Chapter 33: Sympathy for a Bully

Word about me and Ayumi got out rather quickly. Within just a few days, most of the neighborhood knew about our slowly building relationship with each other.

At this rate, I figured it was finally time to ask the big question towards Andrew regarding the legality of such relationships between humans and bipedal dogs.

According to him as it turned out, romantic relationships and onwards of those kinds were in fact banned, at least until the early 1900's when the ban was lifted after autopsy reports revealed just how truly similar bipedal dogs were to us, not just in capabilities and anthropomorphism but also from internal organ structures.

And whilst human and biped-dog relationships were rare, it was at least relieving to know that both societies had decided it to be acceptable so neither me or Ayumi were going to be in any legal trouble any time soon.

There was just the matter of her family's views of our new flame to worry about.

Despite Ayumi's initial embarrassment from our couple status being made public, she managed to get used to it rather quickly, admitting that out of everyone in the world, it would be me she'd rather be with.

With us now starting off as boyfriend and girlfriend, we often had conversations with each other on a mobile video chat app called Faceytalk which I remember Brandy once mentioned to me about. To me, it was kind of like Skype but mixed with Snapchat since it had the features of filters and drawing on the screen. And quite often, Bluey and Bingo would join me on my side to say "Hi" to Ayumi, who was always happy to see them.

Speaking of Bluey and Bingo, both their parents had a long and exhausting day related to work and had requested that I help with their bedtime routine. Whilst Bandit playfully wished me luck as if it was going to be like pushing a boulder up a hill like Sisyphus, Chilli on the other hand knew the kids would be easy for me to work with considering how much they look up to me.

Being the oldest, Bluey was somewhat stubborn about getting ready for bed, claiming that she wasn't tired, yet something would happen afterwards that would automatically prove her wrong whether it be her letting out a little yawn or rubbing one of her eyes.

Whilst Bluey was getting herself dried after a shower, I was in the bathroom helping Bingo with her bath, making sure I was firmly yet gently pressing my fingers into her fur to give it a thorough wash. I've heard a few stories about how chaotic giving a non-anthropomorphic dog a bath could be, often resulting in the owner getting themselves wet and a lot of barks and howls of disapproval from the dog in question, but with Bingo, it was a walk in the park.

As I was washing the red heeler, I soon noticed a look on her face that looked as if she was in deep thought. It would only be a second or two later when I'd learn the reason for this expression.

"Nathan?"

"Yeah, Bingo?"

"Do you remember when Banjo used to call me "bobohead" and do other mean things?" My eyes went half-lidded upon recalling Bingo's first former bully who made himself to be a piece of work until Bingo reformed him.

"Like the back of my hand." Then my eyes widened a little before I took on a firm tone. "He hasn't started name calling you or your friends again, has he?" Bingo quickly shook her head 'No' to reassure me that wasn't the case.

"I was thinking… Are there humans that can be mean like he was?"

An unexpected but understandable question. Whilst humans and biped-dogs were similar in body functions and intelligence, they were also capable of good and bad karma.

Bingo would've been shocked to know just how many humans could be bad, ranging from petty disgust to pure evil from what I've learned in history class.

But to avoid unnerving her, I decided to focus on one particular human that I had personal experience with.

"Oh yes, there definitely are humans out there that can and have been real mean. I've dealt with one myself."

Bingo let out a little gasp at this as her attention was now on me, her fingers gripping the edge of the bathtub.

"Yeah, this human was quite bad not just to me, but to several other kid humans in my school." I then said before beginning my story.

[Flashback – 3 years ago]

Three weeks had passed since I had just started fifth grade, and I was on my way to my current class when I saw a few other students quickly walk past me, often looking behind them as if they were trying to avoid someone.

And that turned out to be the very case as I looked ahead to see a face I hadn't seen before. A scruffy boy with unkempt hair and simple clothes who looked to be around my age, what grabbed my attention the most however was the white scarf around his neck.

That scarf was how I came up with the former nickname for him, Scarf Boy.

As for the reason why the other students had walked away from him, I'm fairly certain that had something to do with the fact that the boy with the scarf currently had another student pinned against the locker by the neck, the student in question spewing out words that begged for mercy which only fell on deaf ears as their assaulter then began swiftly giving punches with his free hand to the stomach, all the while keeping a very wrathful glare on his face.

Unfortunately, this kind of thing wasn't really a big surprise for me. Like almost every other school in the world, ours had a very serious problem regarding bullies. Even I was a victim on occasion.

However, I had noticed that the bullying in my school didn't involve just name calling and intimidation but had escalated to straight up physical violence with evidence of such being presented right in front of me.

And why was this, you ask?

Because the bullies eventually figured out they'd always get off scot-free with what ever they did what with all of the school staff not giving a single hoot about it at all.

Yeah, if you were chosen as a bully's next victim in this school and ran to a teacher, hoping that they'll do something about the bullying, you'd be completely out of luck. NONE of the teachers cared one bit if a student was being bullied, even if it was happening right in their faces.

