Chapter 9: The Weight of the Unseen
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The Disjointed Morning
The morning routine is the same—yet it feels wrong.
The alarm clock chimes at its usual time. I wake up early, as always. The gym session follows, my body moving through the motions on autopilot.
But everything feels off-kilter.
The familiar comfort of routine has been replaced by a low-level hum of anxiety, a tension that refuses to fade.
The rhythmic pounding of weights, the burn of exertion, the steady flow of sweat—none of it helps.
Usually, the gym is a sanctuary, a place where I can shut out the world.
Today, it's just noise.
I push through my reps. I lift, drop, repeat.
But no matter how much I push my body—
The weight pressing against my mind refuses to lift.
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The School That No Longer Feels Safe
Southwood High feels different today.
The hallways are the same. The faces are the same. The casual interactions are the same.
But the air is thick with unspoken threats.
I feel it in the way people glance at me—brief, pointed stares, their conversations lowering when I pass.
The first few whispers are easy to ignore.
Then come the small, deliberate acts.
A brush of a shoulder that feels just a bit too intentional.
A laugh from across the hallway that lingers too long.
A notebook knocked off my desk with an insincere, muttered "Oops."
They aren't shoving me this time.
They don't need to.
This isn't about violence anymore—it's psychological.
A slow, insidious form of bullying.
A game of attrition.
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The Subtle War
Jason Carter doesn't even need to touch me.
Not when his smirk, his presence, his sheer confidence in my silence is enough.
It's a constant reminder.
Of the power imbalance.
Of how easily the world lets people like him take control.
The bell rings, signaling the start of class, but there's no relief.
The tension follows me inside, settling at the edge of my awareness.
I try to focus on the lesson, on the words the teacher is saying.
But the weight of watchful eyes presses against my back.
I'm not being attacked.
I'm being hunted.
And the worst part?
I don't know how much longer I can endure it.