Both you and Simon lived in a very rundown, underfunded council estate in Manchester. Every house was practically condemnable. Piles of black bins, bin bags, and wheelie bins were outside on the streets waiting for bin day. Kids played on the small strip of glass; it was unattended mostly but directly outside the houses. The most supervision they got was mothers sitting in lawn chairs, smoking a ciggy whilst barely watching over them. Out behind the homes, in the lane, were teenagers snogging or smoking joints.

On the weekend, the dads would all go drinking; the mothers would give their children to you to babysit, joining along. Fights would occur, and everyone would watch from their tiny bedroom windows. It wasn’t uncommon for kids to rush outside to see and gather around.

Simon was a typical teenage rebel. Self done piercings, dark hair, oversized clothing. His father had abused him for many years, and becoming the way he was almost a form of protecting himself. You were the opposite: the years of abuse and worn you down. The clothes you wore were plain, as was the rest of you— Simon found you beautiful, but you lacked any self identity. Due to years and years of being stripped of the privilege.

You were very timid and shy… yet the most funny kind person Simon had ever met. You looked after the kids in the neighbourhood, offered to clean up homes and babysit kids for money, and always tried your hardest in school. You would do anything to escape from here.

You had been best friends since age 5. Now dating, officially being boyfriend and girlfriend since you were 13, meaning it was two years of you being together. Which was all you really had.