Bullied Read online

  My mother had two jobs and the most erratic schedule. She worked as a shop clerk in a fast-food restaurant during the day and as a motel receptionist during the night. She rarely had days off, and when she had them, she preferred to spend her time in bars, satisfying her alcoholic urges and pursuing a new man to spend her time with.

  I turned on the light in the hallway and pushed the wet bangs that had been stuck to my forehead to the side, taking my long hair out of my messy ponytail. I didn’t need to look myself in the mirror to know that currently, I wasn’t an attractive sight as the sweat slid down high cheekbones and sharp jawline onto my T-shirt. I could say I was average-looking, even when I wasn’t a mess. I wasn’t ugly, but at times, I wished I was prettier.

  I remembered a compliment Kayden had given me once. He’d said I usually looked like a tomboy, but when I tried to relax and let the happiness show on my face, I transformed into a true beauty. He’d particularly liked my dimples and the way my eyes squinted whenever I laughed.

  I had a pretty smile, but I smiled rarely. It became so unnatural for me to smile spontaneously. Usually, I used the smile to cover my real feelings and look tougher than I was, so the pretense ruined the real purpose of smiling for me.

  I climbed the stairs and entered my room, ready to take a shower. I turned on the lights and started taking off my clothes. My room was small and had cheap furniture, but it was my sanctuary. It was the place where I could be myself without pretending I was someone I wasn’t or thinking others might judge me.

  My drawings and sketches were plastered all over my walls, injecting life to my space, while the piles of papers with the ideas for my next drawings were strewn across my desk. It was a complete chaos, but it was my chaos, and I was proud of it. It fueled my inspiration to keep drawing; it was a constant source of new ideas.

  I started drawing toys at the age of five. At the age of eight I experimented with watercolor paints and depicted nature. When I was twelve, I gained interest in people, and I went all out to sketch all the details and add a sense of depth using various techniques. Last year, after I created my Instagram art account, I decided to challenge myself and start making digital paintings. I saved my allowances and bought a graphic tablet—my best investment and most precious thing.

  I took off my sports bra and panties and threw them on a pile of dirty clothes on my floor, getting naked.

  The continuous sounds of camera shutter tore through the silent air, sparking a sudden surge of panic in my chest.

  I jerked my head up to look through my open window. What I saw before me chilled me to the bone.

  Hayden was leaning against an open window of his room, which was directly across from mine with only twenty feet separating us. He’d raised his hand with an iPhone and aimed it at me. His eyes were as unreadable as ever as he continued to take shots of me naked.

  I screamed, dashing toward the light switch, and turned it off. I bolted out of my room and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it, closing my eyes, hoping that the last few seconds had just been my crazy imagination. The warm tears spilled out onto my cheeks, followed by sickness that consumed me.

  My heart felt like it was going to burst, my breathing becoming more irregular. How could I be so stupid, thinking I could finally raise those window blinds and do whatever I wanted without the risk of him seeing me?

  I’d kept those blinds closed for years because our rooms were across from each other, having learned my lesson the hard way when Hayden got the idea to spy on me from his room the first time. I convinced my mother to get the blinds for my room and installed them the next day. They had been closed ever since.

  I’d been so sure he wouldn’t be here until our first day of school, so sure I would have my freedom for one more week, but it was a grave mistake. Hayden returned, and now he had nude pictures of me.

  Oh God, what was he going to do now?

  I wasn’t aware of how much time had passed as I stood glued to my door, afraid to enter the room and sneak over to my closet so I could get my clothes. I decided it would be best to take a shower and use my bathrobe to cover myself. Then I could close those blinds and hide from him.

  Showering didn’t help me feel any less tense since the nausea-inducing thoughts of those photos were plaguing my mind. The reality of what had happened hit me eventually, and terror gripped my insides. He was sick for even thinking about taking them. What was he going to do with them? Post them online? Submit them to porn websites?

