Chapter 7: Chapter Six

It rained all the way to school and stopped just as I got inside, a chunk of the students weren't there yet, I was about half an hour early. Sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes bad, it depended when the other boys arrived.

As it was the classroom was mostly empty, Sophie in the corner next to Debbie, Olivia just next to my table by the window, constantly picking something from her braces and curling her already curly hair.

She looked up at me as I sat down. "No one wrote anything this time." She informed me, propping her head down on her hand.

I nodded. "Yeah."

I still wiped away some of the pencil smudges on the table, as I was doing so I realised there was something in the drawer below. There was no actual drawer in it but there was a space to put books if there were too many on your table, students weren't actually allowed to keep things in these desks because loads of different people used these desks.

"What..." I pulled out a packet of crisps, initially thinking it was trash, I'd found trash there before, gum on the sides of the table and my seat, but it was a full unopened bag of crisps.

"Snacks?" Olivia remarked.

"I guess..."

"Can I have some?"

"I don't... They aren't mine..." I turned the crisp packet over, half worried they'd been filled with crap and resealed or something.

There was a post-it-note attached.

Heading home now, probably not coming in tomorrow. Don't let the others get you down, and don't forget to eat something at lunch time.

Victor

These? Multiple? I looked further down the drawer and realised there was a can of coke, I pulled it out and stared at them.

And my face turned red and I put them back in the drawer, my heart racing in my chest. It was a kind gesture, but it always felt like something more. Like I was in one of those old romantic movies my grandma liked to watch. The popular kid interested in the unpopular kid.

But it wasn't like that. It meant nothing, just a guy who had a girlfriend doing something nice for the pathetic kid that was being bullied. He wasn't even my friend.

It didn't stop me from feeling happy though. Patrick seemed to notice the expression on my face as he entered, eying me down.

I glanced at him, but put my head in my arms and tried to sleep instead of letting him get to me.

He sat down behind me, in the empty seat, and kicked my chair legs from behind.

I ignored him, in high spirits, I didn't care. I was going to daydream with my eyes closed.

"You look happy huh?" He said to me, I could hear his chair creaking as he leaned forward to say it.

I shrugged barely and said nothing.

He whistled. "Your boyfriend isn't in today I guess..."

I bristled a little at that, worried it was a sign they'd start harassing Victor and then I wouldn't even be able to hang out with him.

I hated that expression they gave me, reluctantly sitting by me, glancing around, pity, but also embarrassment to be around me, fear of me dragging them down with me. I really fucking hated it.

"Elliot," He addressed me after Miss Sharma was done taking names, "Ellie." He corrected himself.

I pretended to sleep.

"Man you really are attached to your desk huh." He kicked my chair again. "Huh? Ellie?"

I didn't answer.

There was a moment of silence, then he kicked my chair so hard I screeched forwards into the table which also moved and Sharma immediately noticed and glared at us.

"Guys, I'm really so sick of having to remind you of what year we're in."

"I'm not the one doing anything..." I mumbled.

"Excuse me, dipshit?" Patrick snapped at me, glaring at me.

"Patrick I know you're having problems at home but you're supposed to be a group leader on Saturday, that's a lot of responsibility, if you keep up with this you'll have that position taken away from you and given to someone else." She snapped at him.

I blinked wide, I couldn't tell if the rest of the class was surprised too but it felt dead quiet in the room as she continued going over just how the Treewalk trip would work, what activities were set up, and how we were getting there. It seemed like excessive preparation for two nights in a forest a couple miles from home.

Problems at home...

I peeked behind me at Patrick who hadn't so much as breathed in reply.

He was leaning back, acting casual, but his face was flushed and his eyes were narrowing.

He gave me the middle finger when he caught me looking and I turned back quickly. I tried not to feel anything about it, but I knew what it was like to feel like there was no place to go, not even home. Given how much of a dick he was he was probably going through something worse, also given the teacher knew about it I guess.

Part of me felt so much like if I found common ground with him we'd get on and it would all be alright. But that not only was just not true, being friends with him wouldn't absolve him of every fucking thing he'd done to me.

So I pretended I was happy about it, the looks that passed between the students as they watched him when he left the classroom. He deserved it.

Surprisingly though the day proceeded silently.

The slow march of life continued.

I got myself a chicken fillet and rice and sat down on the fire escape stairs to have it with the crisps and cola, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I considered writing out a second diary, one that Victor could look at. Then I could admit it was actually just a diary but it wouldn't be as embarrassing. He probably knew it was, probably saw one of the pages when he was looking over and that would explain why he was keen on looking at it.

