You hit the back of your head as you were slammed against your locker. The other girls laughed as you winced in pain and tried not to cry. "Aww, did wittle (Name) get a boo-boo on her head? Well, maybe now people will believe the reason for your ugliness is because you get hurt all the time!" the leader of the girls jeered, and the others laughed harder.
"What do you want, (Leader's Name)?" you asked through gritted teeth, forcing back tears. You'd never give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry.
"Nothing much. We just want to know why an ugly person like you would be wearing these," (Leader's Name) said, tugging your glasses from your face.
"Hey!! Give those back!!" you commanded, trying to take the glasses back, but the other girls held you against your locker.
"Why? They don't make you any prettier. They just add to your ugliness. In my opinion, you would look better blind," (Leader's Name) remarked bitterly, throwing your glasses on the floor and crushing them with her designer heels.
"No!" you shouted, now openly crying. You fell to the floor and felt around for your glasses. You really were practically blind without them. Once you had found them, you scooped them into your hands and felt them to see if they were still wearable. No such luck.
You felt so small compared to all of them. They were circling you, laughing, calling you names. It was almost too much to bear. They did it everyday, but even so, it hurt so badly. If only you'd had the courage to just end your life. You'd tried several times, but every time you just couldn't do it. So you had to suffer.
"Hey! You brats better leave that poor chica alone, or we're gonna have some trouble," said an angry voice; a boy's voice, with a Spanish accent. Through your blurry vision, you could see the other girls backing off.
"Zhaaaat's vright, valk avay, und don't let us catch you picking on her again!" said another voice, also male, with a German accent.
"Now, gone with you, before we decide to get nasty," said one more voice, male, French accent. The other girls started to whimper, and then ran away. You heard footsteps coming towards you and saw three pairs of feet stand right in front of you. Two strong arms helped you to your feet.
"Are you okay, mon cher?" the Frenchman asked worriedly. You could hear him on your left side.
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you..." you lied. You were far from okay.
"Can you see vizhout your glasses or no?" the German asked. He was on your right.
"No..." you answered, your voice shaking.
"Then we'll have to help you get home. Where do you live, chica?" the Spaniard asked. He was behind you. You debated on whether or not you should tell them. On one hand, you were almost positive that you didn't know any of them, and that scared you. On the other hand, they saved you from those wretched girls, and you didn't have any other way to get home if you couldn't see.
"I-I live at (Home address)," you informed timidly, deciding to trust them.
"Vell, come on zhen. Let's get you home, frau," the German said soothingly. You let the three boys lead you home. Once they had brought you to your front porch, you thanked them and told them you didn't need any more help.
"You sure?" the Spaniard asked skeptically.
"Positive," you replied.
"Alvright zhen. Vell, ve'll see you at school zhen," the German stated.
"And if those girls ever pick on you again, you let us know, and we'll fix them for you," the Frenchman informed angrily.
"Thank you. I will..." you replied, opening the door to your house and running upstairs to your bedroom. You dug through your desk drawer to find your glasses case, where you kept your extra pair. They weren't as nice as your main pair, which was now broken, but it was better than being unable to see.
You walked into your bathroom and looked yourself in the mirror. Why did the other girls call you ugly? Did they think you were fat? Did they think you had too much acne? Were glasses and braces really all it took to make someone ugly?
Those girls were the prettiest girls in the whole school, so they must know these things. If they said you were ugly, you must really be ugly. But you couldn't help it. You needed your glasses to see, and you couldn't do anything about the braces. Would you be doomed to be ugly forever?
You started crying again, wondering how you were going to explain your crushed glasses to your father. You'd never told him about how you'd been bullied for the past two years by the girls at school, and you didn't plan on doing it anytime soon. That would just make things ten times harder.
You eyed the pair of scissors that sat on your bathroom counter. They were pretty sharp. Slowly and tentatively, you picked them up with your right hand and held them above your left wrist, but then quickly put them in an open drawer and slammed it shut, too scared to hurt yourself.
You walked back into your bedroom and flopped down on your bed, exhausted, depressed, confused, and mixed with all of these negative emotions, happy. Happy that someone had helped you; that someone had stood up for you when you were too scared and too weak to do it yourself. You hoped that you'd get to meet these boys again and become friends with them, and thank them for all that they did.
~*Timeskip to next day*~
It was lunch time. You'd made it half-way through the day without being physically bullied, but you still heard people calling you names as you passed by. You'd looked everywhere for the three boys that had helped you yesterday, but you only had their voices to go on, and you hadn’t heard them so far.
