Silence. Then a snort. Then a shove. My shoulder hit the lockers with a hollow clang. It hurt—but hurt was familiar. Hurt was something I could measure, map, endure. What I couldn’t endure was watching someone else shatter under the same weight I’d learned to carry.
The phrase echoed in my skull: my body, my body, my body. Not as a prayer. As a promise. ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite!
“Probably,” I said, straightening my spine. “But I’m also standing right here.” Silence
I’d seen this movie before. The same script. Different faces. My shoulder hit the lockers with a hollow clang
The hallway stretched endlessly, fluorescent lights humming like trapped flies. At the far end, a smaller figure was cornered—backpack straps pulled, glasses askew, laughter like broken glass echoing off the lockers.
Ijimeru nara watashi no karada ni shite.