The hallway stretched endlessly in my mind, a kaleidoscope of pale beige walls and whispers that pierced deeper than any blade ever could. I could hear the voices circling me again, like vultures waiting to pick apart the remains of something already broken.
"Monster."
"That's the boy who killed his parents."
"He doesn't cry. Not once. Freak."
"He probably thinks he's better than us with those perfect test scores. What a joke."
I kept my eyes down, my fingers gripping the frayed straps of my backpack so tightly that I could feel the rough fabric biting into my skin. It wasn't worth looking up. Looking up meant meeting their eyes, and meeting their eyes meant giving them permission to press harder.
"Hey, monster!" The voice rang out like a whip, loud and sharp enough to freeze my feet in place. My heart sank, but I didn't turn around. There was no point. I already knew what was coming.