  I stepped out of the shower, trying to suppress the anxiety attack. I had to calm down. There had to be some solution. He wouldn’t share them just like that, would he?

  Oh, come on Sarah! Of course he would! He was the guy who had promised me hell, hurting me in so many ways. He wouldn’t stop. He would only step up his game.

  I finally took some courage and entered my room, managing to win a fight against my anxiety and breathe evenly. I bolted to the wall next to my window and hid behind it, peeking through the window. I tried to see if he was still there, but I couldn’t spot him. His room was completely dark.

  Did I imagine that? Maybe I’d finally lost it and nothing actually happened? I stole another peek, but I couldn’t see him anymore. I closed my blinds swiftly and turned on my desk lamp.

  Why did he have to come back early? Why did he have to see that? If only I hadn’t opened those stupid blinds. If only I hadn’t undressed myself completely, the light in my room making me more visible. If only I hadn’t switched that light on...

  It had always been like this with Hayden. So many “whys” and “what ifs” whenever he hurt me. I’d always blamed myself. If I wasn’t so weak and incapable of taking care of myself nothing would have happened to me, right? If only I weren’t so detestable... If only I could change so people would finally start liking me...

  If only Hayden didn’t hate me...

  No, don’t go there, Sarah. That exact thought leads you along the most painful path and you don’t want to go there.

  I noticed the flashing notification on my age-old LG smartphone, signaling I’d received a message. Nobody sent me messages except my mother, and she rarely texted me during her night shift.

  Imbued with sudden fear, I unlocked my phone. A bolt of ache hit my chest when I noticed a text from an unknown number.

  I drew a deep breath that did nothing to assuage my increasing anxiety and opened it.

  “I think you might want to reconsider following my orders. Remember what I told you. YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE. Either you’ll be an obedient puppet, or I’ll upload your nudes everywhere and ruin you completely.”

  Chapter 2

  THREE YEARS AGO

  For as long as I could remember, school was a living hell for me. My classmates started bullying me in elementary school and nothing changed in junior high. Whichever school I went to, people disliked me and found me an easy target. I was a child with a single mother, coming from a poor family, and I wore clothes from thrift stores. No matter how much I tried to make them like me, being friendly and helping them whenever they needed help, it wasn’t enough. I was just being used.

  It was like someone put a sign on me saying “Made to be Bullied.”

  Those few “friends” I’d had weren’t good enough to stay and support me. Each one of them thought they were going to be bullied too or considered losers because they were hanging out with me.

  It seemed that popularity meant more than true friendship.

  I gave up on trying to make friends in junior high or get people to accept me. I became an outcast, and everyone began treating me like I was a disease—to be hated or avoided at all costs. The bullying had intensified ever since.

  My mother’s lifestyle wasn’t any help to my reputation. In fact, it only made it much worse. The school kids called her slut and alcoholic and poked fun at me for not having a father. I didn’t know anything about my father since I was a product of one of many one-night stands my mother had over the years, and even she didn�
�t know who he was.

  We kept moving from one place to another, changing towns. One year we changed our apartment three times. My mother often fought with our landlords over late rent or property damage, so we never stayed more than two years in one place.

  Sometimes we moved in with her new boyfriends. Some of them were okay, but some were evil bastards who abused my mother. Occasionally, I was in the line of fire too. I would get hit if I was too bothersome, if I tried to protect my mother from being beaten, or if some of them were so drunk they got angry about every single thing.

  The only thing that was worse than living with an alcoholic was living with the two of them. The first time I received a serious beating was when I was eight. Luckily, I didn’t remember the beating or the pain. My mother didn’t care because she was too drunk to notice. I never had bruises on places that clothes didn’t cover, which I was thankful for, since I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing them. I was too ashamed and scared to talk about the abuse, and I felt like no one could help me, so the best thing I could do was try to be invisible.

