Snow day! At least, for me it is. And guess what that means? Updates.

Yes, I know. I'm super duper late. I'm just having a really stressful semester so far, especially since it's the beginning few weeks. But that's really not an excuse. I had all of winter break to post, but I didn't. I don't know, guys. I guess I just didn't feel it. But now, I'm back. Hopefully, I'll be a bit better with updates, but I do have a ton of other things on my mind right now. I'm really, truly sorry guys if I ever let you down.

So, this is a pretty emotional chapter. This is very personal to me because it's based on real feelings from my depression. I don't really know what to say in these types of situations. Other than: Treat this chapter gently. Whatever that means, I have no idea.

Also, check out the song "Horrible Kids" by Set It Off. It captures this chapter (and all bullying, really, especially when it comes to Chase) pretty well. At least, as far as I know. I've never really had a personal experience with it, so I'm probably not the best source, and I wouldn't want to sound like I know everything about it and misrepresent the people who have been bullied. What am I even saying anymore?

Anyway, see you 'round. Love ya!

Relapse

"Well, well. If it isn't the nerd himself."

I slammed my locker and looked straight at my bully. "Go away, Trent."

He just grinned. "What? Are you going to call your girlfriend for help?"

I felt my face turn red. "She's not my girlfriend," I growled.

"Oh really?" He glanced at the football players around us. "Well, then she won't mind me doing this." He punched me in the stomach.

The momentum of the hit threw me back into the lockers. Everything went black for a moment, but then my vision cleared and I remained conscious. Trent and his buddies sniggered at me. I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my arm.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere. The party's just getting started."

I wanted to call out to someone, but everyone had already left. There was no one to help me. I was completely alone in this.

That thought struck a chord deep within me, one I had buried a long time ago. I never thought that particular wound would be reopened. But I guess it was to be expected. Some scabs never fully healed.

The beating was worse than most others before. That chord had resonated throughout my whole being and had made me feel vulnerable and small, which resulted in making me feel angry and desperate. So, I had tried to fight back, which didn't end well on my end. Trent's goons had started joining in once I resisted. I was overwhelmed, overpowered, outnumbered. There was no way I could win this.

And so, half-an-hour after the first punch had been thrown, I lie on the floor of the school. There was little blood, but there were a lot of bruises. Trent may have been an ignorant jock, but he was smart enough to know not to leave behind too much evidence in plain sight. No blood on the floor, just pain on my part.

I let my head fall back. I was too tired and weak to keep it up anymore. For several minutes, I listened to the sound of the AC and focused on the rise and fall of my chest as I breathed in pained breaths. Out of nowhere, I heard a new sound. Footsteps.

"Chase!" If I had been standing, I would have collapsed with relief. I knew that voice. I knew it well.

"Chase! Oh wow…are you okay?"

I felt someone kneel next to me. Even though my eyes were closed, I knew it was Clara. She stroked my hair.

For some reason, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. Soon, I was curled up on my side, sobbing into Clara's lap. That chord had snapped, and it had left an empty hole in my being. That emptiness was so awfully familiar it hurt. I knew this emptiness; I remembered it from buried memories I had tried as hard as possible to forget. But they were still there and would always be. There was no forgetting the agonizing emptiness of depression and loneliness and bitter resentment.

Clara let me cry. She knew how I felt. She didn't say a word, just continued to stroke my hair and wipe a few tears from my face.

She had no idea how grateful I was just for her being there with me.

Or maybe she did. She had known what it was like to be alone and struggling with inner conflict. Maybe she knew exactly how grateful I was.

I lost all sense of time. After a while, my sobbing wound down to the occasional tear. Clara seemed to notice but didn't do anything to show it. When I had finally reached the end of my crying session, she didn't say anything. She just helped me up and took me out to her car. I got in, not wanting to talk either.

As we rode to my house, conversation became necessary though. "I know it was Trent," Clara said, breaking the silence that had settled upon us. "I won't ask what he said or did, but I will ask you to tell me what you felt. It's better to talk about some things, even if it doesn't seem like it." She glanced over at me. "It makes you know that someone out there is willing to listen to you, to hear you out, to be there for you."

I closed my eyes. This is exactly what I didn't want to hear, but it was exactly what I probably needed to hear. I had to talk about this I had to talk about this I had to talk about this. I repeated this over and over in my head, trying to convince myself it was true. I had never really talked about my feelings before. Even that confession to Clara when I first got to know her had been more of a general thing, not very detailed.

I opened my eyes again. I was ready. I had to be ready. My mouth opened, and the words spilled out of their own accord.

"I think I had a relapse."

That was it. Just six words. But everything I had been through in the last hour or so could be summed up as that. Of course, it could be put into more detail, but I knew Clara would understand what I meant. She always did.

Suddenly, she stopped the car and pulled it over to the side of the road. At first, she just stared ahead, and a thread of worry went through me. Was she okay? But then, she threw her arms around me. I was shocked for a moment then melted into her embrace.

"Chase," she whispered into my ear, which my super-hearing had no trouble picking up.

"What?" I mumbled back.

"Stay strong. Don't give in. I'm sorry about any wrong I have done to you and any wrong any other person has done to you. I know it's hard, and you may feel like giving up now, but don't. It will get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. I'll be here to make sure it does."

We broke apart. This time, it was my turn to say, "I know."

Dirtkid123: Thanks. Sorry I'm late. Here it is anyway.