And even if you did try to report it, you either got scolded for "being a tattle-tale", given a detention for "wasting staff's time" or were just given the same useless advice other people use when it comes to harassment:

"Just ignore them."

Yeah, sure. I bet it's incredibly easy to just ignore the stinging pain from having your nose broken or the emotional scarring you've gotten from students saying horrendous stuff to you.

Bingo was wide-eyed with shock as she took in the words I had said regarding my school bully issues and how the staff handled… or rather DIDN'T bother to handle it.

Then I saw a scowl of frustration on her face and I could understand why.

"That is outrageous! Teachers are supposed to be your friend, like Mrs. Retriever!" Bingo exclaimed, making her distaste for my ignorant school staff very transparent.

"You definitely got lucky to have her as a teacher, Bingo, that's for sure." I said, ruffling her head fur a little before continuing.

Now some people say that there's multiple reasons why bullies do what they do. Perhaps they had been bullied themselves, or they had anger problems and needed an outlet. If you were to ask a victim, they may say they do it because they're just plain evil and that whatever reason they give for it doesn't excuse it at all.

It would only be a matter of time before I'd be the Scarf Boy's next target, but the worst he ever did to me was just shove me hard against a wall and smack the back of my head. It stung, but I think I got off pretty lucky compared to his other victims.

Did I think he was evil for targetting me?

No, not really. Because I had been in that school for a few years now, I had pretty much adapted to the fact that it's bully problem was going to forever remain like a stubborn parasite and kept a stiff-upper lip through out the whole thing.

Not once had I tried to defend myself either, recalling how I had once mentioned to Harley that fighting back would make me feel like I was one of them, which was the last thing I wanted.

Not to mention that only then when any bully victim that fought back would the staff get up and intervene, but it was always the victim they'd grab and punish, practically gaslighting them and acting as if they were in the wrong, even forcing them to apologise to the bully if they were present.

I still remember one time when one student who had received some of the most horrendous bullying imaginable that had broken him into an emotional wreck. Then one day, when one of his bullies decided to push him once more, he just finally snapped.

There were screams of rage throughout the hall where it happened, punches and kicks were thrown and only a few seconds in were there the added screams of agony from the bully as his living punching bag just wailed on him.

By the time it was over, the bully not only had a fractured nose, but a black eye, a few broken ribs and fingers and several bruises on the arms. After being patched up, he just stood by the nurse's office door with a miserable look on his face and sniffling on occasion. I couldn't tell whether he was sniffling in pain or remorse or if he was just trying to garner sympathy.

As for the student he victimised? Sad to say that not only was he expelled from the school, but was also arrested and sent to a juvenile detention center. Heard from some other students later on that he would apparently be incarcerated in the youth jail until he was eighteen, no doubt the school faculty had something to do with that sentence.

And the poor guy at the time when it happened was only ten years old.

Pushed around, mistreated and emotionally abused until you eventually can't take it anymore and are imprisoned for eight years whilst the one responsible for making you snap gets to roam free. Not a good way to spend the remainder of your childhood and the whole of your teenhood.

But soon enough I learned that Scarf Boy did in fact have a reason for his behaviour, and it had to do with the scarf he wore around his neck.

It happened one day during recess, I was taking a few study notes to pass the time when I glanced ahead to see Scarf Boy rubbing one side of his neck which his scarf was covering, his eyebrows furrowed in what I assumed was possible discomfort.

I flinched a little as a soccer ball then suddenly hit him on the shoulder, making him yell out in pain. He immediately turned around, growling viciously at the one responsible, a student who picked up the soccer ball and looked back at Scarf Boy with nothing but fear in his eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry, I swear I just m-missed the goal-" The kid's attempt at a apology turned to a scared yelp as Scarf Boy grabbed him by the shirt and raised a fist, about to clock him in the face.

"Get away from my brother, you jerk!" A feminine voice rang out as another student, a girl and likely the sister, rushed in and grappled Scarf Boy to stop him. Despite her being smaller than both boys, she proved to be a bit of a challenge for the boy with the scarf as he was struggling to shake her off.

A deep angry "HEY!" would catch us all off guard just as the soccer ball kid's sister just managed to yank the scarf off as a member of the school faculty marched in and dragged the girl away to no doubt punish her just for trying to help her brother, whom quickly followed behind, leaving Scarf Boy without his scarf.

...Which revealed to me the evidence of a horrible truth behind Scarf Boy's anger.

There were red marks on Scarf Boy's exposed neck, not like bug bites or a rash, but large red circles with darker dry patches on the edges.

If medicine and wounds wasn't a subject my class did during science, I would've not been able to recognise them as cigarette burns. And these ones looked… recent.

I gulped anxiously as I was already imagining the worst of what Scarf Boy was likely going through as I slowly picked up the scarf off the ground and held it out to him to take. He only looked at me with a sour expression on his face before snatching the scarf out of my hands and wrapping it back around his neck and leaving.

