The infirmary was cold.
Colder than Susan had ever felt.
She sat rigid on the hard, white bed, the thin hospital gown drowning her small frame.
The fluorescent lights above buzzed harshly, stabbing into her skull.
Her shoulder ached where the locker had cut her.
The nurse had stitched it silently, not meeting Susan's eyes — just another broken kid patched up and pushed away.
Jackim sat nearby, bruised and battered, a wet cloth pressed against his split lip.
He hadn't left her side, not even when the dean stormed in demanding answers.
---
The door creaked open.
Mrs. Bennett — the counselor no one ever wanted to see — stepped in, clipboard hugged to her chest, fake concern painted on her powdered face.
"Susan," she cooed, "we need to talk about what happened."
Susan didn't answer.
Her hands gripped the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Jackim straightened.
"She was attacked," he said sharply. "Where were you people when it happened?"
Mrs. Bennett's smile tightened.
"We are looking into it. But right now, we need Susan to explain."
Explain?
Explain how the world hated her for breathing?
Explain how hope was a foreign language she'd never learned?
Susan stared down at her lap, heart screaming but mouth silent.
---
Outside the window, the last light of day was dying.
The campus loomed, beautiful and cruel, like a kingdom built to destroy people like her.
---
The counselor sighed dramatically when Susan didn't speak.
"Well, if you won't cooperate, there's little we can do," she said crisply, scribbling something onto her clipboard.
"We'll review the footage. But remember, Susan — fighting is against school rules. There will be consequences."
Jackim shot to his feet.
"She didn't fight. She got beaten."
Mrs. Bennett raised an eyebrow. "And yet, somehow she's always involved in problems."
Her words sliced deeper than the stitches on Susan's shoulder.
Jackim looked like he might explode.
Susan grabbed his wrist — a silent plea.
Don't.
It wasn't worth it.
Nothing ever changed anyway.
---
When Mrs. Bennett finally swept out, the room felt even emptier.
Jackim dropped back into the chair, running a hand through his messy dark hair.
"You don't have to take it anymore, Susan," he said, voice rough.
Susan shook her head, bitter laughter choking her.
"What choice do I have?"
She was sixteen.
Poor.
Alone.
A burden even charity wanted to forget.
---
Jackim leaned forward, his dark eyes burning.
"Then let's fight back."
Susan blinked at him.
Fight back?
How?
Against a system built to bury people like her?
Against rich, perfect girls like Jessica who could crush her with a whisper?
---
A knock interrupted them.
Susan flinched instinctively.
It was Principal Rowan — tall, cold, wearing a navy suit too expensive for a high school salary.
His silver hair was perfectly combed, his mouth a thin, unsmiling line.
Behind him was Jessica — fake tears glistening on her cheeks — and her powerful, rich father, Mr. Graham, one of the school's biggest donors.
Susan's stomach dropped.
She knew how this ended.
She always knew.
---
The principal cleared his throat.
"Miss Susan King," he said formally, "you are hereby suspended for three weeks, effective immediately. Pending further investigation."
The words rang out like a death sentence.
Jackim surged up, furious.
"She's the victim!"
Jessica sniffled dramatically. "I... I was only trying to help her fit in."
Susan wanted to scream.
Wanted to claw the lies from Jessica's pretty, poisonous mouth.
But she just stared numbly.
Broken.
Again.
---
The guards escorted Susan and Jackim out of the infirmary like criminals.
Heads turned.
Phones recorded.
Tomorrow's gossip was being born — and Susan was once again the headline.
---
As they walked through the cold night air, Susan shivered.
Jackim wrapped his battered jacket around her small shoulders without a word.
She clutched it, breathing in the faint smell of him — something warm, something safe.
Maybe the only thing left in this brutal world.
But deep inside, even that fragile comfort couldn't silence the whisper growing louder in her heart:
You'll always be nothing.
No matter how hard you fight.
---