Then, finally, as you were walking to a table in the back of the room, you heard the voices of the boys who'd helped you. You searched frantically for them, but when you saw them, you almost dropped your tray. The boys who had helped you were none other than the infamous Bad Touch Trio. The thought that you had trusted them made you want to puke. These boys were as bad as bad could get.
The group consisted of, obviously, three people. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a brown haired, green eyed, tan skinned boy was the Spaniard, rumored to have more than just a soft spot for small children. A top-notch babysitter for sure, but people say he'd tried more than once to plot a kidnapping.
Gilbert Beilschmidt, a silver haired, red eyed, pale skinned Albino and Francis Bonnefoy, a blond haired, blue eyed, fair skinned Frenchman, were both rumored to be playboys and dirty minded. Francis had, apparently, done horrible things to girls on more than one occasion.
Every girl in the school ran the other direction whenever they walked by. Boys beat them up to keep them away from their girls, and everyone in school went out of their way to make sure Antonio could never get a babysitting job. You felt sick knowing that you had trusted them, but something inside of you didn't quite fit.
The boys who had helped you had seemed genuinely concerned about you. They hadn't done anything bad to you, or even tried to hurt you in any way, shape or form. Quite the opposite. They had saved you from the mean girls, helped you to your feet, walked you home, and told you that they would protect you if the girls ever tried to hurt you again. If they had done all that for you, they couldn't really be as bad as everyone said, could they?
Slowly, you walked up to their table and tapped on Francis' shoulder. The three boys stopped laughing and looked at you. Each one of their faces lit up when they saw you. "Y-you guys are the ones who saved me yesterday, aren't you?" you asked them.
"Oui, mon cher, we are. Are you doing okay?" Francis inquired. The others looked at you expectantly.
"Y-yeah! I'm fine! The girls haven't harassed me all day! I wanted to thank you guys and introduce myself, and see if I could... Maybe... Hang out with you?" you asked hopefully.
"It's alright with me if it's alright with my amigos. What do you say, boys?" Antonio asked.
"Ja, you can hang vizh us!" Gilbert answered. Francis nodded approvingly.
"Thank you! By the way, I'm (F-First name) (L-Last name), but I already know who all of you are," you stuttered nervously.
"Not surprising, seeing how awesome ve are," Gilbert laughed, patting a seat between him and Francis and looking at you. Nervously, you sat between the two boys, and quickly became friends with them. As far as you could tell, they weren't anything like what the other teens had said they were.
When the bell rang, you walked with the Trio to your next class. As you did so, you heard people whispering around you. The boys seemed oblivious to it, but you heard every word. "What's she doing with them? She's got herself in with the bad boys now. Who knew the ugly girl was such a flirt? Bet you twenty bucks she's cheating on all of em' with each other. Bet you fifty bucks they all know and don't care." It was almost too much to handle. Tears streamed down your face again.
"You alright, chica?" Antonio asked, noticing the tears.
"Fine," you lied again, walking away from the boys and into your next class. They exchanged worried glances and followed you. Throughout the whole day, they kept asking you if you were really okay, and every time you would lie to them. When you got out of your last class, which you didn't share with the Trio, you were greeted by the Girls again.
"Well, if it isn't (Name) the flirt! What did you do to get the Bad Touch Trio interested in an ugly girl like you?" (Leader's Name) asked, cackling wickedly.
"They're probably all on crack," one of the others remarked. (Leader's Name) pushed you against the wall and her eyes scanned you for something to torment you about, which didn't take long.
"Is all the jewelry you own this ugly? If it is, I'd suggest you just don't wear any at all. It doesn't flatter you," she informed, grabbing the necklace that you were wearing, which your mom had given to you before she died. She was choking you. When she unclasped it, you were gasping for breath and coughing hysterically.
"On second thought, this is really quite pretty. I think I'll keep it," she remarked, smirking evilly at you and putting the necklace around her own neck.
"That's my mother's! Give it back!" you yelled, crying again. Suddenly, someone wrapped their arms firmly around (Leader's Name)'s waist, and two more hands reached for her neck, feeling their way around the necklace and finding the clasp. One more set of arms grabbed you and pulled you protectively away from the girls. The person who had grabbed (Leader's Name) was Francis. The person who was untying the necklace was Gilbert. The person who was protecting you was Antonio.
"Didn't your mozher ever tell you it's not nice to take vhat isn't yours?" Gilbert hissed, unclasping the necklace and holding it firmly in his own hand. The girls shrieked in terror.
"Eww! Get your filthy hands off of me, creeps!" (Leader's Name) shouted, wriggling from Francis' grip. "Nice job making your new friends (Name)! I hope they treat you just like all the other girls; which in case you didn't know, is pretty badly," she yelled, laughing evilly as she and her entourage swaggered away.
