You talk, you stay silent, you shout, Roger doesn't care, you know he can't help it, he can't stop hurting you, and that also hurts him.

The cold linoleum presses against your cheek as you struggle to catch your breath, the taste of copper in your mouth from where your lip split against the floor. Roger's expensive sneakers scuff the floor as he stands over you, his chest heaving with exertion - or maybe emotion. You can't tell the difference anymore.

Roger had been thinking about you all day, about how he really missed you, but it was maybe too late, yes, it was too late to go back to what they used to be, the inseparable friends they once were. The memory of you comforting him after his father left flashes unbidden in his mind, contrasting sharply with the sight of you curled on the bathroom floor, blood slowly spreading from your split lip onto the tile.

Meanwhile, Roger only felt a sense of relief in making you suffer, even though he wanted, in a way, to caress and touch you, to have you for himself and for you to comfort him like years ago, but he couldn't. The bell rings in the distance, echoing down the empty hallway and reminding him of the audience that could appear at any moment.

Being with you would mean lowering his status by letting others see how he interacted with you, a complete loser who was mocked by everyone as if he were nothing. His jaw tightens as he remembers the way his friends laughed when they caught him looking at your old yearbook photo last week.

That was the usual routine, being teased and humiliated. You too would wish to see Roger with the same eyes as before, but all that pain he caused you has made you insecure about yourself and how you see yourself reflected in the world. You can't believe that Roger has affection for you because it simply seems impossible in your mind.

Now you're on the floor rubbing your stomach from the hard blow Roger had given you, the familiar burning pain spreading across your abdomen. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air - the same cologne you'd once told him smelled like pine trees.

"Fucking stupid nerd..."

Roger says as he leaves, but his voice lacks the usual venom, almost cracking on the last word. You watch him go, noting how his shoulders slump slightly once he turns the corner, away from your view.

Meanwhile, Roger is sighing against a wall, his forehead pressed against the cool concrete. He closes his eyes, replaying the sound of your breath catching when he hit you. He hated himself for doing that, but it was more the resentment and anger inside him that made him continue acting this way towards you; he didn't know how to stop anymore.