This is the second part of what happened to me in the restrooms at school in sixth grade. I've flashed back on this so much that I'm close to remembering everything that happened. I didn't tell this story to anyone for a long time because it shows how scared and weak I was at the time. All I could think of then was saying or doing something that might make it worse. Looking at it now, it was the wrong decision.
This is the second of three or four parts.
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I didn't answer.
"We know you're in there."
The other kid giggled.
My uncontrollable stomach gave me away.
They both laughed.
"Please leave me alone," I told them as calmly as I could (though I could hear my voice tremble).
Hearing me speak drew them over to my stall like a magnet. One of them actually looked through the little crack in the door.
"I have diarrhea," I told them, hoping to scare them away.
Instead, he rattled the door to see if it was locked.
I raised my voice, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Looking back, I could have yelled really loud and maybe gotten the attention of someone in one of the classrooms, but the idea of calling attention to myself when I was sitting on the toilet shitting like this was unbearable.
They both rattled the door again. For a second, I was grateful this the lock was working. A lot of the others were broken or at least loose.
But then one of them went into the stall next to mine, took a drip on the top of the stall divider, and pulled himself up.
This was one of the big reasons I never pooped in school. I'd been spied on before.
I knew the kid right away. He was a kid that wasn't one of the main kids that harassed me, but definitely one that liked joining in. He was also just an inch taller than me, so maybe he wanted to make sure everyone's attention was on me instead of him.
I still remember the weird look on his face, like he was enjoying this whole thing.
"Hurry up," his friend said.
And then he did something I could barely believe I was seeing.
He pulled himself up over the top and dropped down in front of me. Right away, he unlocked the stall door, and his friend—a kid I didn't recognize—stared at me with the same weird expression.
Usually, I stayed quiet when people did things to me, but my anger took over.
"You people are sick. What's wrong with you? You like the smell? Go away! GO AWAY!"
But again, my stomach let them know that I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't even run.
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