We all have those moments? the ones that linger in the corners of our minds, whispering if only...
The phrase itself carries endless possibilities. For some, it's a fleeting regret, a minor inconvenience. But for me? It defines everything.
It stretches across every aspect of my existence, carving out who I am and what I have become.
A sharp kick rammed into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. Pain flared through my ribs as I doubled over, gasping for breath.
Another kick followed. Then another. The blows came in quick succession, leaving no room for respite.
"Next time, bring it when I tell you to. Got it?!"
A rough hand seized a fistful of my hair, yanking my head up with a force that sent a fresh wave of agony through my skull.
My blurry vision barely registered Justin's sneering face as he spat those words at me, his grip tightening for emphasis.
Then, as if on cue, the heavy silence of the restroom was broken by the creak of the door swinging open.
Out stepped a figure so radiant in contrast to the grimy surroundings that it was almost surreal.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding an effortless confidence, he carried himself with an air of superiority that was impossible to ignore.
His uniform was pristine, not a wrinkle out of place, and the way he moved, calm, composed, completely indifferent. It only reinforced the vast difference between us.
Dwayne.
The moment he entered, the atmosphere shifted. My tormentors froze. Their bravado, so strong just seconds ago, wilted in his presence.
But Dwayne didn't so much as glance our way.
He strolled to the sink, turned on the faucet, and methodically washed his hands. The sound of running water was the only thing filling the silence.
He then grabbed a tissue, patted his hands dry, and flicked his palms three times in the air, as if dusting off something insignificant.
Without hesitation, he turned toward the exit. His demeanour was that of someone completely unbothered, like he was above everything happening in this room.
Just as he reached the door about to head out, he spoke up.
"Oh, quick reminder. Our next class is with Mister Vincent, and you all know how grumpy he gets when he arrives before we do."
His words, delivered with a tone of exaggerated concern, carried an undercurrent of condescension.
I couldn't tell if he was genuinely giving my bullies an out or if he was simply amused by the situation. Either way, the result was the same.
Justin's fingers uncurled from my hair as he clicked his tongue in irritation. Though reluctant, he and his crew wasted no time making their way to the door, each one shooting me a warning glare before leaving.
"Next time, don't make me repeat myself," Justin muttered under his breath, his tone laced with unspoken threats he would make certain to deliver on.
One by one, they stepped past Dwayne. And though he still hadn't so much as acknowledged them directly, his presence alone was a silent declaration, one they clearly understood.
Justin was the last to leave. He stopped at the threshold, locking eyes with Dwayne.
"It's real nice of you to look out for us like that… right?" Justin's voice carried a thinly veiled hostility, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Dwayne merely tilted his head, his expression unchanging.
"What can I say? We're classmates. I wouldn't want to see any of you get into unnecessary trouble when I can help prevent it. Isn't that right?"
It was only then that his gaze flicked to me, waiting.
A dull throbbing pounded in my head as I forced a nod, unwilling to risk drawing any more attention.
Justin clicked his tongue again, clearly irritated but knowing better than to push things further. He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.
I let out a slow, shaky breath, the weight on my chest lifting slightly now that they were gone.
But the relief was short-lived.
"If it bothers you that much, why don't you fight back?"
Dwayne's voice, casual yet deliberate, cut through the silence.
I stiffened.
Fight back? Was he serious?
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. He could afford to say things like that. He wasn't the one getting his ribs stomped in for merely existing.
People like him didn't need to fear consequences. For me, standing up for myself would only mean getting beaten down twice as hard.
As if reading my thoughts, Dwayne scoffed.
"Then again, looking at your condition, you'd be knocked down before you even managed to swing a punch."
A fresh wave of frustration surged through me. My grip tightened until my knuckles turned white.
Ihated this. I hated how powerless I was. I hated how easily he could make light of my suffering as if the answer was as simple as throwing a damn punch.
But most of all, I hated that he was right.
I remained on the damp tiled floor, staring down, the anger and helplessness intertwining in my chest like a suffocating knot.
The sound of approaching footsteps made me tense, but I didn't look up.
Then, something slid across the floor toward me.
"Here."
It was a card, plain grey, unassuming.
"You know what, you hold on to this. If ever you decide to fight back, say you get the sudden urge to want to change your fate, smear your blood on it and tear it in two".
I stared at the card, unmoving.
"It's up to you whether you use it or toss it. Your choice."
The soft echo of retreating footsteps was the only sound that followed.
Then silence.
For a long moment, I just sat there, the card lying inches from
Was this a joke?!
I had no idea what it was he had just given me. No idea if this was some twisted prank or if he genuinely meant what he said.
But as I sat there on the wet floor with my eyes on the card, my anger flared. It went wild yet remained within tameable distance as I knew that even with how wild it was, it remained useless before the likes of Justin.
The contemplation of If Only, ran through my head.
If only I had the strength to stand my ground! If only I wasn't so powerless!
If only! If only!
Yet... It remained that what it is? A contemplation that would never see the light of the day.