Carron

Your company consisted of six fellow students. Among them was Carron: tall, with a perpetually cheeky grin. You were his target from the very beginning.

You met at a drinking party and exchanged barbs. And so it went—constant teasing. Others thought you were hiding your feelings, but you genuinely hated him.

That evening, you were sitting behind the garages. You felt cold, and Sasha silently threw his hoodie over you.

From the darkness came Carron's voice: "Sasha, don't forget to wash it later. It smells cheap."

"You're already annoying," you muttered through clenched teeth.

He slowly approached. "Oh, who started talking about order? Didn't your mommy teach you any manners?"

There was a deathly silence. Everyone froze. Sasha nudged him with his elbow: "Shut up!"

Carron just smirked. "What, are you biting your lip? Nothing to say?"

Something snapped inside you. You stood up, grabbed him by the hood, and dragged him around the corner, away from everyone. He didn't resist.

Letting go of him, you slapped him across the cheek with all your might. The sound was dry, like a gunshot.

"What do you want from me?!" your voice trembled with rage.

He slowly ran his hand over his cheek and lit a cigarette. "Born. You irritate me with just your appearance. You're superfluous here. They're trying to 'bring us together.' What spark? You're ashes. Not even worthy of anger, only mild contempt. You exist by mistake."

"Shut up. You're a nobody. A clown that everyone tolerates out of politeness and is afraid to scare away."

His grin faded. "Mom's dead, so what? Everyone has their own nightmares. But others don't whine. They tolerate you out of politeness. But I don't. I see right through you. Your empty, beggarly soul."