I spent lunch and some of the next lesson writing out some of the new diary. I wrote it in my nearly empty History exercise book, they were all the same shape and colour anyway.

I'd be cool, calm and collected in this version, someone who didn't care, who wasn't bothered. I cross-referenced my real diary to write it, each entry significantly shorter. But it was easier to write when you were making things up, I could even pretend that my home life was great, pretend that my dad cared about me, that I stayed up at night playing games like the rest of the kids.

It felt so good that I almost got caught writing it as the teacher started moving through the tables. My head was so wrapped up in my fake life that I just barely hid it in time.

And at the end of the class I had an opportunity to speak to Mr Gardener about the trip, he was the co-organizer, and he taught English.

"What's up Elliot, you've been working hard for once..."

I nodded sheepishly, I wasn't the best student, I still wasn't, I'd been writing a fake diary the entire time, not writing out the answers to the comprehension sheet he'd passed out.

"Yeah... So um, about this trip..."

"Your mum's already okay'd it, no worries lad, she signed the permission slip by email and paid through the portal."

I stared at him, opened my mouth and closed it, shoved my hands in my pockets and nodded slowly. "Oh, yeah but... I don't... I don't really want to go..."

He frowned. "Oh, I see... well that's a bit of a problem. Have you spoken to your mum about this?"

I nodded. "She wants me to go."

"Well it will be a good bonding opportunity. You know the Treewalk trip has helped a lot of boys become friends before, it's all about team building exercises, learning to become part of the group, but also take on some leadership roles, to show the group what you're capable of."

"I'm really not-"

"You make a lot of friends that way. And look, you won't be friends with most of the people in secondary school by the time you're in college, but it's important you make friends."

I exhaled. "Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, a little put off by the question. "For your mental health, to fit in, someone to study with. You know you could benefit from the help of someone to help you stick to your studies a bit more."

I stared at him for a moment too long, then exhaled. "They're going to beat me up."

He blinked at me slowly. "Who is?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me who you're having problems with and I can make sure you don't end up in the same group together."

"I just don't want to go."

"I can't exactly unenroll you, Elliot." He frowned at me and looked me over. And I slowly realised that he was beginning to think I was just being dramatic.

"What if it's one of the group leaders?"

"Is it Patrick?"

I felt myself going a little pale.

"There's only two groups son." He sighed. "Patrick is a little rough around the edges, he's going through some stuff, but he wouldn't beat you up, and we have three teachers on watch, nothing will happen to you."

I stared at him.

I had a bruise on my face, why did no one ever notice that, acknowledge it? Victor was the only one so far to even mention it. It was so sick of it, showing up with bruises and no one gives a shit.

I couldn't outright tell him he'd punched me or he'd have to take disciplinary action against him. Maybe he wouldn't be able to go on the trip, but all the other boys loved fucking with me either way, and when I got back from the trip I knew I'd end up with my head forced into a urinal every break for a month.

"That's not from him is it?" He gestured toward the bruise, finally noticing it.

I stood still like a statue for a moment, then shook my heavy head.

"No, right, I thought it wasn't." He nodded. "Who gave it to you?"

"Fell." I replied monotonously.

He stared at me, and then frowned just a moment before I turned, opened the door and left.

I considered it walking through the hallways, gingerly heading toward my last class, mathematics, which I shared with Patrick and a good few of the others. Unfortunately it was also the class I was the worst at.

None of them seemed to care about me, then again they usually tried to keep to themselves during Babanin's class.

Mr Babanin was loud when he was angry, with the odd unidentifiable accent and the booming voice no one really liked being put in the spot by him, he was a good mathematics teacher but annoyingly unpredictable. He'd once stopped to yell at me in the hallway for having tied my tie wrong.

The clock ticked away, I struggled with every question and the class laughed at me every time Bababin asked me to answer a question I couldn't.

My mathematics exercise book was rows of 'a)    b)     c)      d)', I just couldn't figure out how to put together the answers and I couldn't be bothered either, because the further the class came along the more I felt the prickle of awareness of people's eyes on me. Patrick glanced at me, and then looked away.

Feeling tense I resolved to head out as fast as possible once the class was finished.

When the bell did finally ring we all still had to wait for him to excuse us, he'd throw a biblical fit if he heard so much as someone zipping up their pencil cases before he let us go.

When he did I shot up to gather all my things together as fast as possible.

I saw someone moving toward me from the side but didn't expect their hand to swipe the pencil case I was reaching for off the table in front of everyone.

