At first, it was just looks. Side glances. Smirks passed between them like a private joke.
Then one of them stepped closer.
“Hey,” he said loudly, tilting his head toward her. “What are you gonna do if we mess with you? Run away?” He paused, pretending to think. “Oh—right. Guess that’s not an option.”
Laughter erupted.
Harsh. Confident. Enjoyed.
The girl’s hands tightened slightly on the edges of her papers. She didn’t lift her head.
Another one moved in, shoving his hands into his pockets, looming over her chair.
“My mom says people don’t just end up like this,” he said with a sneer. “She says it’s punishment. Big sin. So tell me—what did you do?”
More laughter.
A third man circled behind her wheelchair, inspecting it as if it were an object, not an extension of a human being.
“I’ve always wondered,” he said mockingly, “what kind of engine does that thing have? Electric? Or do you have to plug yourself in at night?”
Their voices overlapped, feeding off one another. They were enjoying the power—the fact that she couldn’t stand up, couldn’t walk away, couldn’t escape.
One of them leaned in too close.
His fingers brushed her cheek.
The touch was slow. Deliberate.
Repulsive.
