Punishment

THIS CHAPTER IS SENSITIVE, PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER ,IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE.

OLIVIA JUNE.

I cautiously stepped into Mr. Denzel's office, bracing myself for whatever consequences awaited me.

He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, still visibly upset. "Olivia June, please have a seat." he instructed.

I sat down, my gaze fixed on my hands as a wave of panic surged within me.

"I won’t beat around the bush, Miss June. You are facing a two-week suspension for fighting." he stated, his eyes locked onto mine.

I looked up in shock, my eyes wide with disbelief.

He raised his hand to silence my impending protest and continued."And Miss Simpson will receive the same punishment."

I nodded in acknowledgment.

"I attempted to reach your mother, but her phone went to voicemail, so I sent her a message informing her of your suspension for fighting at school. A car is waiting outside to take you home." he explained.

Again, I nodded.

He regarded me with a curious expression and asked. "Olivia June, you haven't caused any issues since you started here. Your academic performance has been commendable, so I'm puzzled about what led to this fight." His confusion was evident.

"Charlotte always provokes me, and this time I just couldn't contain myself. I'm really sorry." I admitted, my voice faltering as I fought back tears.

Taking a deep breath, I looked down again, nervously fidgeting with my thumbs.

"The boys claim you initiated the altercation with Charlotte, but I don't believe them. Teachers have noted your recent improvement in grades, yet your behavior has changed drastically, and you've become increasingly withdrawn. Furthermore, they've reported hearing negative comments directed at you, which culminated in the fight. Is there anything you'd like to share with me, Olivia?" he inquired, his tone now calm and concerned.

I shook my head in response.

What would be the point of telling him anything? Lewis had warned me that some wealthy families could evade consequences, so I saw no reason to waste my breath.

Those teachers heard the way the others spoke about me, but did they take action? Of course not!

"Nothing is wrong, Sir. I simply prefer to work alone because I find that many of my classmates aren’t serious about their studies. Can I please leave now? I'm in quite a bit of pain and need to rest." I requested softly, the truth of my discomfort evident.

He nodded in understanding, but just as I was about to leave his office, he added. "I won't place this incident on your permanent record, considering your excellent academic performance."

I expressed my gratitude and exited his office.

After a two-hour drive, I finally arrived home. My neighbor, Mrs. Lance, greeted me at her door with a bright smile, although her eyes held unspoken questions.

Once inside, I felt no appetite, yet hunger gnawed at me. I quickly made a sandwich and poured myself a glass of juice. After a few bites, I decided to head upstairs.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The pain and brokenness in my eyes were unmistakable, and I felt as if all hope had faded away.

Tears welled up and cascaded down my cheeks, dripping into the sink.

Removing the bandage from my head, I inspected the wounds inflicted upon me. Running my fingers over the fresh scratches on my face made me wince slightly as they still bled.

My side was bruised, a vivid purple and blue, from where I had collided with the locker.

I stripped off all my clothes until I was left in my underwear, studying my reflection. I looked so frail and weak.

More tears streamed down my face, and I felt powerless to stop them.

I wanted to scream, to shout, but I felt utterly drained.

Why bother screaming now when I felt so defeated and ready to give up? I gazed at my body, tears continuing to fall, and sank down onto the floor.

Running my fingers along my bony ribs and hips, I reflected on how much weight I had lost over the past few months due to bullying, stress, and inadequate nutrition.

My body bore the marks of classmates who had grabbed me roughly, pushed me hard, and squeezed my hands painfully.

Everywhere I looked, there were bruises and cuts.

At that moment, I cried uncontrollably, questioning why this was happening to me. What had I done to deserve such treatment? Lying on my back, I lifted one arm to inspect my wrist, tracing the scar with my index finger before switching arms and repeating the motion.

It was oddly soothing, and I began to calm down, but I had already resolved to get up from the floor.

I slowly made my way into my bedroom and approached the desk where I did my homework. I sat down carefully in the chair.

I took a piece of paper from my notebook and grabbed my black pen.

Tears still fell as I began to write.

DEAR MOTHER

I'M SORRY TO LET YOU DOWN THIS TIME. I TRIED MY BEST TO BE STRONG FOR US, BUT THE PAIN RUNS DEEP INSIDE ME.

I WISH I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING, BUT I COULDN'T.

I'M SORRY.

My hands trembled as I penned the letter, tears flowing rapidly and blurring my vision. I wanted to write more, but the words wouldn't come. I set the pen down and stared at the letter.

I regret leaving you with just this simple note, Mother.

Rising from the chair, I went to the bedroom drawer and retrieved four bottles of pills. My hands shook so much that opening the lids proved difficult, but I managed to pour all the pills into my palm.

I believed there was no other way to silence the pain; this was my only option.

I filled a glass with water.

I placed three pills in my mouth and swallowed them with water. I repeated the process until my hand was empty.

Weakness washed over me, and I gradually sank to the floor. Lying there, I gazed up at the ceiling and closed my eyes, reflecting on the pain I had endured over the months, tears continuing to fall as I thought of my mother.

A small smile crept onto my face; I felt I would finally be free.

And then, everything went dark.