Chapter 2

Back in high school, I developed early, and boys constantly made crude jokes about it.

I hunched my shoulders and slouched to hide my chest, dreading gym class the most.

Back then, Michael wasn't called Michael Hussain. His parents hadn't divorced, and he went by Michael Becker.

He was the notorious school bully, feared by other students. I had no real connection with him until one morning when I overslept and rushed to school.

I ran into him, and he ordered me to bring him breakfast from a specific place.

I had no money on me and was terrified of being late, so I brushed off his request.

That was a mistake.

When he found out I hadn't done what he asked, my nightmare began.

After school, I was scared of angering him further, so I cautiously left the classroom, hoping to slip away and that he'd forget about it in a few days.

Before I could relax, someone shoved me hard from behind at a corner.

Caught off guard, I stumbled and fell, hitting my head on the ground. My vision blurred, and my head spun.

A foot pressed heavily on my back, grinding down with full force.

The pain was unbearable, shooting through my limbs like wildfire. Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Where's the breakfast I told you to get? You think you can just ignore me? Can't hear words, huh?"

In agony, I stammered, "I didn't mean to. I really didn't have any money."

"I don't care if it was on purpose. You dared to ignore what I told you to do?"

His eyes burned with arrogance, sending a wave of fear through me.

Two of his lackeys dragged me to my feet. He pinched my face, studying it, and muttered, "Not bad-looking, just a bit fat. Tell you what, yell 'I'm a pig' twice, crawl to the bottom of the stairs, and I'll forgive you. How's that?"

I shook my head, clenching my teeth, refusing.

But Michael didn't let it go. He grabbed a marker, drew a crude image of a sow with an exaggerated chest, stuck it on me, and forced me to walk two laps through the hallway before stopping.

I didn't even know how I made it back to the dorm that day.

The hallway was filled with classmates, some laughing, others indifferent, like faceless figures in the background.

Once in the dorm, I curled up under my blanket and sobbed.

But that was just the beginning.

Michael led the charge to target me, joined by a few classmates, bullying me daily.

They tore up my homework and threw it away, tossed my backpack into water, scribbled vile words on my desk, and even smeared red paint on my chair.

Under his influence, girls in the class started tormenting me too, slapping me, pulling my hair, and shoving my head toward a toilet.

I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them. I was powerless.

I reported their actions to the teacher, but she didn't believe me.

She even suggested that it takes two to tango, implying I must have done something to deserve it.

I grew more withdrawn, often crying alone in a corner late at night.

I wondered why it had to be me. Had I done something wrong? Was it because I didn't get him that breakfast?

I apologized, and it wasn't intentional.

Was I the one at fault?

Bullied every day, I couldn't focus in class. My once-top grades plummeted.

All I got from the teacher was misunderstanding.

Then, a ray of light broke into my world.