Chapter Twenty-Five: SCARED TO SPEAK UP
1314 Words
Xenia
I stood in front of the mirror and stared at the faint bruise on my cheek.
It wasn’t very visible anymore.
Most people probably wouldn’t notice it.
I noticed it.
Every morning.
Every night.
Every time I looked in a mirror.
The slap had happened four days ago.
Yet somehow it still felt fresh.
Not because of the pain.
Because of what it represented.
I touched the fading mark gently.
Then looked away.
There was no point thinking about it.
I had class in twenty minutes.
My exams were approaching.
My parents were depending on me.
Life continued whether I was ready or not.
So I grabbed my bag and left the dorm.
The autumn air was cool.
Students filled the campus walkways.
Some laughed.
Some talked.
Some hurried toward lectures.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
Again.
I hated how normal everything looked.
Because my world certainly didn’t feel normal.
As I walked toward my lecture hall, my phone vibrated.
A message from Mama.
Have a beautiful day, tesoro. We love you.
A small smile appeared.
Immediately.
No matter how bad things became, my parents always managed to make me feel a little better.
I typed a quick reply.
I love you too.
Then I put the phone away.
For a few minutes, things were peaceful.
Then I heard laughter.
My stomach tightened automatically.
The kind of reaction that happened before my brain even processed anything.
Like touching a hot stove.
You learned quickly.
I didn’t need to look.
I already knew.
Chloe.
Again.
“Look who it is.”
My grip tightened around my bag strap.
Just keep walking.
Just keep walking.
Maybe they’d leave me alone.
Maybe—
“Hey, Snow White.”
They weren’t leaving me alone.
Wonderful.
I kept moving.
Pretended not to hear.
A mistake.
Apparently.
Because footsteps followed.
Several of them.
Of course.
Why make my day difficult when they could make it impossible?
I quickened my pace.
They matched it.
My heart began racing.
Not again.
Please.
Not today.
I was tired.
So tired.
“Why are you walking away?”
Chloe called.
No answer.
“What?”
Another voice laughed.
“Maybe she doesn’t understand English.”
Laughter erupted immediately.
The familiar kind.
Cruel.
Sharp.
Designed to hurt.
And somehow it always did.
I stopped.
Slowly.
Because if I kept walking, they’d probably follow me into class.
If I confronted them, maybe they’d stop.
Maybe.
I turned around.
Big mistake.
Huge mistake.
Chloe smiled.
Victorious.
As though she’d already won.
Maybe she had.
“What do you want?”
The words came out quieter than intended.
Weak.
I hated that.
Chloe noticed too.
She always noticed.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I have a question.”
I said nothing.
“How did you even get accepted here?”
The girls around her laughed.
My chest tightened.
I swallowed hard.
“Same way everybody else did.”
The answer surprised even me.
For a brief second, I felt proud.
Tiny.
Very tiny.
But proud.
Then Chloe laughed.
“Oh.”
She stepped closer.
“Look at that.”
I immediately regretted speaking.
“I didn’t know the nanny had attitude.”
The laughter returned.
Louder this time.
Several students nearby turned to look.
I wished they wouldn’t.
I wished I could disappear.
Become invisible.
Anything.
One of Chloe’s friends folded her arms.
“You should be grateful.”
“For what?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
A mistake.
A terrible mistake.
“For charity.”
I blinked.
“What?”
She smirked.
“The school probably felt bad for you.”
Laughter.
Again.
Always laughter.
The words shouldn’t have hurt.
Yet somehow they did.
Because a small part of me already worried about things like that.
About not belonging.
About being the poorest student in rooms filled with people who had everything.
About being the girl with the accent.
The girl everyone noticed.
The girl who never quite fit.
Chloe tilted her head.
“Say something.”
My throat tightened.
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
I wanted to tell them they were cruel.
I wanted to tell them I worked harder than most of them ever would.
I wanted to tell them I earned my place here.
That I stayed awake studying while they partied.
That my parents sacrificed everything for me.
That every grade mattered.
Every exam mattered.
Every opportunity mattered.
I wanted to tell them all of it.
Instead…
Nothing came out.
Not a single word.
Because suddenly I became aware of every eye watching.
Every stare.
Every whisper.
Every possibility of saying the wrong thing.
Of mixing up my words.
Of embarrassing myself.
My anxiety wrapped around my throat like a rope.
Tight.
Painful.
Paralyzing.
Speak.
Say something.
Anything.
I couldn’t.
The silence stretched.
Chloe smiled.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
Bullies always knew exactly where to press.
Exactly where the weak spots were.
“That’s what I thought.”
The words landed like a punch.
Not because they were clever.
Because they were true.
I hadn’t defended myself.
Again.
I stood there while they laughed.
Again.
I let them walk all over me.
Again.
And worst of all…
I hated myself for it.
Eventually they left.
Still laughing.
Still smiling.
Still victorious.
The crowd dispersed.
The show was over.
I remained standing there for several moments.
Frozen.
Humiliated.
Angry.
Not at them.
At myself.
Because I knew they were cruel.
I knew they were wrong.
Yet somehow their opinions affected me anyway.
A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Xenia?”
I looked up.
It was Professor Martinez.
One of the few lecturers who had always treated me kindly.
Concern immediately crossed her face.
“Are you alright?”
The question nearly broke me.
Because kindness always felt more dangerous than cruelty.
Cruelty was expected.
Kindness caught me off guard.
“I’m okay.”
A lie.
A terrible one.
The professor didn’t look convinced.
Neither was I.
“You don’t look okay.”
I forced a smile.
“I am.”
Another lie.
She studied me quietly.
Then sighed.
“Come with me.”
My stomach dropped.
Wonderful.
Had she witnessed everything?
Apparently yes.
Because ten minutes later I found myself sitting in her office holding a cup of tea.
A situation I had not planned for.
The professor sat across from me.
Patient.
Waiting.
The silence stretched.
Then she asked:
“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
The question hit harder than expected.
Because I didn’t know.
Not really.
Or maybe I did.
I stared into my tea.
The answer eventually emerged.
Small.
Fragile.
Honest.
“I’m scared.”
The words felt embarrassing.
Childish.
Weak.
Yet they were true.
Professor Martinez nodded slowly.
“As scared as you were today…”
She leaned forward slightly.
“…how do you think you’ll feel in ten years if you keep letting people treat you this way?”
I blinked.
The question caught me completely off guard.
Ten years.
I’d never thought that far ahead.
The professor smiled gently.
“Standing up for yourself is a skill.”
Silence.
“A difficult one.”
More silence.
“But skills can be learned.”
I looked down at my hands.
For some reason, tears threatened again.
Not because I was sad.
Because I wanted to believe her.
Desperately.
The professor’s voice softened.
“You deserve respect, Xenia.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside me.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Like seeds.
Not enough to change me immediately.
Not enough to magically make me brave.
But enough to make me think.
And maybe that was the beginning.
Because as I left her office later that afternoon, I realized something.
I was tired of being afraid.
Not ready to fight back.
Not yet.
But tired.
And sometimes, before people change…
They first have to become tired of staying the same.
- Writer
