Chapter Text
A sharp pain exploded through my head, hot and blinding, the force of Jack Merridew’s fist sending me stumbling backwards. My cheek burned instantly, throbbing beneath the cold evening air as crimson spread across my face. For a second, my vision blurred. I barely caught myself before collapsing completely, shoes scraping awkwardly against the pavement as I struggled to steady my balance.
I hated Jack Merridew.
At least, I tried to.
There was never a reason for him to take every ounce of anger festering inside him out on me. Every bad day, every bad mood, every nasty comment somehow found its way back to me eventually. Like I was the easiest target. Like hurting me was second nature to him.
But part of me couldn’t entirely blame him either, and maybe that was the worst part.
Everyone knew about his home life—or at least pieces of it. The shouting, the drinking, the bruises he sometimes tried to hide beneath rolled sleeves or sarcastic remarks. Jack carried anger around like it was stitched into his skin. Maybe I didn’t hate him. Maybe I just pitied him.
Maybe that made me pathetic.
Before I could finish the thought, another punch landed.
This time I wasn’t fast enough to recover.
Pain cracked across my jaw as I hit the ground hard, my hands barely catching me before my face slammed into the concrete. A sharp sting shot through my palms. My ears rang violently, muffling the distant sounds around me until all I could really hear was the low, cruel snicker above me.
Jack towered over me, broad shoulders casting a shadow across my curled figure on the pavement. His chest rose and fell heavily, curls messy from the wind, eyes dark with something meaner than simple anger.
“What?” he mocked, voice rough. “You enjoying this, fag?”
The word hit harder than the punch somehow.
Fag.
I’d heard it before. Plenty of times. Whispered through hallways, spat across locker rooms, laughed between groups of boys who thought cruelty made them powerful. I was used to it by now.
But hearing it come from Jack felt different.
It left something bitter lodged in my throat.
I swallowed hard and forced myself back onto my feet, legs shaky beneath me. My face throbbed violently as I brushed dirt from my wrinkled uniform with trembling hands. My split lip burned every time I breathed.
I didn’t answer him.
I never did.
Responding only made things worse.
Instead, I pushed a hand through my messy hair and turned away from him, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as I headed toward the dorm building. The sound of Jack’s laughter followed me down the pathway, loud and sharp enough to echo against the brick walls.
I hated how much it got to me.
Why did I care so much?
No— I didn’t care.
Right?
“No goodbye kiss?” Jack called after me mockingly.
The boys standing around him burst into laughter.
I rolled my eyes despite the ache in my chest and kept walking without turning around. If he noticed how my shoulders tensed at the comment, he didn’t say anything else.
By the time I reached my dorm room, my hands were shaking.
I shoved the door shut behind me harder than I meant to, the loud slam echoing through the tiny room. Silence followed almost immediately, heavy and suffocating after the noise outside.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Then my knees gave out.
I slid down against the door slowly until I hit the floor, pulling my knees tightly against my chest. The room blurred around me as tears burned behind my eyes. I pressed the heels of my palms against them desperately, but it was useless.
The first tear slipped down my face, followed by another.
Then suddenly I couldn’t stop.
My cheek stung where the skin had split open, salty tears burning against the fresh cut. Every breath felt uneven and embarrassing as quiet sobs shook through my chest. I buried my face into my arms, trying to muffle the sound even though nobody else was there to hear it.
God, this was humiliating.
Not the punches.
Not the bruises.
The crying.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.
Why did Jack always do this to me?
And worse—
Why did part of me still care about him anyway?
---
The bruises across my knuckles had already begun turning deep shades of purple and green.
Jack flexed his aching hand once before shoving it back into the pocket of his blazer. The skin across his fingers was split open slightly, dried blood cracked against his pale knuckles. It hurt more than he expected.
Whatever.
He leaned against the side of the dormitory building and lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face before disappearing into the dark. He placed it between his lips and inhaled deeply, smoke filling his lungs until the familiar burn settled in his chest.
Then he exhaled slowly.
For a few seconds, everything dulled.
The pressure in his head. School. His father. The constant feeling that something inside him was rotting worse every day.
Simon.
Jack froze mid-thought.
His jaw tightened immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
He took another long drag from the cigarette, harsher this time.
Why the hell was he thinking about Simon?
About the stupid way his eyes watered after getting hit. About how he never fought back. About how small he’d looked sitting on the pavement staring up at him.
Jack swore under his breath.
He should’ve felt satisfied. Stronger. Better.
Instead he just felt irritated.
Restless.
Guilty, maybe, though he’d rather die than admit that out loud.
Music drifted faintly from somewhere across campus, pulling him from his thoughts. Right. Ralph’s party tonight.
That would fix it.
A crowded house, loud music, enough alcohol to numb his brain for a few hours.
Exactly what he needed.