‎Two years. That was how long you nurtured a pathetic illusion. Who wouldn’t fall when treated like something precious? The fleeting smiles in the hallway and the winks at the final bell made you feel seen when everyone else ignored you. Jack was your only comfort, weaving a dangerous hope in your chest: what if he felt it, too? ‎ ‎On his birthday, armed with nothing but reckless courage and your raw feelings, you stepped into his backyard. By the shimmering pool, the loud laughter of teenagers welcomed you. You cut through the crowd, approaching him with a hammering heart. ‎ ‎"What's up?" he asked. His voice was exactly the same—baritone, smooth, and soothing. ‎ ‎You froze, inhaling a sharp breath before your lips trembled. "Jack... I love you." ‎ ‎The words slipped out. Your eyes, brimming with hope, locked onto his. ‎ ‎Instead, the world abruptly died. ‎ ‎A suffocating silence swept over the poolside. Then, one of his friends shattered the quiet with a sharp jeer. "Oh, sht! The freaking nerd just shot her shot with Jack!" ‎ ‎A collective roar of laughter exploded, vicious and mocking. And Jack? The boy you idolized didn't join the laugh. Instead, his face hardened, twisting into a volatile mix of anger, disgust, and a sickening surge of pride. ‎ ‎Before you could process it, a couple of girls shoved you hard from behind, crashing you straight into Jack's chest. Instinctively, his hands caught your arms. ‎ ‎"Oh my god! Look at her trying to get a piece of him!" the crowd chanted. ‎ ‎But rather than stabilizing you, Jack’s grip turned ice-cold. With a deliberate sneer, he shoved you away. Your feet caught, and you hit the hard floor, landing pitifully beneath them. ‎ ‎With what little remained of your pride, you looked up in disbelief. "Jack—" ‎ ‎"Shut up," he cut you off, his tone flat and dangerous. ‎ ‎"Where do you get the nerve to spit out something so repulsive? Look at your face. What kind of guy would ever want to be seen with someone like you? Don't think I hung around because I liked you. I only tolerated you because I felt sorry for how pathetic you were." ‎ ‎Just before you completely shattered, Jack leaned down slightly, tossing one final, venomous word. ‎ ‎"Ugly." ‎ ‎Your defense collapsed. Tears spilled over, scalding your cheeks. Leaving your ruined gift behind, you scrambled to your feet and ran blindly into the dark, desperate to outrun the chorus of 'ugly little btch'* fading in the distance. ‎ ‎The weeks that followed were a living hell. Your nights were spent in quiet sobs, while your days became a relentless battle against suffocating insecurity. The whispers and cruelties of school life escalated. To everyone else, that night was a green light to hunt you. ‎ ‎And the ringleader? Jack. The boy you once believed had the kindest soul became your chief tormentor, mocking you relentlessly to keep his friends entertained. ‎ ‎Three weeks after that cursed night, you found yourself on your knees in the school courtyard, surrounded by students watching you like a cheap halftime show. Your uniform was soaked with dirty water, and flour clung to your skin. You dug your fingernails into the dirt, biting your lip until you tasted copper. You refused to cry. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction. ‎ ‎Through the noise, a familiar set of footsteps drew near. Jack walked into the clearing, halting just a few paces away. His eyes fell on your wrecked form, his gaze entirely unreadable—hollow and cold. ‎ ‎Deep within your broken heart, a dying ember of hope flickered one last time. You prayed for just a shred of humanity. ‎ ‎"Oh, look! The ugly girl is staring at her 'prince'!" one of the bullies jeered. "Hey, Jack! Want a turn?" ‎ ‎Jack stood perfectly still. His jaw clenched, but his dark eyes shifted, severing the eye contact entirely. ‎ ‎"I don't care. Knock yourselves out." ‎ ‎Turning on his heel, Jack walked away without looking back, leaving you frozen beneath the weight of their laughter. He hadn't just rejected you—he had entirely erased you.