"Watch where you're going, you asshole."
Once again, Neïle had to endure the mocking laughter erupting behind him.
He wondered what he could have done so wrong to deserve this.
He lowered his head in shame, crushed by those hateful stares.
He forced himself not to burst into tears for fear that the mockery would escalate.
Why me?
What did I do to make you treat me like this?
Did I sleep with your mother to make you hate me so much?!
These words spun around in his head, burning and violent.
Those were the words he wanted to say to him.
But no sound came out.
The words were stuck in his throat, stifled by the stares fixed on him.
He lowered his eyes.
As always.
The laughter continued behind him.
Even when he could no longer hear it properly, it remained.
Stuck to his skin.
When he entered the classroom, the sound of chairs scraping and voices chattering seemed distant.
It was as if he had arrived in a place where he no longer belonged.
Classes had resumed, but Neïle was elsewhere, lost in thought.
He, who had always been the model student — attentive, quiet and a good student — saw everything falling apart. He felt as though he were falling brutally from the pedestal on which he had been placed, unable to comprehend how he could have fallen so low.
Now, a single, heavy, haunting idea kept coming back to him.
To stop everything.
But he didn't do it.He didn't really want to.
Deep down, he would always be that poor dog, shut off from the world, unable to change or escape.
Neïle stared out of the window for a long time. The sky was grey and still, almost reassuring. Much more so than the classroom behind him.
"Neïle."
He didn't hear.
"Neïle."
A few heads began to turn. Whispering. A stifled laugh.
"Neïle."
He finally jumped and looked away from the window. Too late. The whole class was already staring at him.
The teacher sighed loudly.
'When are you finally going to concentrate, damn it? Do you think you're here to daydream?'
Neïle lowered his gaze. His fingers tightened around his pen.
"Gather your things. You're going to see the headteacher."
The chair scraped across the floor as he stood up. The noise seemed deafening..He crossed the classroom under the gaze of his classmates, daring not to meet a single one of their eyes.
The hallway was silent.
Each step echoed loudly.
Neïle wanted someone to stop her.
She wanted someone to tell her it was a mistake.
But the office door was right in front of her.
The principal's office was silent. Too silent.
"Sit down, Neïle."
The man didn't shout. He spoke calmly. Almost gently.
"The teachers are worried about you, you know. Your grades have dropped. You're not the same as you used to be."
Neïle nodded slowly.
"Is something going on at home?""...""Or at school?"
The silence stretched on.
The principal sighed again, but this time without annoyance.
"I think it would be good for you to talk to the school psychologist."
Neïle didn't answer.He was simply shown to the hallway.
He didn't really understand what the director was saying.
His attention wandered.
A few minutes later, he was sitting in a different room.
The room was small. Bright. It was too quiet.
The psychologist smiled and pointed to a chair.
"You can sit down, Neïle." she said.
He obeyed.
She waited a few seconds before speaking.
"I've been told that things aren't going very well for you at the moment.""..."
You know, here, you can speak freely. No one will judge you.′
Neïle stared at the floor.His hands trembled slightly on his knees.
Silence fell. Long. Heavy.
She wrote something down in her notebook.
"It's OK if you don't feel like talking today." she said softly.
But deep down, Neïle knew one thing: even if he wanted to talk, he wouldn't know where to start.
The psychologist gently closed her notebook.
"I'm going to write you a note." she said after a moment."..."
"You're going to go home for a few days. Get some rest. I think you need it."
She wrote a few lines, tore out the page and handed it to him.
"You don't have to carry everything on your own, Neïle."
He took the paper without answering.
He then headed towards the school exit.
Outside, the air was cold.
He walked without looking where he was going.
He wanted the journey to last a long time.
A very long time.
Eventually, however, the house came into view.
The front door slammed behind him.
His parents were in the living room. Sitting. Tense.They didn't even need to get up.
"What's this now ?" his father said, waving his phone."The school called us."
Neïle stood still, the note still crumpled in his hand.
"Honestly," his father continued, raising his voice, "on top of ruining our lives, you're now making the school think we're mistreating you ?"
"Do you realise what you're doing ?" his mother added. "We've given you everything. Everything ! And this is how you thank us ?"
The words came one after another without giving him time to breathe.
"I never said that." he whispered."Oh, really ? Then why are they talking about a psychologist ?" his father replied."What do you want us to look like, Monsters ?"
Neïle opened his mouth.Nothing came out.
"I'm just trying..." he began, his voice trembling.
"Stop it !" his mother interrupted. "Stop playing the victim."
He lowered his gaze. His hands were shaking.
He wanted to explain.He wanted to say that he wasn't okay.He wanted to say that he couldn't take it anymore.
But the words jumbled together in his head, heavy and useless.So he remained silent.
As always.
"Go to your room." his father said.'We'll talk about this when you stop messing around." his mother added.
Neïle didn't answer.He turned on his heel and climbed the stairs slowly, as if each step were heavier than the last.His room was exactly as he had left it.Too quiet.Too silent.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a few seconds.His breathing was short and ragged.
He slid to the floor.
The thoughts came back.Always the same ones.
"It won't hurt anyone," he thought.No one will notice.
He closed his eyes.His hands were shaking.
He stood there for a long time without moving.He was fighting against something he couldn't even name.
Then exhaustion took over.
Neïle lay down on his bed, fully clothed.The ceiling above him was blurry.
His eyelids grew heavy.Too heavy.
As sleep finally overtook him, the images came back:
The start of the school year.The looks.That precise moment when everything changed.
At that time, he hadn't had the strength to look away.