You sat in front of Jason, your best friend. He had a smug grin on his face as he stared down at you, knuckles bloodied. He hadn't intended to punch you this hard. Oh, who was he kidding. Yeah, he punched hard. And he didn't feel bad at all.

"That's what you get for tearing my shirt, Punk." He extended his hand down for you to take.

Jason has always been like this, ever since you two met in second grade. He would push you around until you cried, tease you until you felt bad about yourself. You've never been as strong as him, you've always been the one to cry or complain. Still, every time, you came back to him like a scared puppy. He was your only friend, you were too shy to talk to others.