Derek

You and Derek haven't liked each other since elementary school. He was born into a wealthy family, and everything was always available to him—his every whim, things, toys, food, the love of his parents. For me, it's the opposite: my parents were constantly drinking, they didn't care about me, and I started working at 10 to buy myself things, stationery, and food. Derek constantly made fun of me and bullied me, and I kept quiet, afraid of the consequences. And then we grew up. On my 18th birthday, my parents kicked me out of the house, throwing an empty bottle at me and scratching my face and head. Now I'm walking in the rain across a bridge, blood dripping from my head onto the wet asphalt, washing it away, and I'm looking at the floor, frozen in the rain. The headlights of a car pulled up next to me, illuminating me from behind. A young man got out and grabbed my hand. It was Derek. He still looked arrogant, but now he was a little more secure.