  Fast forward to my last year of junior high when the situation with her abusive boyfriends got worse. I never felt more miserable and trapped in my life. I hated going to school, and I hated returning home. Actually, there wasn’t any place I could call home because I was sure the meaning of “home” didn’t include the feeling of horror, pain, despair, and suffocation. People were supposed to feel safe in their home—a place where they belonged—but for me, that was nothing more than a castle in the air. For me, home was an embodiment of darkness and madness.

  In the beginning of summer before ninth grade, my mother told me all too suddenly that we were moving from New Haven to her hometown. She mentioned she’d received my grandfather’s will in which he left us their family house in Enfield. Saying I was shocked didn’t even begin to describe my feelings.

  First of all, I didn’t even know that my grandfather Thomas had passed away. He died of cancer, alone in his home. My mother and he had never gotten along. She’d been the black sheep of the family because she was a rebel, constantly defying my grandparents, and didn’t have college aspirations. When my grandmother passed away, before I was even born, Patricia Decker left Enfield for good in pursuit of a better life. Sad to say, Patricia Decker’s version of a “better life” meant working in various bars and restaurants, expecting to find a “good catch” with loads of money—someone she could live off for the rest of her life.

  Secondly, it felt surreal that we would finally live in a place that we could call ours . No rent, no landlords, no deadlines. We could stay in one place as long as we wanted. I could have a place I could call home at last.

  And third, I could try one last time to make a fresh start and make some friends. I didn’t have much hope since my past showed me that everything remained the same no matter which school I went to, but maybe—just maybe —high school would be different. Maybe moving to Enfield was a sign of a great change. A change for the better.

  IT WAS THE BEGINNING of July, but the morning in Enfield was a bit colder than I would’ve liked. I wore my sweatpants and a hoodie, which barely did their job of keeping me warm. It was too easy for me to feel cold, even in summer. My mother claimed this was because I was too skinny and there was no meat on my bones.

  My body was nothing like my mother’s because she was voluptuous and I was lanky, and that was just the beginning of our differences. She was a short blonde with green eyes. I was tall and I had brown eyes. I wasn’t like her at all—looks or personality.

  We’d been unloading the truck with our furniture the whole morning. When we arrived, I was astounded by how big our house was. It was two-story, much bigger than the small and cramped apartment we’d used until yesterday, and it was a major change for me.

  Unfortunately, it was clear that nobody had bothered to maintain it for years, letting it fall prey to time. It looked old, decrepit, and its sky blue paint covering the facade had long faded away. The wooden railing on the porch was damaged, matching the crannied window casings, and some parts were missing white paint. The interior was nothing better since it was in desperate need of whitewashing and repairs. We planned to spend the next few days trying to improve it with our limited budget.

  I took hold of a large box and picked it up before I looked around the truck, taking note of how many boxes were left to move into the house. I turned around and took a few tentative steps, struggling to get out of the vehicle with the huge, heavy box.

  I tried my best to get down without dropping the box, but I put my left leg on the ground too fast and my knee gave out, making me stumble. The box fell down with a loud thump, while I barely managed to prevent falling flat on my face by outstretching my arms when I landed on the ground.

  “Ouch!” That hurt.

  I raised my head and froze. A boy stood on the sidewalk, watching me intently, and I felt my cheeks warming. I was looking at the most handsome boy I’d ever seen, and I wasn’t exaggerating. I was drooling all over him and I never did that.

  He was tall, slightly muscular, and had a striking face. His raven hair was cut very short, and it complemented his strong, angular jawline and narrow chin. His plump lips looked soft and kissable, inviting an unexpected thought of kissing him, which brought life to butterflies in my stomach.

  What attracted me the most were his penetrating dark eyes that made me feel like they could see right through me—all my thoughts, fears, and desires—and it was unnerving and rousing at the same time. He kept looking at me, not moving at all.

