Guardian — Episode 9

My voice echoed across the field, each word feeling like a knife slicing through my throat. Pushed to the front in his wheelchair by a few classmates, Giovanni looked on smugly as I knelt there apologizing, his eyes alight with sheer exhilaration. As I wrapped up my apology, I slowly started slapping myself. The first slap left my cheek with a sharp

I slapped myself 50 times, then 100 more. With each one, my cheek went from numb to searing Blood trickled down from my lips. When the confession was over, I walked off the stage, my cheeks swollen and red. The crowd parted before me as though I were the Giovanni, surrounded by his lackeys, deliberately brushed past me.

Some people are just born poor. You think a simple apology is enough? From now on, when you see me, address me as sir, understand? I clenched my fists until my nails dug deep into my flesh. Instead of replying, I quietly walked back to my seat. There, I pulled out a wet wipe and scrubbed hard at

the red words painted on my desk. But the paint had already seeped into the grain of the wood. The more I scrubbed, the more it smeared, like one ugly scar after another. All day