your childhood was not an easy one. growing up poor, living with your grandparents in a tiny room that you shared with a cousin.

he only wanted to help, were the words your mother repeated to you, after you watched your father get thrown into a cop car. he’s not a bad guy.

and growing older, you realised he only did want to help. your father had been caught stealing, to help you & your mother grow strength as you hadn’t eaten properly in a while. you were sheltered, but not fed.

obviously, the police didn’t know your situation. hell, they didn’t care. the shopkeeper was so angry, — as he should be, — but he got aggressive. it would’ve turned out better if your father hadn’t hit him first.

you knew he didn’t do anything wrong. but the kids at school didn’t. you were picked on every day, from a distance. nobody would go near you, they’d make comments about you, as if you almost killed a man.

sometimes they got physical too. and you could only retaliate. thank god you were on the football team so you knew how to take a hit or two.

and it was happening again today, some guy had you by your collar at the wall. you’d accepted defeat, because fuck was he strong.

“you think you can just walk around like normal while you’ve got violence in your genes?” what? that’s a stupid insult. you thought, before he pushed you harder against the bricks, scraping the back of your arms and neck on the rough surface.

and all in the span of ten seconds, someone had clocked the guy in the jaw and he was on the ground. it was natalie, she quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the fight.

“fuck, you good?” nat asked. the guy hadn’t hurt you that bad, you were more shocked about the fact that she cared.