The kid no one cared about

I haven’t the slightest idea of where I might be.

All I am certain of is that my parents are rather worried today. I can hear my mum sobbing. Every now and then I hear voices, unfamiliar voices, talking with them. I’m in such pain that I cannot concentrate enough to clearly hear what they are saying.

Apparently, it is not a pleasant matter they are chatting about, as my mommy cries even louder this time. The strong urge to open my eyes possesses me but I simply fail to do so.

I can claim that I’m officially scared now. Everything around me is so very dark and all that breaks the silence in this mysterious place are those voices.

Am I dead? That would certainly explain why my mum appears to be so upset with herself today. Yet, I cannot be dead. Because if I was, I’d definitely be someplace else. And not in this misty crib with the creepy voices piercing my ears. This is not how I have imagined heaven to be like.

Redirecting my focus on what a male voice is saying, I stumble upon a particular word – coma. I am hospitalized with a severe coma. Interesting – I never knew that people in a coma can hear others; I always thought them to be sleeping. Interesting indeed, as numbness has taken over my body. Frightened as I am, I don’t even dare to think about the amount of pain I will have to deal with, once my eyes open.

The main question is – how did I end up here? Frowning, I remember myself in a chair. I was seated on a plastic chair, surrounded by five or six people. Sorry for not being accurate, but I forgot to count them then. It was that girl from my class who arranged it all. I solemnly swear that I did not do anything to cause her such a rage.

We used to be friends when we were little, you know. She might have forgotten but I for sure haven’t. And that is why I ignored each nasty comment she ever made about me. She has been through enough, I believe. Her parents beat her and yelled at her all the time. As a loyal friend, I’d always listen to her and stand by her side.

A short memory she has to forget that I used to love her and comfort her.

Ever since she joined that gang with the popular girls at school, all they do is pick on me. The first couple of months they followed me around school, calling me fat and ugly, loudly enough for the whole school to hear. I know that I may not be the prettiest or the slimmest girl, but I am okay with it. I like myself just the way I am and she knew that. Yet she was the one who was screaming the loudest behind my back. My ignorance has obviously driven them to be even madder at me.

The next step was for them to follow me everywhere I went outside school. A week ago, they confronted me while I was enjoying a chocolate sundae. The stares of unknown people were upon me as my old friend grabbed the ice cream and poured it all over my head and clothes, referring to me as a cheap, fat, excuse of a girl and how I ought to kill myself.

Embarrassed, I held in my tears and allowed myself to break down once I got back home. During the following days, I found myself locked in my room, stubbornly refusing to leave the house. Pretending to be sick, my mom ordered me to rest and I didn’t attend classes for three days. However, I could not play sick forever, and so, on the fourth day, I hesitantly walked to school, by myself, once more.

The teachers would not allow me to stay in class during break time. Once I exited the classroom, two strong arms pulled me to my right and left. Two of the six “friends” were the ones yanking my arms and they were taking me somewhere. I resisted but they were far stronger than I was, forcing me to walk to the back side of the school.  A plastic chair was set in the middle of the small space, awaiting for me to sit on it.

They pushed me to the ground first, then they lifted me up and commanded me to sit. All six of them took their place around the chair, standing close to each other with their arms crossed. Opposite me, stood my good old friend glaring down at me with an undermining and simultaneously disgusted look.

The signal has been given as they started to remove my clothes. I shouted over and over again, begging them to stop. Laughing hysterically, they only stopped once I was completely naked. Just then, my hair was pulled and I was thrown from the chair, becoming one with the ground. Punches and several kicks to my head, led me to collapse into a heavy sleep.

That was my last memory.

As I open my eyes, my parents run towards me with watery eyes. The pain starts to kick in, while they hug each other and begin to cry again. A policeman enters the room and my eyelids are about to close once more.

“It is not her fault. Please forgive her. I have.” I state with a soothing voice.

Only I know what she has been through. No matter what, children shall always follow their parents’ example and not their advice. To use physical violence so as to dominate was the way she was brought up. Imagine how weak she must be in order for her to hit others and actually enjoy it. She only causes pain so that she feels superior and stronger, when in fact, the only thing that she needs is attention.

I may in this moment feel physically weak but I know that she’s the weakest of them.

All abusers are, for they lack love.