  I broke our eye contact, extremely embarrassed, and my blush increased. I stood up, trying to figure out what to do or say in order to appear less awkward.

  Just as I opened my mouth to say something, I noticed a flicker of derision on his otherwise emotionless face. “You’re stupid.” His voice was flat. “You don’t know how to carry even one simple card box.”

  I was so shocked to hear him insulting me out of the blue that it rendered me speechless. He sidestepped the box, which had landed on the sidewalk, and walked away without sparing me another glance.

  He didn’t even ask me if I was okay.

  He was such a jerk.

  WE SPENT THE WHOLE day unloading the truck, so I was more than glad when we were finally finished. The next thing on our to-do list was to buy buckets of paint and painting supplies tomorrow morning so we could breathe life into this house.

  There were two bedrooms upstairs. The master bedroom looked over the street, while the other, a much smaller one, looked right into our next-door neighbors’ house. I chose the latter room because it was small and gave me a cozy feeling, and I already had some ideas on how to paint the walls and decorate them with my artworks.

  I was starving, but there was no food in the house, so I had to go out and buy it. I stepped off the porch and stopped to enjoy the evening breeze. It was caressing my skin in soothing waves, giving me peace I hadn’t felt for a long time, lulling me into thinking that everything was going to be all right. Summer was my most favorite season, and I couldn’t wait to see what the summer in Enfield would bring me.

  Someone caught my attention, and I faced a tall boy who pushed his bike on the sidewalk in front of my house. My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the jerk from today.

  I was about to dash into the house when the boy stopped, finally noticing me, and cast me a huge smile.

  “Hello!” He waved to me.

  He waved ? Was he serious?

  I remained in my place, not sure if I should run away, ignore him, or insult him. Each option was tempting.

  He propped up his bicycle on the kickstand and approached me. “I heard the new family was moving into Deckers’ house, so I planned to come say hi. I’m Kayden Black.”

  He held his hand out to me, offering me a handshake. I just looked at it, becoming livid. I was sure he was making a fool of me.

  We just stood awkwardly as he kept his hand extended, waiting for me t
o do something. He scratched his neck with his other hand. “Erm, now we shake hands?”

  “I can’t believe you. You want to shake hands after how you treated me today? Fat chance.”

  He dropped his hand and frowned, appearing confused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t get you.”

  “Stop playing me for a fool!” I raised my voice, and the redness spread all over my face. I hated confrontations. My pulse was too fast, and I wished for nothing more than to go back to my house. “Today, you called me stupid and didn’t even bother to ask if I was all right!”

  His frown deepened. “No, seriously, what are you talking about?”

  Was he demented? Did he develop sudden amnesia?

  “I’m talking about how you insulted me when I fell carrying that huge box! You just stood there and called me stupid for not being able to carry boxes!” He looked as if he pondered over something, but I didn’t plan to waste even a minute more on him. “No, you know what? Forget it.”

  I turned on my heel and headed back to the porch, but he caught my upper arm, making me stop. “Please, wait.” I glanced at him over my shoulder, too uncomfortable because of his nearness and the physical contact. He smiled. “You must be talking about my twin, Hayden.”

  “Twin?”

  He released my arm and widened his smile, revealing his perfect teeth. “Yep. Don’t take it too personally. My brother can be rude, but I’m sure he didn’t actually mean anything bad.”

  Was he pranking me? He’d humiliated me today and now he was pretending he had a twin? I watched him carefully, not sure what I should do. His eyes did seem sincere and somehow different. They weren’t sharp and bleak, but beaming with light and cheerfulness.

  “How about we do this properly now, okay?” He offered me his hand again. “I’m Kayden Black, your next-door neighbor. It’s nice to meet you.”

  I let out a small sigh, embarrassed for attacking the wrong person. What was the possibility of meeting someone who had a twin? That wasn’t so likely to happen, but this didn’t make me feel any less ashamed. I managed to make a fool of myself in front of both brothers. Great.