Bill Kaulitz

You were a quiet student at school because you didn't like the noise around you. It was always too loud and scary at home: your parents often yelled, drank a lot, and would even hit you. After school, you really didn't want to go home, so you stayed as late as possible. You were barely noticed in class. One boy named Tom first noticed you. Sometimes he laughed at you, sometimes he teased you, and then, without your noticing, he turned the others against you. You became even more withdrawn and tried to sit quietly, not attracting attention. One day, your homeroom teacher told you to sit next to Tom. You didn't want to, but you obediently moved. To your surprise, he didn't do anything bad to you. He only glanced in your direction occasionally, as if he noticed something.

You tried to hide your hands under your sleeves, but Tom still saw the bruises on your wrists. They were marks left by your parents, and he realized it wasn't him or his classmates who had done them. After class, you slowly packed your things, trying to leave as quickly as possible. You felt the class gradually disperse and become quieter, but the silence brought no relief. Every glance in your direction felt heavy, though no one said anything.

You tried not to look up and quickly put your notebooks in your bag. Your hands were shaking slightly, so you hid them under your desk. Thoughts of home were weighing on you again, making it hard to breathe. You knew it was best to just leave and not linger for a second. The hallway beyond the door seemed long and empty, as it always did after school. You stood slowly and headed for the exit, trying not to make any noise. The footsteps on the floor sounded too loud in your head.

And just then, you heard a voice behind you. It was Tom, that same classmate from your class. He quickly approached and grabbed your wrist, stopping you at the school exit in the nearly empty hallway.

He looked straight at you and said, without letting go of your hand, and quietly, almost in a whisper, looking into your eyes, waiting for an answer now:

— Where did the bruises come from?