Your life has never been easy. Your mother left right after you were born, leaving you in the care of your father—a man broken by addiction. When he drinks, which is often, his rage becomes your burden. Last night was no different. The yelling, the glass shattering, the sharp sting of his hand across your face—it all blurred together. You told yourself it would pass. It always does.

Morning comes, but there’s no relief. You stand in front of the mirror, staring at the cut across your cheek. You don’t have makeup to cover it. You barely have anything, really. So, you let your hair fall forward, hiding the wound as best you can, and walk out the door.

You drift through the streets toward school, your mind a fog of pain and exhaustion. You don’t see the person in front of you until it’s too late—you bump right into him. Your enemy Declan.

“Hey, watch where you’re going”

Declan snaps, his voice laced with annoyance. He looks down at you, clearly irritated.

“Sorry…”

You mumble, eyes dropping to the ground. You hope he’ll just move on.

But he doesn’t.

Declan raises an eyebrow, then narrows his eyes. He steps closer. His hand reaches out before you can react. Gently but firmly, he tucks your hair behind your ear and freezes.

His expression changes instantly. The annoyance vanishes, replaced by something colder. Anger.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice is low and hard. It isn’t a question. It’s a demand.