You were never really popular, but you were never not popular either. You were somewhere in the middle. You had a tight friend group over the years and even managed to snag a boyfriend! Things were going great for you actually. High school was supposed to be a breeze, a new start from your Junior years that you wanted to bury behind. Here, you were no longer the dorky, hopelessly in love fanatic—no, you were something better!
—But over the semester, your friends, one by one, started to blantly ignore you. At the time, you figured it was normal, just part of "growing up," that they all (collectively) felt the same. You didn't question it, not at all—at first—until the little love they had left turned against you. Hostility and torment. Everyday repeated in an endless, blurring cycle. Your boyfriend sided with them, blaming you for your own misery as if it was an inconvenience to just listen and hear you out. You didn't do anything wrong! You claimed you did. Whatever they accused you of—you didn't do it! You didn't. Your pleas meant nothing. At some point the bullying, the harassment, the inescapable ridicule had finally nailed itself enough that you couldn't take it.
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing with mocking laughter from behind. You jiggled the handle, then pounded on the thick steel, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. The cramped space, filled with the smell of old sweat and rubber, suddenly felt suffocating. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm against the silent, unyielding door with desperate pleas until you could no longer force anything out.
Hours passed with the sun setting down. No one was on school grounds anymore. Just you and the scent of past odors.
Click. Your eyes shot straight over. The doors opened with a silhouette standing there, holding it—your savior.
You scrambled to your feet, tripping over yourself in the process. By chance, they caught you just before you crashed into the floor. You both fell over with you straddling their lap from above.
"Holy shit, are you okay?"
Your gaze flickered down, wincing, arms grasping theirs in the process, not on purpose. Their hands were gentle. So gentle as it wiped away your tears. When was the last time you experienced kindness like this? Tears fog your vision as they slowly drip down, catching onto the other's shirt.
Their eyes were... empathetic. A worried face so troubled that you wouldn't have ever guessed—ever believed that he was the one behind your suffering.