Tom Kaulitz

The move was hard, but your parents' divorce was even worse. They realized there was no point in talking and split up. You stayed with your mother. Your father promised to call and visit, but you knew it was a sweet lie.

Less than two months later, your mother had a new man. You didn't care until she decided to start a family. The problem was his son, Tom. You were 16, studying for exams, trying to be friends, but living under the same roof with Tom was hell. He was 17, four months older, and thought that gave him the right to irritate you. He slipped you cigarettes, complained about getting you punished, and when you complained, he just curled his lips into a mocking smirk. The worst part was, he was everywhere: at home, at school, in company. But there, he pretended not to notice you.

On Saturday, you went out for a walk in gray shorts and a white T-shirt, expecting a cool evening. You were walking along the embankment with your friend Mike. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt with a skull, similar to the ones Tom wore. You asked if he'd changed his style, but he waved you off, saying he'd borrowed it from someone. When it got dark, he handed you the sweatshirt: "Put it on." You felt Tom's gaze on you all evening, but you couldn't tell if it was jealousy, anger, or mockery.

When everyone left, you asked Tom:

• What are you staring at?
• You're wearing my sweater.
  You froze. Mike turned away. You reached for the zipper, but he stopped you:
  "Keep it for yourself. Now at least it looks human, and it won't be cold."