George pushed me against the wall, making my back ache where there were already bruises. He looked at me with a feeling that looked like longing, which didn’t make sense to me. I cringed back, sinking to the ground with a thud. Tears threatened to overcome the eyes that were already red from crying. My face was blotchy, my clothes dirty and almost torn where his fists had touched them.

“Come on now, Hannah, don’t be a baby.” he told me. “Fight back.” He kicked my back, making the tears stream down my face, and now I didn’t hide it. I looked for help, searching the playground for anyone who could help me, but George had hid us well. From his position, it looked like I was laying on the ground voluntarily, and he was helping me up. I tried to scream, but soon his foot made contact with my face. My face now felt like someone had just broken my jaw and nose, which was possible, but highly doubtful. I sobbed, wishing that something would change, that I could fight back. But I had tried before, not to my advantage.

The one time that I had tried to fight back to George had ended in disaster. It was about a month ago, and he had dragged me into the corner of the playground, like usual. This time, he had made a comment that was getting on my nerves, and I had ran for cover. But George was faster than I was by a long shot, and he had caught up with me before I had been running for even five seconds. Then he put his hands where I couldn’t fight him, and he brought his forehead against mine.

“Why do you even try, Hannah?” he had asked me. My reply was something that even I didn’t expect. I had smashed my head against his, and tried yet again to run. He had shouted in pain, which was kind of weird for me, seeing as how this situation was usually reversed. He had told the teacher, and of course, they believed him without a second thought. I had almost gotten a visit to the principal’s office.

Now, I didn’t even bother trying to resist him. My only chance was the power of words. So this was the only approach I even tried anymore, not that it would even come close to working. But now he had me on the ground, pleading with him to stop this hurt. I thought of it like endless torrential downpour on my world of brown grass and dirt.

“Stop it, George, please!” I begged, trying to get up. But his next words shocked me into stillness.

“What, you can’t take it? Didn’t your Dad teach you self-defense? He’s a firefighter, right?” He snorted in disbelief. “Some firefighter.” I looked at him, hating him for insulting my father. Then, fear flooded my eyes. What was the next step he was going to take?

The whistle blew, signaling for us to go back into the classroom. I reached up to my nose, to find that there was blood trickling down my face. I wiped it away, watching as George ran towards the entrance of the school, putting the aides under his devilish influence. I stood up, shaky on my feet for a little bit. I walked over to my line, the recess aide coming towards me.

“Oh, sweetie, what happened to you?” she asked, concerned. “Did you fall on the blacktop?” I nodded, unable to tell her the real truth. That George had been bullying me for a few months now, and I couldn’t tell anybody, because he was an angel in the classroom. Nobody would believe me.

“Let’s get you to the nurses office, okay, sweetie?” The recess aide asked me. I nodded, knowing that the nurse would recognize me. I came down almost every day, and I’m surprised she didn’t realize what was going on. I guess people fall on the playground a lot.

I walked with the lady through the intertwining hallways towards the nurses office. Once we were there, she took care of me as she does everyday, with no comment, except to ask if I felt better. I nodded every once in awhile, but never talking. After she dismissed me, I looked at the clock, and sighed in relief. It was time to catch the bus home. But then my heart clenched in dread. George was on my bus, and he wouldn’t let up now. I would have to sit right behind the bus driver yet again, because George would never hurt me when an adult was nearby.

I ran onto the bus, grabbing the seat directly behind the bus driver. When George came on, he glared at me, then kept walking towards the back of the bus. I looked out the window for the rest of the way home, fighting yet another round of tears.

I walked with my neighbor, Chase, back up to our houses, and I told him everything that had happened today. He was the only person who knew what was going on, my own personal confidant. I made him swear not to tell anybody. But today, even I knew that my bruises and bloody nose were going to attract some attention.

I walked into my house. My parents were sitting in the living room. They looked at me when I came in the door, absorbing my bloody and exhausted face. They both ran to my side, asking what had happened. My throat locked, and I looked at them in pain, wishing that I could tell them. Then, words flowed through my mouth that I would have never expected.

“There’s this guy at school...” I began, surprised these words were coming out of my mouth. I looked at them, ashamed that I had let it get this far. My parents looked at me, confused.

“Do you like this boy or something?” my mother asked. I almost laughed at how wrong they were, but my jaw still ached where he had kicked me. I shook my head, trying to answer her question with as little speaking as necessary.

“He kicked me today... and he told me mean things.” I told them, not wanting to say the rest. I felt bad enough already, with being bullied every day for months. My dad looked at me thoughtfully and sat down on the couch. I looked at him, my eyes begging for him to realize what I couldn’t bear to say.

“Maybe he was just having a rough day. I’m sure it will stop by tomorrow.” my father said. I shook my head, trying to destroy the ball that had embedded itself in my chest.
“No...” I whispered. My mom looked at me, perplexed. I felt my chest squeezing into a ball, anxiety kicking in. What if they didn’t believe me?
“ This has been going on for...a few months?” I mumbled. I looked up at their faces, wishing that they would hear my desperate cry of help.
They both started at me in shock. That’s when the tears came for the what seemed like the millionth time that day. My parents rushed to my rescue, telling me that everything would be okay, that they would fix this. But I could only say one phrase.

“You know...” I sobbed. “You know! Somebody knows!” I cried and cried, letting it all out, relieved that somebody knew, and that they could help me. I shook, and they held me. My father was furious. He called my teacher right away, and they had a long conversation. I cried for a long, long time. But, finally I stopped, relieved that somebody knew.

Later that night, I picked up the newspaper off of the table in the living room. The main title read Man Beaten to Death in York County. I looked at the article again and again, picturing George doing the almost exact same thing to me as the killer had done to that man. My eyes widened, and my body started to convulse. I didn’t know what this was at first, but later I realized what it was: extreme terror.

I picked up the article and sprinted down to my parents and shoved it into their faces. They read it, looked at me, and then my mother brought me onto her lap, providing a place of safeness and hope into my little world of desperation.

“It’s okay, baby girl.” my mother whispered to me. “It’s okay.” I nodded, realizing something that would be important for me later on in life.

Life is something that we can damage. It will bend and twist, but until you’re ready, it won’t break. So for now, you just have to accept the damage that was done, and prepare for the next obstacle that life will throw your way.