My leg ached as I limped, not as significantly as I was used to, through the school hallway. It felt like it had been a long time since I'd been here; my leg wasn't really welcoming stairs much anymore. I could hear the echo of the gunshots and the ping the bullets made as they hit the lockers. I shouldered my book bag and ignored the pain in my leg, using pieces of walls to pull myself further into the building as the gunshots in my head got louder with each painful step. I winced and took a small break just shy of the top to compose myself and take one last deep breath before hoisting myself up two more steps.
I was supposed to be using my crutches. But people stared at me enough in the halls, and I didn't need any more pity. I'm 18, for Christ's sake. I shouldn't have to use fucking crutches.
Maybe I'm not as good as I thought.