"In a hurry?" My stationary shot across the floor and I looked up at the smile on Pierson's face, his short shaved hair even more spiked than usual.

Maybe it was the way the sky was getting cloudy outside, but I wanted to get home fast. I got my things together, intending on grabbing a pen or two on the way out and leaving. The protractor and everything else could stay on the floor, I just wanted out.

But I felt the eyes in the room turn on me.

Not everyone was leaving.

Five or, no six boys were staying behind. Pierson, Adam, Tariq, Nick, Stan and, of course, Patrick. I wished I didn't know any of their names, I wished the world swallowed them up and spat out their backpacks and nothing else. The way my heart raced when I saw them, the way I knew it was visible on my face that I was afraid of them, it really fucking sucked.

My heart pumped as I felt them getting closer, footsteps closing in.

I swung my backpack on and forgot about the pens and just started speed walking toward the door.

"Hang on, hang on," Adam put a hand on my chest. "Where are you going man?"

"Home." I replied immediately, but it sounded meek, and I couldn't get myself to look him in the eyes.

Patrick stepped in front of me, followed by Pierson just behind him, looking left and right as the last of the students slowly ambled out of the classroom, unbothered by what was going on, maybe genuinely unaware, or simply unempathetic.

"You ratted on me." He smiled at me.

I blinked. "What?"

He laughed. "You're playing dumb now?"

"I don't-"

"You really are a piece of work. Saying I beat you up 'cus of that?" He poked my face, just missing the bruise but I still tried to back up, hitting the table behind me. "This tiny fucking piece of nothing?"

My hear pumped loudly in my ears, my face hot as I looked at him, and around at everyone else. I was surrounded, and when Tariq shut and locked the door I felt my spirit leave my body for a second.

"I didn't say anything..." My voice was quiet because my breathing was shallow.

Did Mr Gardener say something? Did he decide Patrick had been at fault? No, he'd probably just pulled Patrick aside and asked him about it, asked him if he'd done it, and that had been enough, enough for him to organise this.

I felt like I was going to die surrounded by them like this, no place to run.

I glanced to the side and saw the open window and Patrick scoffed, stepping forward and grabbing me by my collar.

"You actually fucking narked on me, you're pathetic, you're actually pathetic."

I tried to back up but I couldn't, just ended up moving the table behind, the legs screeching against the ground. "I actually didn't say anything. I just asked Mr Gardener if I could not go on the trip-" I blurted out.

"So you told him I beat you up? How much of a pussy are you that you can't take a couple hits without trying to fucking get me expelled, what's wrong with you?"

I stared at him, grabbing my own collar, trying to push his hand off. A flush of anger drilled through me all at once, all of a sudden. "What's wrong with you?!"

He blinked at me.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?! Why are you goddamn obsessed with me?! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! That's all I want, do you get that?! You're an asshole! I already said I'm sorry, I'm sorry okay?! I've said it a million times! Whatever you're doing to me isn't fixing whatever's happening-" At home... I stopped myself just in time.

There was a moment of silence in the already quiet room, you could have heard a pin drop. I heard my blood roaring in my ears during as my face heated up.

No one seemed to move, nothing except Patricks eyes on me did, examining every inch of my face, angry and blazing, searching for something, maybe justification for being such an asshole.

In that time I managed to notice what he was holding in his other hand.

The moment he saw me look was the moment it was too late. I saw the searching stop and the action follow and I pushed him as hard as I could, trying to shove past him. Someone tripped me up and Patrick's hand grabbed the back of my shirt, choking me as I fell forward, I stumbled onto my feet and struggled to get him off of me.

He only had one hand available and I was still losing, struggling for my life, even though I could see the other boys moving over to block my way.

"What are you doing?!" I yelled. "Let me go!"

"Calm down," Tariq laughed as he wrestled me from behind, helping him. "We want to do our art project!"

"Help!" I yelled out as they dragged me backwards. "Help me!"

"Don't you wanna know what our art idea is?" Patrick asked as he helped wrestle me into a chair.

My heart was pumping as I struggled, I was freaking out, I didn't want to know, I swung out and hit whatever I could until my arms were wrestled down and they pulled my arms down over the sides of the table so that my head smacked into the surface while they wrestled me down. "Do it, do it!" One of them yelled.

"It's called 'Desk Hugger'." He told me casually.

I heard the sound of sellotape being peeled up from the roll and I struggled as hard as I could, kicking the chair so that it came out from underneath me and almost slipping onto the floor but the hands holding my arms in place over the table were too strong and my muscles were locking up from fear.

