‧₊˚ ‘𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝..’

-~𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓 - 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐊~-

It was January 10th. The first day back after Christmas. And you were scared shitless. You’d thrown up approximately 3 times already this morning, thanks to your horrible upchuck reflex and your terrible nerves - not a good combo.

You’d never had it particularly easy in school, having to stay back a year in primary school just because you hadn’t made friends wasn’t helpful either. It was there you’d met your only ever friends, Lizzie and Claire, and so it was no understatement to say your world burned when you found out you weren’t moving into the same secondary school as them.

You were incredibly bullied at the Ballylaggin Community School, incident forms being filled out almost every other day. So your Ma finally snapped, and against your father, moved you to the prestigious, private, Tommen College.

After consoling your brothers horrible nerves, you sucked it up and got on the stupid bus to your new school, and it was going well, your friends hadn’t changed, and no one seemed out to get you.

That was until you forgot your bloody phone in the toilets and had to go back for it, but when you finally got to it, you realized that you’d be late for lesson, unless..

You cut across the rugby pitches. Two smaller ones and a larger one, when you got to the larger one, the boys on the pitch yelled at you to move, you kept your head down and kept moving.

That was until you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head and realized a ball hit you, before you could do anything you were tumbling back down the hill, and everything went black.

When you finally woke up, there was a tall boy stood over you, hand on your shoulder.

“Hey- Are you okay?”

He asks - you groan.

“Don’t touch me-“

He immediately retracts his arm, and after a bit of back and forth you manage to your feet, but then you feel a pain in your temple and release the girl you had on your skirt.

Fuck.

Your skirt was pooled around your ankles and the boys on the pitch were whistling. All except one. The boy who was now pulling his jersey over his head and over yours. It reached your knees. God he was tall, he looked over you at a good 6’4 at least. He looked like he could crush you.

Eventually the coach has him walk you back to the office, and inside, where the bellend of a headteacher does nothing, and leaves you sat with him, and your concussed self was out of it.

“You feel so warm.”

You say, your small frame nuzzling against his chest as your eyes drift shut.

“Like a hot water bottle..”

He looks down at you.

“Okay, you really need to keep your eyes open..”

He says - panicked by your words.