But it offers no escape.

Jason and his group don't move.

They stand there, their shadows stretching across the floor, their presence a physical weight in the air.

The library, once a sanctuary, now feels like a cage.

I grip the edges of my book, my knuckles turning white.

I know what's coming.

I always do.

But knowing doesn't make it any easier.

Jason smirks. A slow, deliberate expression that sends a cold chill down my spine.

And then—before I can react—

A shove.

My book flies from my hands, landing with a dull thud on the floor.

A pause.

A breath.

Then—

Laughter.

Cruel. Amused.

A sound I've heard too many times before.

I don't move. Not yet.

Maybe if I stay still—maybe if I don't react—

They'll get bored.

But Jason doesn't get bored.

Jason always finishes what he starts.

And this time is no different.

---

The Beating

The first blow is unexpected.

A sharp fist to my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs.

Then another.

And another.

Pain explodes through me in flashes of white-hot agony.

I try to defend myself, arms coming up instinctively—but it doesn't matter.

They're too many. Too strong.

A knee to my stomach. A fist to my jaw.

The library walls blur. My vision tunnels.

Somewhere, distantly, I hear footsteps. The sound of a book falling from a shelf.

And the laughter.

Always the laughter.

Jason leans in, his breath hot against my ear.

"Stay down, Steins."

I cough, the taste of iron thick on my tongue.

I don't respond.

Because I can't.

Because the moment I open my mouth, I'll choke on my own humiliation.

And they know it.

They know it.

When they finally stop, when the dull ache in my body overtakes the sharp sting of their fists—

They leave.

Like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

---

The Walk Home – A Blur of Pain

Each step is agony.

Every breath—a ragged gasp.

I don't look at anyone.

I don't want to see their pity.

Or worse—their indifference.

The world moves on, unbothered.

And I—I am drowning.

The weight of my ordeal presses down on me, a suffocating force that no one else can see.

The bruises throb with every movement, but it's not just the physical pain.

It's the knowledge that tomorrow will be the same.

That the world won't stop for me.

By the time I reach my house, my limbs are heavy.

My thoughts—heavier.

But there is no relief.

---

A Home That Feels Distant

The house is the same.

The warmth of my family's presence, the familiar sounds of Lily talking, my parents laughing in the other room—

But I don't feel it.

Not tonight.

Tonight, everything feels distant.

I step inside. The scent of food drifts through the air. A comforting smell, but it does nothing to settle the storm inside me.

Lily glances at me from the couch, her eyes flicking over my face.

She hesitates.

Then, cautiously—

"Hey… you okay?"

I force a smile. It doesn't reach my eyes.

"Yeah. Just tired."

She studies me for a second longer, but she doesn't push.

She just nods, turning back to the TV.

I move through the motions of the evening.

Eating dinner. Responding when necessary. Pretending.

Always pretending.

No one questions the stiffness in my posture.

No one notices the way I wince when I move.

The silence is heavy, a wall I cannot break through.

And no one sees it.

No one sees me.

---

The Darkness Within

I retreat to my room.

The only place I can be honest.

The pain is intense.

Both physical and emotional.

I peel off my shirt, sucking in a sharp breath as the fabric drags over bruised skin.

Dark marks stain my ribs, my arms—ugly reminders of my weakness.

I touch one of them, pressing slightly.

Pain flares instantly, sharp and unrelenting.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Not because of the pain.

Because of what it represents.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

At the hollow eyes. The tightened jaw.

The bruises.

They'll heal. They always do.

But the weight pressing on my chest?

That won't.

I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on my knees, fingers tangled in my hair.

The silence offers no comfort.

The darkness feels like a mirror.

And for the first time—

I wonder how much more of this I can take.