His eyebrows shoot up as he takes another sip. ‘I hope that wasn’t another useless ex-boyfriend?’
‘Absolutelynot,’ I snap. ‘I went to school with him. He was a… never mind.’ My voice turns softer as some of my fury seems to dissipate a little, quickly replaced with anxiety as I feel Elliot’s knowing eyes on me. I rub my temples, mostly just to hide my face from him.
‘Who was he?’ he asks again, more gently this time.
I shake my head feverishly. ‘Nobody.’
He just looks at me quietly, patiently. I sigh.
‘It comes with a little bit of backstory. I’m afraid we would have to go into The History of Nora.’
He doesn’t flinch. ‘I’ve got time.’
I hesitate. I really hadn’t planned on giving him any details about my miserable teenage experience, and that I had just reunited with one of the people responsible. A nervous knot forms in my stomach at the idea of telling him. What if he doesn’t get it? What if he brushes it off?
Some people make it clear that they don’t understand the effects of bullying. How can you even measure the impact a bully’s words have on you? Is it how long I cried for before falling asleep on a particularly bad day? How many clothes were hidden or thrown away because it displayed a body part that my peers sneered and shouted at? The number of hours I spent at a mirror plotting how to hide my features? Trying to edit how I blinked or spoke because the way I naturally did so was entirely ‘wrong’? And then the hyper-vigilance I developed as a result: always expecting hurtful words from the people that deserved more credit.
Maybe it was how long I hated the parts of my body that were needlessly targeted: my teeth, my hair, my knees, my ears, my eyebrows, my chest? I still occasionally fall into the bad habit of glaring with derision at the body that has been nothing but kind to me.
Everybody gets kind of bullied at some point,I remember one of my flatmates at university saying. She was one of the first people I opened up to about it after leaving school, and to my surprise, she seemed eager to dismiss it.
But I think I know, somehow, that Elliot won’t dismiss it.
‘Honestly, I had a bad time at school. Turns out that when you arrive at secondary school with frizzy ginger hair, freckles, wonky teeth, you’re two foot taller than everybody else and awkward and desperate to get good grades, you’re an easy target for bullies. I practically came gift-wrapped for them,’ I say with a bitter laugh.
I keep talking, too anxious to check how Elliot is receiving the information.
‘There were a lot of boys in my year who just, I don’t know, took it upon themselves to make my life as miserable as possible. All the classic stuff. Just humiliating me in whatever way they could think of. Belittling me, cutting my hair behind me in class, insulting me, coming up withhundredsof nicknames. Getting everyone else to call me them. God, when I was in Year Seven they followed me to the bus station and threw rocks at me.’ Running my hands through my hair to try to clear the memory, I look up to Elliot to see his blue eyes dark with fury.
‘Wait, are you talking about him? That guy threwrocks at you?’ His expression is murderous, and his voice is unusually unsteady in its deep rasp.
‘No, no. He wasn’t one of those ones.’
He still looks utterly incensed with anger, with a deep furious line perfectly carved between his eyebrows. I gently pat his hand that is now clenched into a tight fist.
‘It’s okay, I escaped unscathed. At the ripe age of twenty-two, I don’t have to worry about schoolboys throwing shit at me anymore… it’s a good place to be.’
I try to inject my voice with humour with little success. He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again in a low murmur.
‘I’m so sorry that happened to you.’
Despite myself, there’s an immediate lump in my throat. I try to find my voice but there aren’t any words anyway.
‘Probably a good thing I didn’t know who he was,’ he mutters.
‘What?’ I ask, scanning his darkened features.
He seems to shake himself before turning back to face me, his eyes softer. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? Bumping into someone like that, is it not… upsetting for you?’
I consider the question. ‘It would have a while ago. I’ve put in a lot of work to try to not let stuff like that affect me anymore. People like him aren’t worth getting upset over now.’
His still gaze rests on me. I start to feel nervous, even self-conscious under his scrutiny.
‘I’m really sorry you were treated that way. You didn’t deserve that.Nobodydeserves that.’
I can feel my skin itch, like I’m having an allergic reaction to his obvious pity. I try to shrug it off this time. ‘It’s really fine.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ he says firmly. He’s talking quickly, like he can’t get his words out fast enough. ‘Nobody should have to deal with that. I actually can’t believe no one stepped in to help.’
