And then I snapped. Before i could stop myself, the apple left my hand, smashing into his eye. It had been a year in the
making, that moment. A year of being mocked, abused and pushed past my limits. He had pushed me and pushed me until
that moment, then the apple was on his eye, chucked across the lunch table. It felt so good that I had done something,
stopped his ceasless torture of me, or it seemed as such at that moment.
I learned soon though that all I had done was make everything so much worse, as told by the bruises and such marking my
body. It had gone from strictly emotional abuse, to physical as well.
Tripped, pushed, and hit everyday.