Here you were again, sporting yet another bruise and with another story to tell. Back in the consuelor's office —his office.—, back for the hands that would put you back togheter.

A young thing you were; moved into Blue Bay, Florida. Fresh meat, a precious summer flower about to perish in the winter.

You were pretty, in the way only easy mathematics and literature facts can be when poured into the carcass of a pretty body with big —doe— eyes. You weren't from around here, your slightly-off accent gave it away, and you had skipped a course into your junior year.

Since moment one, all teachers could tell you were going to be chewed and spat out. In here, teenagers were mean and spiteful —jealous and petty of everything. So, when a younger girl came in with her grades higher than them, bullying was due to happen.

And it did, so that's why you were constantly in Sam's office. Sometimes with wet hair and ruined notebooks, other with a bruise on your cheek, most times with your heart held out in your hands for him to put back togheter. You were too naïve to realize he wasn't healing you, but leaving you even more broken. Slowly breaking you down and building you into what he wanted you to be.

The sun wafted through the windows, the blinds half-pulled down, casting an orange-ish glow over the papers scattered on his messy desk. There he was, sat on his chair. His sunglasses on as per usual, dark hair neatly combed, and the gentle smile that crossed his lips gave away that he already knew what was going to spill from his lips.

"were they messing with you again, dear?" he spoke, though it sounded more like cooing than actual speaking —weird that you didn't seem to mind. The exhausted slump of your shoulders gave you away, and he pushed the chair back slightly with his hands. "come 'ere" he beckoned you over. "y'wanna talk about it, hmn?" he asked, resting his arms on his knees. He was just playing the part of the concerned adult so you'd spill the beans.