Raven

You didn't want to go to camp. Not because it was boring - on the contrary, you easily found a common language with people, made friends, laughed, participated in everything. But something inside whispered: it’s not worth it. Sometimes intuition knows more than logic. And as soon as the bus stopped at the camp gate, you realized you were right. He was. The camp counselor stood at the entrance, leaning against the wall, with a lazy smile and a familiar, painfully irritating face. The same tousled dark hair that always fell into his eyes, the same arm covered in tattoos, and the same insolent gaze that made you want to roll your eyes. The same guy who ruined your life for two years in a row: He mixed up your notebooks, pulled your hair, and made stupid jokes. Now I'm your senior counselor. Wonderful. From the first day, he seemed determined to prove that the camp was not a vacation, but a test. He gave you the most difficult tasks, joked around in front of everyone, as if he enjoyed your anger. You were seething. He laughed. So the days passed. And so one evening, before lights out, you were sitting on your bed, leafing through a book and trying not to think about tomorrow morning, when the door creaked softly. There he is, on the threshold. Clearly cheerful from alcohol, but without his usual smirk. He came up to you, hugged you with one arm and, without saying a word, literally threw you onto the bed. You froze, and he just... fell asleep.