Elian wasn't bullied. That would have required someone to notice him. To be bullied, you have to be a target. You have to be "The Nerd" or "The Loser." Elian was neither. He was just... space. He was the gap between two people talking in the hallway. He was the extra in a movie who doesn't even get a name in the credits, just "Student #4."
He was eighteen, and he had mastered the art of being invisible.
The School
It started in first period, History. Mr. Henderson handed back the midterm papers. He walked down the aisle, dropping sheets on desks with a flick of his wrist.
He stopped at Elian's desk. He placed the paper face down. Score: 98/100. The highest in the class. Mr. Henderson didn't smile. He didn't say "Good job." He didn't even make eye contact. He just moved on, his eyes already scanning the room for someone more interesting.
He stopped at the next desk, Jason's desk. Jason, whose father owned the car dealership across town. Jason, who spent more time on his hair than his homework. Score: 76/100.
"Good effort, Jason!" Mr. Henderson beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "I liked your perspective on the war. Very bold. Keep that energy up for the football game tonight, alright?"
Elian stared at his 98. He had stayed up until 3:00 AM studying for this. He had memorized dates, treaties, and the names of dead generals. Jason had probably skimmed the textbook while eating a bagel.
It wasn't about the grades. Elian knew he was smart. It was about the value. His 98 was expected. It was boring. It was the bare minimum rent he paid to occupy a seat in the classroom. Jason's 76 was a triumph because Jason shone. Jason had gravity. Elian just had correct answers.
The Hallway
The bell rang. The hallway flooded with noise. Elian navigated the crowd like a ghost. He kept his shoulders hunched, his bag pulled tight against his chest.
A group of girls walked toward him, laughing, linking arms like a human chain. They didn't break formation. They didn't even look at him. Elian stepped aside, pressing himself into the cold metal of the lockers so they could pass. One of their backpacks clipped his shoulder hard. They didn't apologize. They didn't even feel the impact. To them, he was just part of the architecture. A wall with a hoodie.
I could disappear right now, Elian thought, watching them walk away. I could dissolve into smoke, and it would take them three weeks to realize my seat is empty.
The Home
Home was supposed to be a sanctuary. For Elian, it was a courtroom where he was always guilty, but never charged. He opened the front door quietly. The house smelled of stale oil and tension. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum. The voices from the kitchen stopped instantly.
"He's home," his mother whispered. The sudden silence was louder than the shouting.
Elian walked into the kitchen. His father was sitting at the table, head in his hands, staring at a stack of bills. His mother was at the sink, aggressively scrubbing a pan that was already clean.
"Hey," Elian said softly.
"Hey," his father grunted, not looking up. "How was school?"
"Fine. I got a 98 on History."
"That's good," his father said. The tone wasn't proud. It was relieved. Good. One less problem to worry about.
"Your aunt called," his mother said, scrubbing harder. "Her son got into that private engineering college. The one with the fifty-thousand tuition."
"That's nice," Elian said, opening the fridge. It was mostly empty. Just a carton of milk and some leftovers in Tupperware.
"Must be nice," his father muttered to the bills. "Having that kind of money. We'll be lucky if we can afford community college next semester. If the car breaks down again, we're done."
Elian's hand froze on the milk carton. He knew what they weren't saying. If we didn't have you, we would have money. If we didn't have to feed you, clothe you, and save for your future, we could breathe.
He wasn't a bad kid. He didn't do drugs. He didn't party. He got straight A's. He never asked for new clothes. He ate the burnt toast without complaining. He tried so hard to be "low maintenance." But in a drowning family, even a feather adds weight.
"I'm not hungry," Elian said, closing the fridge.
"You have to eat, Elian," his mother sighed, sounding exhausted by the mere idea of parenting him. "I made beans."
"I ate at school. I'll be in my room."
The Room
Elian closed his bedroom door. It was the only lock in the house that worked. He sat on his bed and put on his headphones. He didn't play music. He just put them on to muffle the world.
He looked at his reflection in the dark window. Average height. Average face. Average clothes. A ghost in a hoodie.
He thought about the 98 on his test. It meant nothing. He thought about the hallway. He was invisible. He thought about his parents. He was an expense.
He was doing everything "right." He was following all the rules. Study hard. Be polite. Don't cause trouble. And his reward was... nothing. Just more grey days. More silence. More feeling like he was a mistake that everyone was too polite to correct.
Is this it? he wondered. Is this the next sixty years? Just trying not to be in the way?
He lay back on the pillow, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. He felt heavy. Not sad. Sadness is sharp. This was dull. It was the weight of a life that felt like it had already ended, even though his heart was still beating.
He closed his eyes. He didn't decide to die that night. He just decided that he was tired of living.
And he hoped, desperately, that he wouldn't wake up in the morning.
And as he drifted off, he didn't hope for a better tomorrow. He just hoped, desperately, that there wouldn't be one.