Chapter 1: The Run Home

I ran all the way home from the ground. The older boys had beaten me up good, but I still had the strength to run as far as I could from them. I didn’t look back. The sting of their punches and kicks was nothing compared to the ache that gnawed at my chest—an ache I couldn’t explain to anyone. I pushed myself harder, my breath quickening, trying to outrun the shame of it all.

My head throbbed with each footfall, and my vision blurred from the tears I refused to shed. It wasn’t the first time they had picked on me, but this time felt different. The usual taunts had escalated into something more painful—more personal. The weight of their words, coupled with the blows, made me feel smaller, weaker than I had ever felt before.

As I approached our tiny house, I knew the next beating awaited me. The thought made me shudder, but there was no other choice. I had to face my mother.

I pushed open the door with a force that didn’t match my exhaustion. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of something burning—probably another failed dinner attempt. My mother was bent over the stove, her back to me, humming softly to herself as she stirred whatever pot was on the burner.

"You're late," she said without turning around.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Her voice softened, but the edge was still there. "What happened to you? You're covered in dirt, and your face... what did you get yourself into?"

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. The truth was, I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell her the real reason the boys picked on me—the way they whispered in cruel tones when they thought I wasn’t listening, calling me names that no child should ever hear. Names that made me question everything about who I was.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

"I tripped," I said finally, my voice barely a whisper.

Her hands stilled on the pot. I could hear the slight exhale of frustration she tried to hide. "Again, huh?"

I nodded.

"How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? You’re always running off, and now look what happened."

I said nothing, just stood there, my head down. She wasn’t wrong. I was always running—always escaping, always trying to disappear. But this time, I wasn’t just running from the pain. I was running from the truth.

She turned to me, her face softening when she saw the look in my eyes. "Come on, sit down. I’ll fix you up."

I nodded, dragging my feet as I took a seat at the small kitchen table. She grabbed the first aid kit from the cupboard and started cleaning the cuts on my arms, her touch surprisingly gentle. I winced as she dabbed at a particularly nasty bruise on my cheek.

"You need to stand up for yourself," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "Don’t let those boys push you around. You’re stronger than that."

But I wasn’t. Not really. Not in the way she thought.


Chapter 2: The Real Reason

The days that followed were a blur of dull routines. School was always a battlefield, and I was the target. It wasn’t just the boys anymore; the whispers had spread, and even some of the girls had started to join in. I could hear them when I walked down the hallway, their laughter following me like a shadow. "Freak," they’d say, or, "Don’t go near him, he might catch it."

What they didn’t know was that I hadn’t chosen this. I hadn’t asked for the way I was. I didn’t want to be different, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t change it.

I wasn’t like the other boys.

It was so much more than just the teasing. I had learned early on that people like me were supposed to hide, to blend in, to not be seen. But my body, my mind—everything about me screamed that I was different. And in a small town like ours, different was dangerous.

I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. I buried my feelings...