No help left for us

All my life, I’ve been a shy and quiet person and, I don't think that’ll ever change, but now, if I notice something’s wrong, I speak up.

Back when I was around thirteen, I didn’t really have any friends, except one. His name was Jay, and both me and him were bullied a lot throughout school but he got the worst of it between us two. People would call him horrible names, rumors were spread that could get him expelled, beat up, or even killed. Almost every day, he would get followed off-campus and get beat up terribly.

Sometimes, he would even come to school with winter coats or long sleeved shirts on in 90 degree weather. Teachers in practically every class he went to were worried for him, but I was worried the most.

“Jay, are you wearing a winter coat in the middle of summer?” I would say constantly, and he would always smile and shrug it off.

Teachers would ask him why he was wearing that or if he was okay, and his response would always be yes, and I think he knew I already knew what he was hiding, because every time I looked, he’d reassure me everything was fine. I eventually had no choice but to let the topic go, but it never stopped and, if anything, it got worse.

The more I looked at him though, the more I realized that I can’t let him stay like this and, I built up the courage to say something.

“Jay, we’re both being bullied, you can talk to me.”

But he only looked at me as his usual smile faded.

As his face darkened with sadness and a touch of anger, he said, “Stop. If we talk about it, we’ll only make it worse.”

“Just listen to me, if you don’t want this bullying to continue, then defend yourself.”

As I said that, it was like a light bulb was screwed in, and a crooked, almost scary smile appeared on his face.

After that, it was like the Jay I knew was gone. The next day, he came late to school, which wasn't like him at all and, he came without a jacket or long-sleeved shirt on, revealing all of the burns and deep cuts and other horrible scars that I didn't even wanna know where they came from. Worst of all, even with all of the gasps and the teacher demanding he go to the nurse’s office, that disgusting smile never went away.

Later, I learned he was sent home for the rest of the day, and I was a little less concerned, but not really. At the end of the day, I got off the bus and headed home. Once I was there, I greeted my mom, who seemed to be watching the news, which was normal, except for the fact that she seemed to be on edge for some reason. Listening a little better gave some insight as to why.

“Two teenage boys were found mutilated and dismembered near the train tracks, to the point of being unrecognizable.”

After that, I had no idea what that news anchor was saying next, because the two images they’d shown on-screen were the two boys who’d mainly bullied me and Jay, then I remembered that they also hadn’t shown up for school today. Even though they bullied us, and were terrible, that didn't mean they deserved to die. This knot formed in my stomach and I got a terrible feeling, not just sadness for the boys, but also guilt, like I had caused this somehow. 

Still being worried about Jay and a little on edge, I decided to head to his house. After being there so many times over the years, it was like I didn’t even have to think about it and before I even knew it, I was there. I knocked on the door, and before I could even think about knocking again, I heard Jay’s mother’s mortifying scream and my legs started to run before my brain could catch up.

Stumbling upstairs and into Jay’s room, I got a glimpse of the most horrendous scene imaginable. Jay was up on the roof, having climbed up there from his window, and his mother halfway out the window, begging him to come down in between her gut-wrenching tears and cries. I wasn’t going to let him do this, he isn't alone, or at least that’s what I assumed he thought, until I saw his face. His smile. That disgusting smile. Still plastered on his face even now. It froze me in my spot, and I couldn’t look away, at least, not until he jumped off the roof. I thought to myself, ‘this isn’t happening, there’s no way,’ and I almost could’ve believed that if it weren’t for the fact I heard his body slam into pavement, his bones snapping in every direction, and his blood and entrails everywhere.

I don’t know what happened after that, I just remember waking up in an ambulance, a cold, heavy blanket weighing down my body as my mother sat next to me, her face tear-streaked and horrified.

Now, after that experience, I’m more cautious about who I surround myself with. I will never go through that again.