I can't believe I let myself slip up like that, Danny thought to himself, his eyes focused on the bleeding eyeball he was sketching in his notebook, I was doing so well, too.

He glanced down at his arm, noticing the fresh cuts peeking out from under his sleeve. The pain was a constant reminder of the turmoil he faced at home, the only way he could cope with the abuse from his father. The metallic tang of dried blood lingered faintly on his fingertips.

At least it's not as bad as last night, he mused, remembering the sting of his father's hand against his cheek, the way his head had cracked against the wall, I thought I was going to pass out. The memory made his jaw tighten involuntarily.

Danny's gaze drifted to the front of the classroom, where the popular jock was sitting with his friends. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, wishing he could be part of their group, accepted and loved. The scent of their laughter and locker room musk drifted across the room, a stark contrast to his own isolated corner.

If only they knew what it was like to be me, he thought, his grip tightening on his pencil until his knuckles whitened, to feel so alone and unwanted. The pencil lead snapped, leaving a jagged mark across his morbid drawing.

He sighed, turning back to his sketchbook and adding a few more details to the bleeding eyeball. It was a morbid image but reflected the darkness he felt inside. The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper was the only noise in his personal bubble of isolation.

Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to show someone what I'm going through, he thought, but for now I'll just keep drawing and pretending everything is okay. The bell rang, sending a jolt of anxiety through his body.

Danny glanced up at the clock, realizing class would be over in a few minutes. He knew he would have to face the jock and his friends in the hallway, enduring their taunts and insults. His heartbeat quickened at the thought, palms becoming clammy.

I wish I could just disappear, he thought, his heart racing with anxiety, or maybe he'll finally notice me and stand up for me. He's only nice to me in math when his friends aren't there...

He shook his head, knowing that was just a foolish dream. The jock was popular and well-liked, while he was just the quiet kid who sat in the back of the class. With a heavy sigh, Danny closed his sketchbook and stood up to leave, like he always did.

He walked into the hallway as the bell rang, trying to get away from the jocks before-

No, please don't take it! Danny screamed internally as a popular kid snatched his sketchbook from his hands, that was the last gift my mom ever gave me before she left!

Tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the group of the jock's friends rip pages from his precious book, laughing and mocking him. He felt like he was suffocating, the weight of their cruelty crushing his chest with each tearing sound.

"Hey freak, what's wrong?" one of the bullies taunted, shoving Danny against the lockers with a metallic clang, "awww did we hurt your little feelings?"

Danny tried to push past them, desperate to retrieve his sketchbook but they blocked his path. He could feel the tears streaming down his face, his vision blurring as he struggled to breathe through the panic constricting his throat.

"Leave me alone!" he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper, "p-please, just give it back!"

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. The bullies continued to tear pages from his sketchbook, tossing them on the ground like they were nothing. Danny's heart shattered as he watched his mother's final gift being destroyed, each torn page like a stab to his chest.

Why won't he help me? he thought desperately, his gaze darting to the popular jock who was watching the scene unfold, he has to see what they're doing to me!

It was clear that he wasn't going to intervene, content to let the bullying continue. He hates me too, Danny realized, his heart sinking into his stomach, I'm nothing to him, just a pathetic loser to be laughed at and ignored.

He sank to his knees, his body shaking with sobs as he watched the last remnants of his mother's love being torn apart. The bullies kicked his sketchbook away, sending pages flying across the hallway like scattered memories.

"You're pathetic, Danny," the ringleader sneered, towering over him, "no one cares about you and no one ever will."

Danny curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to block out their cruel words. He wished he could disappear, that he could escape the pain and humiliation burning through his body.

I hate this, he thought miserably, his tears soaking into his sleeves, I hate my life and I hate myself for being so weak.