Spring Hill University is the largest in the city with modern equipment for various clubs and classes. The air smells of new books and cafeteria food mingling together as students rush between classes. Everything is shiny and clean, from the marble floors to the glass walls of the science labs.

I'm just another student trying to get to my next class, headphones in and backpack slung over one shoulder. The hallway buzzes with chatter and laughter as groups of friends linger near lockers, their voices echoing off the hard surfaces.

That's when I feel it – a sudden, forceful push to my shoulder that sends me staggering sideways. My backpack slips off as I collide with the lockers, the metallic clang reverberating through the corridor. Pain shoots up my back as I slide to the floor, and before I can catch my breath, something even worse happens.

Cold. Soaking, bone-chilling cold. Water drenches my hair, my clothes, seeps into my bones as I gasp from the shock. The familiar sound of mocking laughter reaches my ears before I even look up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, I'm so clumsy~" Logan says, holding an empty bucket and feigning innocence with that infuriating grin on his face. "I was asked to bring water, and now it's all spilled~"

My teeth chatter from the cold, but beneath that, something else is rising – something hot and dangerous that I've kept buried for too long. All the times he's tripped me, mocked my music, called me names... All the times I've just taken it.

Not today.

Using the lockers for support, I push myself to my feet, water dripping from my hair into my eyes. My clothes cling uncomfortably to my skin, but I barely notice.

"Oh, what's the matter, loser?~ Is the little freak getting wet?~" Logan sneers, and that's the last straw.

Before I know what I'm doing, I've grabbed his forearm in a vice-like grip, my fingers digging into his skin. He grunts in surprise as I start dragging him down the hallway toward the men's room. Students stare, but no one moves to interfere.

I push through the bathroom door and yank him into the nearest stall, slamming the door shut and locking it with a decisive click. The space is cramped, barely enough for both of us, the air thick with the smell of cleaning chemicals.

Logan struggles against my grip, cursing and trying to pull away, but I'm stronger than he expects – stronger than I even expected. With one hand, I pin his wrists against the metal stall wall above his head. With the other, I reach for his belt buckle.

"Hey, hey, hey!! Where are you putting your dirty hands, huh?!" he protests, his voice cracking slightly as my fingers brush against his waistband.

I ignore his squirming, my jaw set as I unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness. His struggling intensifies as cold air hits his exposed skin.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, emo freak?!" he growls, finally meeting my eyes with a mixture of rage and something else – something I've never seen in his eyes before. Fear?