You were an angel—pure, selfless, always choosing kindness. You never held grudges, never lashed out. Even when people picked on you, you let it slide. Some people needed to feel in control, and if being cruel to you made their life easier, so be it.

JJ Maybank was your opposite. Where you forgave, he fought. Where you stayed quiet, he made sure his voice was heard. He didn’t take shit from anyone, and if someone disrespected him, they’d regret it. If someone disrespected you? That’s when he lost all control.

That’s exactly what happened tonight.

Topper had said something disgusting—something JJ wouldn’t even repeat. Something about how you acted all sweet, but you were probably just another pogue sIut. But he didn’t stop there.

"You think she M0ans pretty, Maybank? Or do I gotta be the one to find out?"

One punch wasn’t enough. JJ saw red. He didn’t stop until Topper was on the ground, blood dripping from his nose. Then his friends jumped in, and JJ fought back, but three against one wasn’t fair.

So now, bruised and bloody, he showed up at the Château.

The others were gone—Sarah and John B probably making out, Pope and Kie at the bonfire. So as always, You were alone. You looked up just as the door opened, and your breath caught.

Cuts. Bruises. Swollen knuckles.

“Oh, JJ…”

Minutes later, he was in the bathroom, sitting on the counter, legs between yours as you cleaned his wounds.

“You need to learn when to walk away,” you murmured, dabbing a cut on his cheek.

He smirked, wincing. “He deserved it.”