Clay's heart raced as the footsteps grew louder behind him. He knew what was coming. The sound of laughter, the mocking tone—it was all too familiar. His grip tightened on the strap of his bag as his pace quickened, trying to outrun the inevitable. But no matter how fast he walked, the footsteps kept following, and the laughter only grew louder.
Maybe they'll pass me by, he thought, a feeble hope flickering in his mind. But deep down, he knew it wasn't going to be that simple.
The sudden pressure of a heavy arm around his shoulder made his body stiffen. The familiar scent of expensive cologne, too strong and masculine, filled his senses, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. Clay froze in place. He had hoped, even prayed, that they would leave him alone. But it was happening again.
"Clay, my man," came the voice, too casual, too friendly for someone who had only ever tormented him. "How's your phone, by the way?"
Clay swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat as his mind flashed back to the previous day—when they'd cornered him in the school bathroom, stole money from his bank account, and then casually dumped his phone into the toilet. He could still hear the cruel laughter as his phone sank into the filthy water, the screen shattering with a sickening crunch. The humiliation, the violation, still stung as sharply as it had then. He remained silent, his mind racing for something, anything to say, but his voice failed him. Instead, he gave a half-hearted, timid smile—anything to avoid angering them further. He didn't want to escalate things, not today, not again.
"Don't tell me you haven't fixed it yet," Nathan laughed. "What a shame." Clay felt the weight of the words like a slap to his chest. They both knew the truth—the phone was beyond saving. His bank account was empty. He was nothing but a target, a joke. But still, he held on, gripping the strap of his bag, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.
The arm around his shoulder tightened for a moment, as though to emphasize the control they had over him, before it released and the group started to move away.
The laughter lingered in the air like a foul stench, a reminder of how powerless he was. But Clay didn't dare turn around to watch them leave. He simply stood there, frozen, wondering if they'd return, if they were just waiting for the right moment to strike again. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the bell rang—its sharp tone slicing through the tension. Clay felt a brief wave of relief. The school day was about to continue, and with it, the torment would move to another place, another time.
___________
The classroom felt suffocating. The teacher droned on in the front, oblivious to the weariness in his students' eyes. Clay sat at his desk, notebook open, but his pen barely moved. The lesson felt like a blur, words falling on deaf ears. His classmates weren't any better—some were nodding off, others staring blankly out the window, while a few were engrossed in their own little worlds, completely detached from the mind-numbing lecture.
Clay tried to focus on the notes in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to what had happened earlier. He couldn't shake the image of Nathan's smirk, that awful, knowing expression that had haunted him since the moment they had spoken.
And then, as if on cue, a crumpled paper flew across the room, landing on his desk with a soft plop. Clay glanced up, and there, in the back of the room, was Nathan, staring at him with an amused smirk plastered on his face.
Clay's stomach twisted as he saw Nathan mouth the words, "See you at lunch, at the old building."
Clay's breath caught in his throat. He froze. The old building—everyone knew what that meant. It was the perfect place for an ambush. No one ever went there. It was abandoned, tucked away behind the school, far enough that no one could hear you scream.
He nodded, a timid, almost imperceptible gesture, praying that maybe, just maybe, Nathan would lose interest. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Nathan didn't let things go, not when he had a target in mind. As the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class and the beginning of lunch, Clay's heart sank. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to face whatever Nathan had planned. But what choice did he have? He had to go. He couldn't make it worse.
Lunch felt like a battlefield. The hallways were crowded with students laughing and talking, but Clay barely noticed any of it. His mind was focused entirely on the looming encounter with Nathan and his goons.
The fear was like a constant weight on his chest, suffocating him with every step. He had to get away. He couldn't face them. He just couldn't. The old building was just waiting, its shadow long and ominous in his mind.
Without thinking, Clay broke into a run, weaving through the crowded hallway, dodging students as he went. He heard Nathan's voice behind him, shouting through the chaos.
"Stop, freak!"
But Clay didn't stop. He couldn't. His legs carried him faster than he thought possible, bumping into students and nearly colliding with lockers. His breath came in short, gasping bursts, but he didn't slow down. He heard the pounding footsteps behind him, getting louder with every second. They were gaining on him.
Clay's mind screamed for him to keep running. He could hear Nathan's voice, his laughter, just behind him, but his body was beginning to give out. He stumbled as he reached the stairs, his feet slipping on the slick surface. His body lurched forward, and in an instant, he was tumbling down the stairs, crashing into the hard steps one by one.
Pain exploded across his body, but he couldn't stop. When he finally came to a stop at the bottom, he lay there, gasping for air, his body aching and bruised. He tried to move, to get up, but his limbs felt like jelly, and he was too exhausted to even think of running.
And then, Nathan was there, standing over him, the smirk still on his face, cruel and satisfied.
"Now you're in trouble, bitch," Nathan said, his voice low and taunting.
Clay's eyes fluttered, and he tried to push himself up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt the world spinning around him, his vision blurring. He had messed up. He had tried to escape, but it was too late now.
The old building was a dark, foreboding place, and Clay didn't remember much after that. They had dragged him here, kicking and screaming, their fists and feet landing blow after blow. His body was a mass of pain, his blood staining his shirt as he coughed and vomited in the corner. He couldn't stop the tears from coming, even though he wanted to. He was broken, defeated.
"You should have never run, you little bitch," Nathan sneered, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Now look at you."
Clay closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. His body hurt, but it was the emotional pain that felt like it would consume him. He was exhausted, so tired. Maybe it would be easier to just give up, he thought. Maybe it would all stop if I just…
"Hey, you're not dead, are you?" Nathan slapped Clay's face, jolting him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Wake up. Bitch, wake up!" But before Nathan could land another blow, a scream pierced the air.
"What the fuck was that?" Nathan's voice faltered as he turned towards the source of the sound.
The screams grew louder, and then, through the darkness, a woman appeared, stumbling towards them, her eyes wide with terror. "Help me!" she cried. "That lunatic bit me!"
Clay's mind barely registered her words as he looked in the direction she was pointing. And then, he saw him—a man, pale and gaunt, his skin stretched too thin over his bones. His eyes were wild, blood dripping from his mouth, and his veins were visible beneath his skin.
One of Nathan's goons cursed under his breath. "What the fuck is that thing?"
The woman collapsed in front of them, her body crumpling to the ground as she fell unconscious. Panic spread through Nathan's group as they took a step back, uncertainty filling the air.
Clay's eyes widened in shock as the man's twisted, crazed form slowly staggered toward them, his eyes locked on the group. It wasn't the bullying he feared anymore. Something far more terrifying had entered the scene.