Gilbert walked up to you and put the necklace back around your neck. Francis wiped the tears off of your face. Antonio was still holding you tightly. "Zhere zhere, frau, it's alvright now. Ve von't let zhem hurt you anymore," Gilbert reassured, stroking your hair.
"Don't listen to anything they say. They're all wrong," Antonio whispered, rocking from side to side with you.
"They don't know who they're messing with," Francis declared angrily, still caressing your face. You felt so loved by all of them, and no one had ever done this for you before.
"Thank you guys so much... I don't know what I'd do without you..." you whispered.
"And you'll never find out. Ve'll alvays be here for you, vright guys?" Gilbert asked the others.
But days passed, and the teasing didn't let up. The girls would still beat you up, and the name calling got worse and worse with each passing hour. The horrible things that they say about you and about the Trio were just too much. They were so horrible, and so outrageous, and you felt like you wanted to die. The Trio always saved you from being beaten up, but they couldn't save you from the words.
"So, which one of em' got to you first? Did he hurt you really bad?" one of the girls asked.
"I bet it was Francis. It was Francis, wasn't it?" another one begged.
"How did Gilbert react? Was he really mad, or did he just not care?" another asked. They asked many questions like this until your head was spinning. You couldn't take it anymore.
"SHUT UP!!! SHUT. UP!" you screamed, making all of the girls jump back and gasp. "You guys don't know what you're talking about! Francis, Gilbert and Antonio are the best things that ever happened to me! They're not horrible people and they are nothing like what you say. They are some of the sweetest people I've ever met, and they care about me for real! So you people can just go and shut up, because you don't know anything, and you never will!"
"Hey! You girls better not be picking on our (Name) again! Get lost, you unawesome filzh!" Gilbert shouted. The girls screamed again and ran away. You fell to your knees and sobbed. The three boys ran to you and sat down next to you. Francis wrapped his arms around you, Gilbert stroked your hair, and Antonio caressed your face.
"How do you guys stand it?" you asked, outraged.
"Stand what?" Antonio answered your question with another question.
"How do you stand everything they say about you? Don't you ever notice it? Everyone says such terrible things about you, and now about me, and I can't stand it! They say that Antonio wants to kidnap people, and they say that Gilbert and Francis do horrible things to girls, and they say that you hurt me, and that I like it when you hurt me, and they still call me ugly, and I just can't deal with it anymore! I just want to die!" you wailed, sobbing even harder into Francis' chest.
"Aww, chica, don't cry, please! It's not as bad as you think it is. There's a simple way to fix all of this," Antonio soothed.
"Ve know all zhe bad things zhey say about us. It used to hurt us a lot, but zhen ve met each ozher und became friends, und soon ve learned to ignore vhat zhe ozhers said," Gilbert explained.
"It doesn't matter what the other people say. We know who we are, and what we're not, and that's good enough for us. We just know that they're wrong, and we're right, and nothing else matters," Francis reassured. Now he was rocking back and forth with you.
"I know that you guys are nothing like they say you are, but what about me? Those are the prettiest girls in the whole school! If they tell me I'm ugly, then they must be right," you cried.
"Aw, mon cher, if you needed someone to tell you that you are beautiful, you should've just asked!" Francis exclaimed, chuckling.
"Yeah! Those other girls dunno what they're talking about. They're probably just jealous because you're way prettier than they are!" Antonio reassured.
"And vay awesomer too. Plus, your (h/l) (h/c) hair is vay better zhan zheir hair," Gilbert told you, twirling his fingers in your hair and smirking.
"Also, those glasses frame your pretty (e/c) eyes perfectly. I bet all those other girls wish they had glasses and eyes as beautiful as yours," Antonio stated, cupping your face in both of his hands and staring into your (e/c) eyes with his green ones.
"Oh, and don't forget about your smile! Your smile is much better than the fake ones those stupid girls flash, even with the braces!" Francis whispered in your ear with a sing-song voice.
"Besides, it doesn't matter how you look on zhe outside. It's vhat's on zhe inside zhat counts, vright? I mean, look at zhose brats! Zhey're good-looking, but zheir personalities could drive avay even a troll!" Gilbert joked.
"You guys really mean that?" you asked as Antonio wiped the tears from your face.
"Of course we do, mon cher! Would we ever lie to you?" Francis asked, fake pouting.
"If you ever need somevone to tell you you're pretty, just ask us," Gilbert said.
"You're one of us now. We gotta stick together and look out for each other, cuz that's what friends are for, right guys?" Antonio asked.
You looked at each of the boys and then gave all three of them individual huge hugs. "I'm glad to be one of you."