Why was it always like this? No one was around until things were already over, when they couldn't help him. He laid curled up in the middle of a wet tile floor, the showers running all around him. Furious fists and heavy feet slammed into him, and in response he simply curled up tighter, trying to limit their attacks to less vital areas.
One of his attackers noticed that his ear was unprotected, and stomped down on it. His ear popped and he grunted in pain, his hearing fading away from that ear just as his attackers curses rang in his ear. He was already wet, but he knew that his ear was bleeding, even without feeling the familiar warmth of blood.
No one came to save him. They were smart, having chosen a time with no bystanders. It was beyond stupid to hope to be saved in such an isolated situation, but he still silently called for help, even though he knew nobody could hear him.
Over time, the blows slowed, the cursing and swearing faded to cruel laughter, the kind you'd hear from one of the more theatrical villains that were active in this city. At least, that's how it sounded to him, though he imagined if his ear wasn't so messed up, it would sound different.
With a final kick to the back of his ribs, the impact of which slid him across the floor, his tormentors were gone. Simply calling them bullies didn't quite do them justice anymore. He laid there, in a puddle of blood and water, misery and bitter rage consuming his each and every thought.
After minutes that felt like hours, he commanded his battered body to move. First, he extended his left arm, the least damaged of his limbs, due to being mostly hidden under his torso. Mottled purple bruises were already growing around his forearm. The limb was stiff, and the tingling of pins and needles soured his mood even further. He slowly stretched out, allowing his joints to crack and pop while he tried to stand.
As of now, standing was still out of his reach, especially with the running showers making the floor slick. Still, he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. He inspected the damage, noting the bruises and scrapes that covered his right arm and leg. His shins were torn from being kicked, and his sides and back were in similar shape.
This was a recurring theme in the life of Edward Penn. Everything about this boy was miserable. From his freakishly pale skin, to his sharp features and bony limbs. His hair was straight, and roughly chin length, and dark like ink. His eyes were a light green, and his right eye was ringed by a freshly received black eye. He was of average height, and numerous scars from past beatings and incidents marked his skin, with some of today's injuries certain to stick around.
With a heavy grunt, Edward slowly fought his way to his feet, first crawling onto all fours, and then pushing up from there, using his left arm for support. He was currently in the men's locker room, in the curtained off communal shower. Nine shower heads sprouted out of the walls, like flowers of plastic and steel, four on each main wall, and one in the middle of the back wall.
His muscles screamed in protest as he walked around, slowly and carefully, turning off each shower head, one by one, hating each one of his tormentors with every step he took. There were four of them, Tommy, Jeff, Justin and Benny. Always together, and frightfully repetitive in how they came after him, with beatings and name calling seeming to be the only thing in their arsenals. Sticks and stones. On the rare occasion they did something new, Edward was certain that Tommy's girlfriend, an enigmatic figure that Edward had yet to see, had come up with the idea.
Repetitive as they may be, sticks and stones still break bones. With the last shower shut off, Edward left the showers and stepped through the curtains, into the main room. Gray and white tiles lined the walls, harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the area. Several long rows of lockers lined the walls, and a shiny finished wooden bench was bolted to the ground in the middle of the room.
He went to his locker to retrieve his clothes. He opened it, and sighed deeply. They weren't there. A quick glance over to the nearby trash can supplied their whereabouts, with a black sleeve hanging over the edge of the can. With any luck, they hadn't done anything nasty to them this time.
A closer inspection revealed that they had, in fact, done something nasty to them. They were wet, which meant two things. Either they were covered in soap, or he'd best leave them in the garbage. Edward fished out his hoodie by one of few dry parts, and took a sniff. It smelled like piss. He sighed again, and dropped it back in the garbage he knew by now that if they'd done it to one, they'd done it to them all.
"Dammit. Those were new…" Edward said out loud, though no one was around to hear him. He turned away and washed his hands, keeping his head down, avoiding his reflection. Edward turned off the sink, dried his hands, and limped over to the end of the lockers that lined the locker room wall. The last locker had a jammed handle, and was thus unused. At least, that's what most people thought. Edward lifted and angled the handle, before pushing up. The door sprung open, revealing a set of clothing. Numerous sets of clothing, in fact, all consisting of a white shirt, black hoodie and sweatpants. Underwear and socks were placed neatly in the corner.
