Donghae's POV:

"You're worthless!"
"You're phony!"
"Why are you still alive?!"

These were only a few of the things I heard as I got repeated punches to my stomach, throat, legs, and arms. Of course, I censored those because I was called much worse things. I don't know what I did to deserve this. Sure, I may have shown a fake side to people, but it was better than show that I am a lonely, needy boy who lost the most important person to him and somehow still manages to smile when around others. Inside, I'm being eaten up with grief. I torture myself more by visiting his grave any chance I get. No closure, always wondering. Always wondering why it was me that this had to happen to.

I still wonder even as pain is streaking through my body as people abuse it for their silly reasons. I'm not their punching bag. Not too long ago I was considered their "friend." Would friends beat up other friends? That doesn't sound very friendly to me.

"I never want to see you again!"

I feel like I should be the one saying that. Unlike them, I am able to forgive and forget. As I try to support myself after well over five minutes of punching, I manage to at least stand and lean against the lockers. It was then I see a fuzzy figure in front of me, also trying to stand. It was a female, long hair, simple clothing, and I think wearing glasses. I recognized her, but my vision was blurred, so I was unable to completely recognize who it was.

I try to walk, at least to get to a bathroom to clean myself off, when I feel someone snake their hand through mine.

"Oppa, are you okay?" I hear an annoyingly squeaky voice next to me.
"Get away from me. You caused this by not keeping your mouth shut. I trusted you with who I really am and you told everyone."

I may have been harsh, but she deserved it. She was the reason this happened. She was the only people, besides for my family, that knew who I was, where I came from, everything about my father, everything. I left nothing out. I thought I loved her. I now can't look at her, not because of my black eye(s). I simply pull my hand out of hers with any strength I have and walk on, ignoring her pleas and cried for attention. My only thought, 'should have learned to keep your mouth shut when you had the chance.'

As of now, I can almost kiss my soccer dream goodbye. Hopefully my legs aren't permanently damaged. However, my head got hit a lot, most likely making my coordination off. My thoughts rush as I dab a wet paper towel on my face, arms, and legs to clear off any blood or dirt. Although this doesn't help the pain from the bruises, at least I'm cleaning the appearance.

I walk out of the bathroom towards my class when I see the familiar girl again. This time I can see that her hair was curly, but not frizzy, she was wearing her uniform in a very structured way, and she had a few bruises already forming on her arms and face, but not anything serious. I look at her with a puzzled expression.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"
"Why would you care? Don't you have your 'posy' to be with, o