Why Normal People Scare Me Part 1

It was December 18, 2015. It was freezing outside once again and of course, I had to walk to school again. My mother was out on a business trip (surprising, not) and my dad was laying on the couch drunk again. I refuse to go into detail of why he lays in a pool of his own piss again. When I finally reached the school I hurried toward my locker to grab some books inside before he came with his friends to throw me into a ditch or something again. I suppose they were skipping the first period again because that's what they normally did. They were the "cool people of the school." They tortured me every day calling me a faggot, Jackass (very original guys! not like a kindergartner could think of that! I mean my first name is Jack. God get your own ideas for once in your life.) and other foul names since my family and I moved here from Ireland (3 years ago). When it was around 12 p.m. I had to go to my locker again because I forgot my chemistry book (again). That's when I saw them leaning against the lockers laughing at something unknown. The leader of the group of thugs was none other than Mark Fish-back. He got anything he's ever wanted as far as I'm concerned. God was an ass hat.

I try to keep my head low (avoiding eye contact), and I made my shoulders lean in toward my chest trying to make myself appear smaller then I'm actually am. That, of course, didn't work and they soon started yelling,"Hey! Jackass where do you think you're going? We haven't even had any fun today!" They soon started to walk toward me except Mark, who usually just stayed leaning against the lockers to watch. He never even hit me before so, I really had no reason to hate him. The biggest tub of lard walked in front of me first. He was huge (compared to everyone), he had disgusting blond hair that was tied back and he was in a huge need of a breath mint. "Why don't you just hit me a fag? Huh?" "I know you want to!" I just stayed quiet and tried to focus on the floor. "Hey! Jackass I'm talking to you!" The whale grabbed my throat and forced me to look into his murderous almost black, eyes. He was basically strangling me but I didn't really care. I was what they said anyway. I'm a worthless piece of shit. One of the others started to punch my stomach and they soon saw that it was pointless to mess with me today because the fat ass dropped me on the ground, kicked me in the ribs and walked away. When they left I sat up, coughing (which was blood, as usual.) I started to walk to class.

When I got there the teacher said nothing. She just stared at my neck which probably had a bruise forming from someone's huge hands. I just sat down, everyone still looking at me, I just looked down at my hands and started tugging on my sleeves (I did it when I was nervous.) I had social issues you see. I hated having attention pulled toward me, it makes me start to feel more insignificant than I actually am. The teacher (Mrs. Green) stopped staring and started to go back to the board to start blabbering on whatever it was she was saying before I arrived. Class ended about 20 minutes later. When the bell rang I literally jumped out of my seat, mumbled goodbye to Mrs. Green and rushed down the hall. I had to force myself not to run as fast as I possibly could down that hall. All I wanted to do was avoid Mark. I hated seeing his smiling face every time his friends beat me up. I hated the fact that he just watched them hurt me and not help. While I was thinking about that, I wasn't paying attention and I walked right into them.

"Well would you look here boys," said James. " Just the fagot we wanted to see." They soon proceeded to drag me into the parking lot, right beside Mark's car and dropped me. As soon as I hit the ground, they proceeded to kick me in multiple places giving no mercy (as usual.) The entire time they were doing this to me, all I could do was close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I never screamed for them. Not anymore at least. I think that soon, they thought I passed out and once again picked me up and threw me into something again. I waited until I heard their footsteps fade away into the distance and I eventually heard a car door slam shut. I opened my eyes and surprise! I was in the school dumpster once again! Wow, could they be any more original?

After I climbed out of the dumpster I started walking home. I don't know what I hated more, the torture that I endured at school or the torture from home. I normally settle for the school torture but recently, my dad returned home (my parents were divorced and my mother decided she felt bad for leaving me for weeks on end. So, she invited the person she knew I hated more than life itself. I suppose she was thinking he changed in a good way and we could put the past behind us. I can never forgive him for what he has done.) and so did the abuse. I didn't care about the bullies at school, I was used to them and they never really intimidated me anymore. I was scared of many things, like anyone else but, the thing I was most scared of was my own father.

The reason I'm so frightened of him goes back to when I turned 11 and my mom stormed out of the house after claiming that she wanted a divorce. I was the happiest I've been in forever. I was standing there smiling like a Cheshire cat when she walked out of the house slamming the door behind her. My dad at the time was furious but, that gave him no excuse. He started yelling at me about how it was entirely my fault and of how worthless I am. He grabbed my arm and basically threw me into my room, locking the door behind him. He left me in the room for hours while I knew he was drinking his sorrows away. He soon came to unlock the door and just walked away to the kitchen. I was frightened but not entirely a coward so, I walked out of the room in the kitchen because I felt bad and I wanted to comfort him (I mean, after all, he is still my dad.) As soon as I turned into the kitchen he smashed an empty beer bottle over my head and beat me senseless. I must have passed out because the next morning, I woke up in my room with a horrible headache. I was still wearing the same bloody clothes from the previous night and walked to school alone.

Even since then, I've had this undying hatred for him but I still feared him. As soon as I unlocked the door to my home, I cringed from the overwhelming stench of piss and alcohol. I knew that he was drunk again but, I wanted the smell out of the house so, I started to open the windows a little. I picked up all the beer bottles and cleaned the entire living room again. After I was done, the smell was mostly gone so I closed the windows and just started to spray everything with Fer-breeze. My dad stumbled into the room with another bottle in his hand. No one has any clue on how bad I have wanted to smash a bottle over his head or beat him up like he does to me. I know that I couldn't beat him in a fight, he was older and stronger than me. I just set the air fresher down on the counter and stood there while he shouted at me once again. He soon yelled something like, "GO TO YOUR ROOM YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" I gladly started to walk to my room but, he grabbed me by my shoulders, pinning me to the wall and kneed my....most hurtful spot three times in a row. I didn't scream even though I wanted to. He began beating the shit out of me. When he was finished he let me lay in the hall, half unconscious while I attempted to crawl to my room. After a good I don't know, ten minutes (maybe) I crawled on my bed and passed out.