As he dressed, he thought back to his first year of high school, when he had broken this locker. Originally, he'd done this by accident, but he'd quickly come to appreciate its use, once things had started to get worse. When it started, it was just the occasional shove from behind or a vandalized locker on a bad day. Over time, things escalated to this point, with regular beatings and destruction of property. Edward had just started his last year, and he'd already had to replace two backpacks and six sets of clothes.
Even now, he wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve this. He didn't really talk to anyone, so he found it really unlikely that he'd said anything to offend any of them. Perhaps he'd bumped into one of them on a bad day. Or, perhaps they were just mean.
The idea that anyone could be so vicious and mean over such a long period of time should have, and would have bothered the Edward of three, or even two years ago. But now, the idea had simply become reality, one that he had been forced to accept.
Edward closed the locker, jamming the handle again. He returned to the sink, and turned the water back on. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, and pressed it to a cut on his forehead. The black eye had darkened more, shifting from dark yellow to the familiar and iconic dark purple.
One of his lips was torn, and a trail of dried blood charted a path of torn flesh from the middle of his ear to his earlobe. His left cheek was sore, and then there was the cut on his forehead, which was shallow, likely caused by one of the boy's boots.
He thought of his own shoes, which were luckily untouched this time. Just as he was about to turn from the mirror, something caught his eye. A thin stream of shiny black liquid ran down his forehead, originating from the edge of the cut.
Edward frowned, and wiped the liquid, which was thick and more like some kind of goo, off. He rubbed it on his hoodie. Probably grease from the lockers. He must have accidentally rubbed it on his head when he used that paper towel.
The smell of burning fabric filled his nostrils, and looked around frantically for the source of the smell. Smoke rose in the corner of his vision, Alarmed, he looked down. His hoodie was smoking, where he'd rubbed that black liquid.
"What the hell?" He wondered aloud, moving to pull his hoodie off, before stopping mid motion. His forehead was not burnt. Neither was his finger. The liquid, inky and viscous seeped through the sleeve, and on to his skin. He pulled the sleeve back, his curiosity pushing the smoke from his immediate attention.
Edward's ghoulishly pale skin only made the strange substance stand out all the more. He raised his forearm to his eyes, watching the liquid. It felt cool against his skin, shimmering in the fluorescent light. Little by little, the liquid disappeared, being drawn into and absorbed by his skin, leaving no trace behind.
There was only one possibility. One thing Edward had wanted since he was a child, something he'd grown to want even more when the bullying started, and something he'd given up on when the bullying continued. Superpowers.
It had to be. A viscous black fluid that seemed to originate from his body, a fluid that seemed to be corrosive, if the smoke and damage to his hoodie was anything to go by, and finally, a seemingly corrosive fluid that did not hurt him, one that he'd seemed to pull back into his body.
Edward grabbed his shoes, and pulled them on hastily. Gym, the class he'd just been in, was the last class of the day. A quick glance at the mounted wall clock told him the time. Three twenty-one. School was over in nine minutes. He smiled, and chuckled to himself. There was little humor in his expression. It was a bitter smile, and a rather sinister chuckle, one that portrayed hatred rather than joy.
He left the locker room, and made a beeline for his main locker, the one he used to keep his bag and school supplies in. This one was usually not a target for Tommy and his crew. For one, he had a rather expensive combination lock on it. Two, there was a camera at the edge of the hall, pointed in the general direction of his locker, meaning that tampering with it, or breaking in, would be recorded, and then things would be over.
Lakewood High was one of those schools with a rough reputation. It was known for a high turnover of students, and staff members were considered veterans for lasting more than two years. Discipline was one of the school's many claims to fame, or, more accurately, the difficulty to obtain it. Without any kind of hard evidence, they wouldn't even hear you out, more times than not. Hard evidence like a camera recording of an event. When discipline was dished out, it was harsh. Luckily for Edward, that was enough to deter Tommy and his crew, at least when in view of the cameras. Obviously, there were nowhere near enough to actually stop their attacks, or even significantly slow them down.
Regardless, Edward opened his locker, gathered his backpack, and headed to the school's main exit. The bell rang, officially ending the school day. Edward could barely contain his excitement as he left the building, his bitter smile remaining. After all, it was about time things started looking up for him.