Page 1 of Broken by my Bully
Bastian
Anyone can be cruel.
It’s an innate ability we’re born with.
An emotional muscle.
Some let it wither, even atrophy. Others take delight in exercising it.
I’ve cataloged distinct varieties of cruelty in the undergraduate population alone. From social exclusion and petty gossip to genuinely innovative forms of psychological warfare disguised as academic competition.
What’s more fascinating than their cruelty, though, is watching them justify it afterward. How I savor the backflips they’ll perform to avoid seeing themselves as the villain in their own dull narratives.
Often, we’re our own worst enemy.
Maybe because it doesn’t trigger our conscience.
Maybe because no one will judge us for internal bullying.
Or maybe because we’re all a little sadistic…and twice as masochistic.
My Lessons in Cruelty course attracts many students each year. Undergraduates looking to score some easy credits. Scholarshipstudents who want to get the biggest bang for their financial aid buck. Special grant chumps who don’t have a fucking choice, and usually wish they did.
Then there are the…others.
Sadists hunting for inspiration.
Sociopaths upping their game.
I love figuring out who’s who in the zoo. Professor Rooke’s intimate, rigorously controlled, mindfuck of a zoo.
Sometimes, rarely, I even find a pet to add to my private collection.
This year, I found two.
A pair of wounded creatures circling each other, unaware they’ve wandered into my territory. One running from pain, the other relishing it.
Neither realizes they’re being stalked by an apex predator.
And neither will…until it’s too late.
Haven
They say you can never go home again.
My home was a green-eyed boy I met in the woods behind my trailer park, when I was escaping a life no five-year-old girl should have to suffer.
Our dark, twisted little games took us away from our awful realities.
We made each other laugh.
Made each other cry.
Made each other bleed.
And the older we got, the harder it was to keep pretending that it was only a game. Until we both had to accept it wasn’t.
It’s been three years since I’ve been home. I’m not sure what’s waiting for me on the other side of the door. If that green-eyed boy remembers me, it definitely won’t be a welcome party.
