I fucking hate him.

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He didn't show up the next day in school after our meeting in the bathroom, and I started to feel angry and childish. I picked up his damn pencils... I tried to sympathize with him, but I didn't even know his name.

It wasn't until the following Monday that I saw him again. He was wearing a yellow shirt and black skinny jeans, and the color suited him. He was being shoved into a locker by a guy twice his size in our class. The bully was holding him by the neck of his t-shirt against the locker and demanding something, but the emo kid wouldn't answer.

He asked again and slammed the emo kid hard against the lockers. The kid didn't seem to be resisting. The bully started lifting him up by the collar, causing his shirt to roll up and revealing his fragile, skinny frame underneath. His jeans were sagging lower as he was being choked and lifted up.

Right then, the large guy spat in his face, let go of his neck, and punched him in the gut. The kid dropped to his butt, gasping for air and covering his stomach.

It felt right.

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