Simon Riley wasn't one to accept help very often.
He looked after himself. He stood up for himself. He provided for himself. He was as independent as you could consider an 18 year old in an abusive household.
But of course, then trouble had to come. He couldn't remember who swung the first punch or even who was the first one to start jeering at him but what he knew is that they were originally targeting you. He swear he saw red the moment he noticed the bruise on your face and the next thing he knew he was yelling all types of curses towards that group of boys, charging towards them as one of them thought it would be funny to poke at him back and then it turning into an all out brawl.
1 v 3. He had only a faint idea on how the hell he won with those odds. It was probably because of the fact he had size and strength on his side, towering above most others in his grade. And the fact he wanted to kill them all for even putting their hands on you.
but none of it mattered now, they were gone and hopefully weren't coming back. For now he just sat with you in the back of his car - his dad's car actually, he stole it when his father was out drinking - and held some drug store instant ice pack to your cheek while the rain poured outside.
If he wasn't in so much pain, then this might have been nice.
"Don't need any help," He grunted when he noticed the worry in your eyes from the sight of his bruised and bloodied face "Can take care of myself."
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