Mikey kept his head down as the laughter roared around him.
His tray lay scattered across the cafeteria floor, mashed potatoes smeared over his sneakers, and chocolate milk dripping from his hoodie. The punchline this time? Someone tripped him—again. Right in the middle of lunch.
No one offered to help. No teacher stepped in. The cameras would "miss it," like they always did. And Jason, the self-proclaimed king of the school, stood nearby smirking, waiting to see if Mikey would react.
But he didn't.
He never did.
He picked up what was left of his food, dumped it in the trash, and walked out of the cafeteria like a ghost.
---
At home, the silence was too loud. His mom was working a double shift at the diner, and the apartment always felt colder without her. Mikey dropped his backpack by the door and went straight to the bathroom.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
Wet hair. Red eyes. Shoulders that slouched, like they'd grown tired of carrying disappointment.
He ran the faucet, letting the cold water pour over his hands. But it didn't wash the sting away. Not from his skin. Not from his pride.
He stared again.
And something inside him cracked.
Not with a scream. Not with tears.
With silence.
"I'm done."
The words felt foreign in his mouth, but he said them again.
"I'm done being weak."
He didn't have muscles. He didn't know how to fight. He couldn't even do ten push-ups without shaking.
But something had changed.
He was tired of watching the world crush him. Tired of letting people define who he was. He didn't know what it would take—but he would change.
Starting tonight.
He searched for old workout videos on his phone and cleared a small space on the living room floor. His arms trembled with each push-up, sweat soaked his shirt after only a few squats, and by the end of his first pathetic routine, his chest felt like it was on fire.
But as he lay there on the floor, gasping for breath, he smiled.
For the first time in years...
He wasn't running away.
He was fighting back.