But not before giving me a cold hard stare that very much translated to "If you tell ANYONE about this, you're DEAD."

But during this threat, I had only paid attention to the growing red stain on the shoulder sleeve of his shirt where the soccer ball had hit him.

Bingo's expression had changed to a scared and worried one.

"Did you ever tell anyone?" Bingo asked with concern, possibly worried about the consequences I likely got from doing so.

"Even if he did threaten me, I knew I had to tell someone. I knew something very wrong was happening with Scarf Boy and I had to do something before it got worse."

That very someone I told was my dad. I explained what had happened when I came home that day and I could see the horror in his face as he realised what was going on. The next thing I knew, he was on the phone calling Child Protective Services with a look of parental anger plastered on his face, not the kind when their child does something bad, but the protective kind that only appears when a child is in potential danger.

It was only a day later when the news came on and one of the highlights washed both me and my dad over with relief.

'SCHOOL STUDENT'S FATHER ARRESTED AFTER FELLOW STUDENT REPORTED WOUNDS LINKED TO CHILD ABUSE'

Recorded camera footage showed a man in his thirties being apprehended by police officers and I just managed to glimpse Scarf Boy among the crowd of onlookers watch as his father was taken into police custody.

"I'm very proud of you, son. You were smart to tell me what you saw, otherwise this could've gone on for so much longer." Dad praised me as he patted my back when we both saw a news reporter with a microphone standing next to Scarf Boy, whom they revealed his actual name.

"And I am standing here with the abuse victim, the man's own son, Zachary Haliburn. Now Zachary, I'm aware this has been a horrible experience for you, but would you mind telling us how you feel about being free from your monster of a father?"

The reporter lowered the mic down to Zachary's face but the boy didn't utter a single word as he just kept a look of misery on his face before pointing to his mouth as if he was trying to tell the news something.

It wasn't long until we both found out why Zachary remained silent on the news.

A few months ago, his father had force-fed him a handful of granite and broken glass shards that not only shredded his throat but permanently tore his vocal cords, making it so that any attempt to speak would cause excruciating pain.

When his father was interrogated about this detail, his only response was "He talked too much."

Because of how badly damaged his vocal cords were, poor Zachary would never be able to speak again for the rest of his life, not without causing himself any pain.

As for the red stain I saw on his sleeve after being hit in the shoulder by the soccer ball, his father had bruised him there the previous night and the impact of the soccer ball had just managed to hit the bruise hard enough to break the skin and cause it to bleed. That explained his reaction and why he had tried to attack the kid with the soccer ball.

I never saw Zachary again at school after that. I would learn later from some classmates that after his father's arrest, he had been taken into foster care and would also be taking therapy sessions.

But that only made me feel more saddened sympathy for him.

Zachary had been a victim of abuse for god knows how long and because he was unable to get any help, he resorted to taking out his anger onto other students. It was the only thing he could rely on as a coping mechanism for his trauma. And to make matters worse, his father getting what he deserved only happened long after he made him vocally handicapped.

However, that wouldn't be the last time I ever saw Zachary at all.

Sometime later, in fact, several months before I was set to go to Canistralia with my parents, I encountered Zachary during an outing on summer vacation.

It was at a local park where I saw him tumbling around in the grass with another kid. Instead of a violent beatdown however, all I saw was a round of play fighting as the kid he was wrestling with was laughing.

I even saw a smile of happiness on Zachary's face too as this was happening. Two adults, a man and a women watching from a distance with looks of adoration on their faces.

Seems like Zachary eventually got himself a new family, a loving one at that with a younger brother.

It didn't take long for Zachary to look up and his smile grew a bit as he recognised me, getting up and jogging over to me.

Alongside the smile, he no longer wore the scarf on his wound-free neck and he looked like his new parents had made sure he didn't look like he came from a broken home.

Speaking of the scarf, he reached into one of his pockets and held out the long white piece of cloth out as if handing it to me.

After accepting the scarf, Zachary gave me a nod of respect before running back to rumble some more with his sibling.

I didn't fully know it at the time, but Zachary giving me that scarf must've been his own way of thanking me for helping him get a better life.

I made sure to leave out the more gruesome details of the story as I recalled it to Bingo such as Zachary's throat injuries and the bruise. The red heeler in question now had a heartfelt smile of her own.

"So you and Zachary are friends now, like me and Banjo?"

"Yeah, you could say that." I then replied with a chuckle. "Just know this Bingo; there may be bad people out there, but there's always good people, like Bluey and your mom and dad." I then told her reassuringly, to further lighten the mood.

"And you as well!" Bingo then quipped, pointing at me with a grin.

"Yeah, and me as well." I replied with a small smile before rinsing the soap off of her, about to finish the bath as I glanced aside me to see a recently washed white scarf hang from the sink.

That very scarf had too survived the crash.