"Help!" I screamed.

They sellotaped my wrists to the legs of the table first, and my legs to the chair, and as much as it seemed like I should have been able to break free the moment they detected any give they put on even more. I had no idea how much tape there was but struggled till I could barely move anymore, it didn't matter.

They didn't stop at my hands and legs, someone put a hand on my head and forced it down against the table and then the tape went across the side of my head, rampant laughter bubbled out of the group as they worked on me, going over the table so many times they definitely were using up multiple rolls.

My heart was pumping in my ears as I tried to move, humiliation like a red tidal wave in my, flushing out every other thought in my brain.

Strands of my hair were already ripping out just from trying to turn my head. I cried out in pain and they continued, making it even tighter, forcing my head against the table even harder, my face squashed against it, my eyelashes even against it.

"Let me go!" I begged. "Let me go..."

"There, that looks good." Patrick declared, stopping. "Now you can really be attached to your desk..." He laughed.

I swallowed, my throat dry and scratchy. "Let me go home."

They just laughed.

"Please."

"Calm down..." Patrick mumbled. "It's fuckin sellotape..."

I begged regardless, knowing how stupid I looked with my face pressed on its side against the clear tape. I wanted to cry but I had to stop myself in case they saw it.

They ignored me though, joked around and mocked me for a while, and eventually the group left together, as they left they switched off the lights in the classroom, closed the door, and unless I was mistaken, I head the lock click a second time.

I must have struggled there on the desk for about half an hour.

My hair wasn't the worst part, after about fifteen minutes I could move my head, but my arms and legs were another story. I couldn't move, no matter what I did I couldn't move. I tried for so long, screamed for help. I begged quietly for the ants to hear too. The more I pulled at the sellotape the more I could just about move my hands but I still couldn't pull them free. They'd used so much sellotape.

Suddenly I heard someone open the door, the lock unclicking, and for a moment they didn't seem to come inside, but possibly just stood there, then stepped inside and walked right up, with careful large steps. The footsteps were careful, even the lock sounded quieter than usual.

I didn't have the energy to be embarrassed anymore. "Help." I whispered.

I couldn't see who it was, but they grunted. They already had some scissors out, as I felt them and heart them start cutting away at it, but just as I was about to weep from relief I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Whoever was helping me seemingly panicked, dropped the scissors and ran, slamming the door behind them.

And that was that.

I cried out after them but they were long gone, and for another half an hour I tried and tried to get free.

Eventually I broke down into tears. I sobbed into the plastic wall forcing my head against the table, parts of the sellotape cutting into my arms. My lips were dry and neck was in pain. But more than anything I felt like an idiot.

I thought I would be there for another hour, even as I was making leeway, albeit really cutting into parts of my skin at the same time. My sobs grew louder in the dark, the rainy sky outside stealing the evening even quicker than usual, and taunting me with the prospect of the night.

My eyes hurt from how hard I cried, my throat hoarse.

Eventually, though, the caretaker either saw or heard me, opened the door and helped me using the scissors on the floor.

He took a long time to slowly cut through the tape all over me, my eyelashes mucus and spit making the side toward my face a slightly translucent white. When he got to my ear the scissors nicked it and I jumped, the blood dripping onto the table.

When I was free I thanked him, but my eyes were red and my voice was nearly gone, my ear bleeding down onto my uniform, lips dry and half my face red.

"No good. No good. You'll hafta tell a teacher about that son."

He continued trying to convince me to tell a teacher. I couldn't be bothered to explain that this had happened because I'd barely hinted about it to a teacher, and simply nodded along, grabbed the contents of my pencil case off of the floor and made my way to the door.

He escorted me through the empty hallway, past the rows of empty dark classrooms, unlocked the main door and took me down to the gate to unlock that too.

I didn't have much energy reserved left for gratefulness, and couldn't even muster a smile, but I thanked him quietly before I left.

I was exhausted. I dragged every step home. My eyes felt raw and swollen, my scalp hurt, there was a persistent ache in my neck and cuts on my arms.

I licked my dry lips as I headed back, looking up at the darkening sky. "Why?" I asked no one in particular.

I didn't expand on this question, but headed back in silence.

[A/N] Okay, there we go, like I said, not long now till Arran shows up. Hugs to everyone voting and supporting me writing this book. Big warm jumper-fresh-out-the-dryer hugs to my patrons and to the Wattpad Creators Program.  (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