My Bully Hockey Boy Wants Me Now

Lila POV “Wait, is that a sanitary pad or a surrender flag?” The voice was high, sharp, and instantly recognizable. Vanessa Hale. I didn't even have to look up to see her perfect, porcelain face or the way her expensive highlights caught the hallway lights. I just stood there, my feet rooted to the linoleum, staring at my locker. Someone had taped a thick, white pad right over my nameplate. They hadn't just stopped there. They used a crimson permanent marker to scrawl the words in jagged, angry letters: WELCOME BACK, BLEEDING PIG. “Oh my god, Lila, is it that time of the month already?” another girl chimed in, her voice dripping with fake concern. “We should really start a GoFundMe for your laundry bill. Those stains are a b***h to get out, right?” I felt the familiar, cold prickle of sweat at the base of my spine. The hallway, which had been a dull roar of summer stories and slamming lockers seconds ago, was now deathly quiet. Or rather, it was a different kind of loud—the sound of dozens of sneakers shuffling closer and the rhythmic click-tap of phone cameras being readied. “Does the school even have a weight limit for the hallways this year?” a boy shouted from the back. “I think I felt a tremor when she walked in.” I didn't answer. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I’d either vomit or scream, and both were victories I refused to give them. My mind betrayed me, dragging me back three years. I could almost feel the dampness of my skirt again, the horrific realization hitting me mid-stride in the junior high corridor. I remembered the flash of a phone, the way the image had been uploaded to the school’s gossip page before I’d even reached the nurse's office. Bleeding Nerd Pig. The name had been a shadow ever since, stretching longer and darker with every year I grew. I forced my eyes toward the hockey players leaning against the far wall. They were the kings of this place, the ones who decided who breathed and who choked. Jaxon Vale was right in the center. He looked like a god carved from ice– broad shoulders, jawline like a blade, and eyes that always seemed to be looking at something miles away. He was Vanessa’s crown jewel— and my crush since childhood, the boy who, at five years old, had accepted a pencil from me and let me call him my boyfriend. Not sure if he remembers that at all. Don’t laugh, I begged silently, my heart doing that stupid, hopeful throb it always did. Please, just this once, don’t join in. Jaxon caught my gaze. For a second, his expression was unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a slow, devastating smirk. He leaned back against the locker, crossing his arms over his jersey. “You’re blocking the traffic, Hart,” Jaxon said, his voice smooth and cold. “Some of us actually have places to be.” The hallway erupted. The smirk was the signal. If the King thought it was funny, it was open season. “Oink, oink, Lila!” “Watch out, she might spring a leak!” I reached out, my fingers trembling only slightly, and ripped the pad off the metal. The adhesive was strong, making a loud, screeching sound that felt like it was tearing my own skin. I bundled it into a ball and dropped it into a nearby trash can. I didn't look at Jaxon again. I didn't look at Vanessa. I just punched in my code, grabbed my Media Studies book, and ignored the pig stickers that someone had plastered over my folders. The rest of the morning was a blur of narrowed eyes and whispered insults. By the time I reached Media Studies, I was exhausted. I took my usual seat in the back corner, hoping to blend into the shadows of the computer lab. The door swung open, and Jaxon Vale strolled in ten minutes late. Mr. Henderson didn't even scold him; hockey stars carried their own hall passes in this school. Jaxon scanned the room and, to my horror, headed straight for the empty desk behind me. As he sat down, his knee shoved against the back of my chair. Hard. I jolted forward, my chest tightening. I tried to focus on the syllabus on my screen, but I could feel his presence like a heat source. Five minutes passed. Then, his knee hit my chair again, a rhythmic, annoying tap. “Stop it,” I whispered, not turning around. The tapping stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief, only for him to lean forward. I could smell him—mint and something expensive, like fresh cedar. It was a smell I’d spent years secretly inhaling from a distance, a smell that reminded me of the private school library and the way I used to watch him through the stacks. “You’re shaking, Lila,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a caress. “You should stop reacting. It feeds them.” The audacity of it made my blood boil. He’d smirked. He’d watched them humiliate me for three years, and now he wanted to give me life advice? I turned my head just enough to see the edge of his sharp profile. “And you should stop breathing. It helps the oxygen levels for the rest of us.” Jaxon didn't flinch. In fact, he looked like he might actually laugh, but he just leaned back, his eyes darkening as they tracked the movement of my mouth. “Feisty today,” he said, his voice returning to that bored, icy tone. “Maybe the pig actually has tusks.” I turned back to my monitor, my vision blurring. I spent the rest of the hour counting the seconds until the bell. The walk home was a gauntlet. A group of first-year students followed me for two blocks, making snorting sounds and asking if I wanted a "snack" while waving a bag of bacon bits. I kept my head down, my earphones blasting music I wasn't even listening to. I didn't run. Running was a confession of weakness. When I finally reached the small apartment I shared with my aunt, the silence was a relief. She was already gone for her double shift at the hospital. I dropped my bag, stripped off my loose, oversized sweater, and walked straight into the bathroom. I sat on the cold tile floor, fully clothed, and just stared at the wall. This was my ritual. It was the only place I felt safe to let the armor crack. After twenty minutes, I stood up and turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, trying to wash off the feeling of those stickers, the sound of the laughter, and the weight of Jaxon’s smirk. I cried the way I always did—without a sound. My mother had taught me that secrets were safer than the truth, and I’d applied that to my pain, too. If nobody heard you cry, did the hurt even exist? I was drying off, wrapped in a threadbare towel, when my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up, thinking it was my aunt checking in. Instead, it was an unknown number. No contact name. No profile picture. Meet me behind the hockey rink. Ten minutes. Alone. My heart gave a violent jerk against my ribs. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. Vanessa and her friends probably had a bucket of pig slop waiting to dump on me. I put the phone down, my breath hitching. Don’t go. Just stay here. Lock the door. It buzzed again. Don't be a coward, Hart. I know you're awake. I typed back, my thumbs fumbling over the screen. Who is this? The reply came back in less than five seconds. A single, sharp letter that made my stomach flip. J. I stared at that 'J' until the light on my phone dimmed. Jaxon. Why would he want to see me? Why now? He’d spent the morning mocking me. Was he going to finish the job? Or was this about the way he’d looked at me in class, like he was trying to remember a girl who had once given him a pencil and called him her boyfriend? I looked at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. I looked tired. I looked like a girl who had been crushed a thousand times. I reached for my black leggings and a fresh hoodie. I knew I shouldn't go. I knew it was probably the stupidest thing I’d ever do. But as I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail, I knew I wasn't staying home. I needed to know why Jaxon Vale was suddenly reaching out from the shadows. I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, my pulse thundering in my ears like a warning I was choosing to ignore.