CHAPTER 3 - BARGAINING

The following days that passed after my return looked bleaker and became scheduled to a routine. I would arrive at school and I would be pestered by the people who I thought were once dear to me. They stripped me of my belongings, any cash I would have on me that would pay for my food, really just about anything that was of value. Of course, I didn't willingly surrender myself to their tyranny. But all that meant was that I would be beaten to a bloody pulp and later robbed whilst I drifted into the world of unconsciousness. Eventually, in retaliation, I stopped bringing any money, any food, anything but my school uniform and necessary books and equipment. The looks on their faces for that one moment were so sweet, yet carried unbelievable amounts of a bitter aftertaste behind it, which was soon wiped away by the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

The original stand of my perpetrators soon after rallied their efforts into isolating me. They would threaten others with violence if they did not join them in harassing me. I grew angrier and frustrated over time, yet all those feelings did was make clear in my mind how useless I was. How everything had been torn away from me within the span of a single event that kept rolling down the hill spinning in more tragedies. I was too weak and the added strength they gained from numbers overwhelmed me.

I was a sheep to the wolf.

I was no longer safe in the classrooms either. All the previous torment had been from avoiding the eyes of the teachers, yet now the numbers were so overwhelming they no longer needed to fret over the guardian who stood like a stone statue instead of actively preventing the discrimination present. Just like they hoped, all abandoned me ready to smile at my misfortune whilst cheering and laughing alongside the aggressors. The social hierarchy had been flipped and I have been deemed an outcast and so would anyone attempting any interactions with me.

Even my only best friend had now left me to save his skin.

I had now graduated elementary school and the next stop was junior high. Unfortunately, most of my elementary class found itself attending the same junior high, and half of my original classmates once more shared the same room as me for the next year, including my demon that kept me on edge at every waking moment.

I vividly remember avoiding all eye contact with everyone, my face buried into my desk as tears slowly leaked.

Thud!

The loud sound abruptly crashed as my classmate picked up my head by my hair and slammed it back down whilst his friends recorded cheering and laughing. All I knew is that the next moment my eyes woke to the light, the classroom was empty and I was on the floor with a busted lip and bruises all over. This, however, was nothing like a walk in the park for the suffering that would be inflicted upon me.

"Oi, guys!! Come here and take a shot at this punching bag! He's really fun to beat! He even comes with an inbuilt strength tester that is scored on how loud he screams in pain, hahaha hahaha!!" Their laughter forever became stuck in my head, replying every time I would go outside and I soon realised I couldn't look anyone in the eye. It was ferocious beating after beating to the point where they started practising their knife skills on me. They played it off as an innocent joke and made me laugh alongside them while they recorded it. Eventually not giving them money was no longer an option. They exploited the only person close to me, Sato, and threatened me with her life if I didn't bring them money every day.

I became a play thing because I felt sad? Because I felt frustrated and wanted comfort from the people I thought were my friends? No. This was just a matter of when rather than if. However, this put me off of interactions and the integrity of people's words. Fear that at all times people wore masks, a facade to deceive me and use me all over again. I even began questioning Sato's words. The person who was the most worried about my state every time I came home, was the one who cooked a warm meal for me, the one who cleaned and took care of me.

Yet that feeling and thought lingered in the back of my mind, praying on my weakness and my uselessness.

Those cold nights I broke out in sweat gasping for air, only to follow by a miserable stream of tears like the rain that spat at my window. I would either curl up or get on my knees with my face against the floor and hands above my head begging for all this to stop.

"I-If y-y-you can make, ugh, my p-parents return, I promise B-Buddha. I w-will w-walk acros-s-ss the whole of J-Japan barefoot, spreading your grace. Just, please. At least...let me coast through s-s-school a b-bit easier." My words would barely leave my mouth those nights and the saliva flowing down my throat felt like a million blades stabbing the back of it. If all would just return, I told myself, I would do anything for it.

Unfortunately, nothing came to fruition. The seeds of my prayer did not sprout into a beautiful flower but instead grew toxic in a wasted field. Although it is to be expected. If a man can't help himself first, no one else can either.