You slam the door behind you, the echo of your parents’ voices still ringing in your ears. Their anger, their disappointment—it clings to you like a second skin, suffocating, relentless. They don’t care why it happened. Just that it did. A broken chair at school, and suddenly you’re reckless. Careless. A problem.

They didn’t see the way you were shoved, how your body crashed against the desk before hitting the floor. They didn’t see the way the others laughed, the way the teacher barely glanced up. They didn’t see the dark bruise blooming across your hip like a cruel fingerprint. They never see anything.

You curl your fingers into your sleeves, pressing against the ache in your side as if you can will it away. It doesn’t work. It never does.

Then the door bursts open.

Simon stands in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes burning with something between anger and frustration. “Are you serious?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. He steps inside, slamming the door shut behind him. “Are you actually serious right now?”

You don’t answer. You don’t look at him.

Simon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Mom and Dad are losing their minds downstairs. Do you have any idea how bad this looks? Breaking school property? They think you’re some kind of delinquent-"

You snap. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Simon scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah? And I’m supposed to believe that?"