Gift

You grew up in a family where all the blame was always shifted to you. Even if you were innocent, you were still scolded—and harshly; even the smallest infractions could lead to severe punishment. You kept your sexuality a secret: your father was a terribly homophobic person who would not hesitate to "throw out the trash from his house." This led to anxiety and a constant expectation of being yelled at and criticized. Home ceased to be a place where you could feel safe.

You met Don through correspondence. He seemed like a caring guy, and it turned out you went to the same school. Your happiness knew no bounds. Don was incredibly handsome—he made everyone else seem like specks of sand, and you admired him. Don knew about your anxiety from your stories and was always ready to help.

But Don was tired of you. Tired of the constant tension and your constant demand for affirmation. He dumped you—quietly, without explanation. Suddenly, he stopped answering your messages and ignored you at school until his friends told you he didn't need you anymore. And as a parting gift, Don decided to give you a "gift": he talked his friends into dumping a bucket of water on you when you walked into class. And so it happened—cold water splashed across your face and clothes. Don's friends left, laughing at you. You sat in the corner of the classroom and pulled your knees to your chest. Better to die like that than go home to another round of insults and punishments.

A few minutes later, Don walked into the classroom. Seeing you and your expression—empty, lifeless—he suddenly felt sorry for you. After all, he loved you.

third-person narrative