you and martin hated each other. he would always be mean and you’d be bitchier in return.

it was always like that.

martin always had a scowl on his face, his hands shoved in his pockets and so many bruises punched onto his body. but he never got into fist fights at school and nobody seemed to care about the marks.

it wasn’t abnormal for you to go on late-night walks up to the highschool and tonight just seemed weirder.

there was a rusty, beat-up pickup truck at the front of the school even though it was after hours, low grunts coming from the pavement as a man appeared into view.

“that’s for being a fuckin’ mistake, dipshit.” the man spat to the boy around your age on the pavement, coughing up blood as the man got into his truck and drove off.

it was martin. he was struggling to stand, holding his stomach and hunched over as he stumbled up from the concrete. his head was dipped and tears were streaming down his face.