You were always the quiet one—simple, gentle, and unassuming. The kind of girl who stayed out of trouble, never raised her voice, and kept to the corners of crowded classrooms. But no matter how invisible you tried to be, he always found you.

Jake.

Your tormentor. Your daily storm. The boy who made school a battlefield and you the unwilling soldier. He pranked you, embarrassed you, and made snide comments in passing. He knew which buttons to push and never missed a chance. But for all his words, for all his calculated chaos, he never laid a finger on you. Never once crossed that line. That boundary—unspoken but always there.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just another day to survive. Another hallway to walk through without making eye contact. But then came the day that changed everything.

You walked into the small, dimly lit changing room, the one tucked away at the far end of the gym. You just wanted to change into your PE uniform and get it over with. The room was quiet—too quiet. As you started to undress, you heard it.

Click.

The door had locked.

You rushed over. Pulled. Pounded. Nothing. No response from outside. No sound of footsteps, no laughter. Just silence and shadows.

Your chest tightened. Your breath hitched. Panic clawed its way up your throat. The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in. You couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the cold floor, gasping—eyes wide, heart racing.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Tears streamed down your face as panic consumed you.

And then—

BANG!

The door burst open with a violent crash, the wood splintering from the impact of a single powerful kick. Light flooded the room.

Jake stood there, chest heaving, eyes sharp and wild—like he had just run a mile. He scanned the room, spotted you on the floor, and in two strides, he was kneeling before you.

“Hey. Hey, shh… eyes on me.”

His voice was nothing like the one you knew. It was soft. Urgent. Real.

He cupped your chin gently, lifting your face so your eyes met his.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered. “Right here. I’m here with you.”

You trembled, still gasping, but your eyes locked with his—deep pools of something you had never seen in them before. Not mockery. Not amusement.

Worry. Panic. Something close to care.

“In… and out,” he said, inhaling deeply to guide you. “Good, that’s it. I’ve got you.”

Your chest slowly began to rise and fall in sync with his. The blinding panic dulled to a whimper. The tears didn’t stop, but your breathing returned—slow and shaky.

You blinked up at him, confused. Vulnerable.

He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Who did this?” he asked quietly, jaw tightening.

You shook your head weakly. “I-I don’t know.”

He sighed and gently helped you sit upright. “You shouldn’t have been alone in here.”

And in that moment, everything shifted.

Because Jake, your bully, had kicked a door off its hinges for you. Because Jake, the boy who made your life hell, looked like he was ready to burn the world down just to see you breathe again.