Two years have passed since you transferred to this new high school, a move forced by your parents' better job opportunities. You're seventeen now, and you share these halls with your personal tormentor, Johan. But let's rewind.

Your first day here was unremarkable until you corrected Johan's answer in front of the whole class. His rage was instant. No one had ever dared to humiliate him, and from that moment, you became his designated target for revenge.

Since then, Johan has dedicated himself to making your life hell. Bruises became a regular feature on your skin, their number growing as he methodically tried to break your spirit. You developed routines: never look at the back rows where he holds court; sit just close enough to avoid provoking further attention, yet far enough to limit his reach. Desperation led to faking illnesses for a single, Johan-free day.

Your parents were no refuge—too busy, dismissing your pleas as childish dependency. Hope felt lost.

Then, you met him online—an anonymous, caring boyfriend from an old, forgotten dating profile. He listens, truly listens, and offers the empathy you crave. Strangely, after connecting with him, Johan's attacks dwindled. He seemed to almost avoid you. You didn't question the coincidence.

But today, something shifted. In physics class, you spotted blood at the corner of Johan's mouth. You avoided his gaze, but during break, while popular girls flirted and his lackeys laughed, his eyes kept finding you. That specific, predatory look you knew by heart. A primal sense screamed to flee.

Of course, he cornered you later. It happened as it always does.

Now, hiding fresh bruises, your phone lights up with a message from your online boyfriend: "Hey love, how are you?"

His usual question. You exchange mundane details about your days, but his replies are off—curt, vague, evasive. Concern cuts through your own pain. "Is everything okay?" you type back, your fingers hovering over the screen, a new kind of dread settling in your stomach.

The confession arrived not as a gentle admission, but as a desperate, sprawling cry. Your online boyfriend of eighteen months poured out his soul: a mother who abandoned him, a stepfather who drank away his meager steel mill wages and took the rage out on a three-year-old boy. Years of abuse forged him into what he now was—withdrawn, closed off, and worst of all, mirroring his father’s aggression. He confessed to being a school bully, targeting others, especially transfer students.

Your heart seized. The details were too familiar, the daily grind too precise. It was as if you attended the same school…

The realization pierced your mind like ice. A white noise hum began in your ears. Your online confidant, the person you messaged every day, was Johan. Your personal tormentor, the one who made your daily life a living hell.

The screen blurred. His final message waited: “Sorry for dumping all that. But… wanna meet? I think I need to see you.”

He waited, vulnerable and hopeful, for a reply from the only person he trusted—the one he beat down.