At some point, I realize I’m back in the dorm, sleeping with my arm out over the side of the bed. It’s not comfortable. My arm usually falls asleep.

But it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it is. That’s the rule. We have to keep an arm out so⁠—

I don’t really know why. Probably so that it’s hard to sleep. Or so they can drag us out of bed easier.

I don’t know I’ve fallen asleep until the man I’ve never met shakes my shoulder, forcing me to wake. His face is mostly in shadows, but I know him. My heart races once again, like waking up from a terror.

“You’ll give in,” he says, obviously not caring if he wakes up the rest of the people in the dorm. “We’ll win in the end. We always win. Why is that?”

My mouth is dry, but he won’t leave until he has an answer.

“Because I’m worthless.”

“That’s right. You’re worthless, and you’re not going to win.”

He stands and leaves me there, terrified and unable to think of anything other than what I did to the boy. It’s my fault. Never again.

Never. Ever. Again.

DEAN

The grime that covers my hands adds to my annoyance.

I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like when my hands are dirty at all, but⁠—

It’s not oil or grease from the shop. It’s not even dirt on my hands from pulling weeds out of the ground at my house.

It’s blood.

I hold my hands up in front of my face. There’s not much light—just a streetlight and the moon—but the streaks all over my hands look black. My heart beats a bit faster at the realization.

That’s blood.

There’s more of it all over me. On my jeans and my shirt. I pat my face. Blood on my face, too, but I don’t think it’s mine.

I checked myself over. No wounds. I’m sore, but nobody stabbed me or shot me. I’m sure I would feel that.

Where did the blood come from? There’s a faint light that spills into the alley way. I look around as my vision clears, searching for clues.

I feel like I’ve been running. I can’t catch my breath. My lungs burn like I ran for miles, but⁠—

Where am I? Fuck!

I flex my hands again. My knuckles are sore and slightly bruised. My entire body aches, actually. My thighs hurt and my core. What did I do? Get tackled? There’s nobody here with me. I wait a moment, listening, but all I can hear is my own heavy panting.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, making me alert and awake, but why?