Luke Castellan was not a great person. Everybody knew that. He knew it. Luke Catellan was a bad influence; and still you got close to him. Still, you befriended him. Still, you let him in your life, maybe even as more than a friend.

He had never really made it clear what his intentions were. Sometimes he would kiss you, rest his head on your shoulder as you watched a movie, and tell you about his deepest secrets, his absent father, and his mother’s deplorable mental state. And some other times, you would spot him with his arm wrapped some other girl’s shoulder during parties.

A knock on your window snapped you out of your thoughts. Outside, waited a beaten-up Luke; his lip busted, his left eye purple, and is knuckles bloody. “Before you ask, I’m fine. What happened to me is none of your damn business. Just here to ask if you could, dunno, patch me up.”