They throw him against the wall. Punch him, pummel him. Until his world is tinted, coated in a haze of colours. Until his eyes darken, and his shaking limbs fade to the bliss of unconsciousness.
Weak they label him. A coward. A freak.
There is a darkness they’re still blind to.
The screams of pain that he is now deaf to. There are bruises and slashes that he has learnt to ignore. There are broken noses, there is a damaged face, a damaged body that he’s learnt to cure.
But still, they’re right, he thinks, as he wipes a hand over the face wet with his own tears. He was a coward who bowed in the face of his own destruction. A weakling who couldn’t even protect the fragile tendrils of his heart.