A/N: Mentions of bullying, relationship abuse, & self-harm

I tugged at the end of my sleeves, walking anxiously along the rusted fence that wrapped around my new school. It was late spring; I'd hoped that despite the warmth in the air, the dampness would let me and my jacket blend in a little better. But I saw several boys loitering around in short sleeves, and knew then that I'd probably stick out among them. I glanced at them all through the spires of the rusting fence, wondering which ones I would maybe befriend, which would despise me and my mere existence and vice versa, and which of them I'd never get to know.

I managed to not draw too much attention to myself walking through the concourse. I only felt a few scattered sets of eyes land on me as I walked by, but most were deep in conversation with their friends, and even those who saw me didn't seem to really see me. I ghosted up to the front door of the building and pushed the heavy wood to find myself in the huge corridor inside.

I pulled my crumpled class schedule out of my pocket. I had physics first, in room 317. I looked around to see if I could find an elevator, like my old school had. In glancing around I found a map of the school posted on a tall board, with the different wings on the different floors. There was an elevator, but apparently for handicap access only. I sighed; a few flights of stairs might be manageable for someone who got regular exercise and had the legs to carry their bodies up those floors, but I was scrawny and out of shape, and this wasn't going to be easy. There were stairs just to my left; I huffed a breath and started my upward trek.

I was passed by several fitter boys than myself on the way up, and couldn't help a heavy sigh every time they raced passed me. I almost lost track of how many flights I'd gone up; thank god for the little placards numbering each floor. When I finally got to three, the worries over the transfer to a new school and meeting new people seemed to dissipate in a brief moment of relief. I opened that heavy wooden door and entered a new hallway. My class wasn't too far from there.

I entered the lab two minutes late, and the class had already gotten started. I peeked through the window and immediately decided there was no way I could go in now without making a complete ass of myself the first class of my first day at a new school. I'd just go sit outside my next class and wait for that one, so I could be the first one in and not have to be embarrassed. Sure, my fellow classmates might think I'm a nerd for getting there first, but once they inevitably notice how I never actually do any work, maybe I'd fall into their good graces.

I checked my schedule again. In an hour I had English in 213. I smiled a bit to myself –no more stairs to climb. I headed down to the second floor and found the room easily. There was another class in a lesson inside, so I had to hope that no one would have to come or go and see me sitting there next to the door. I slid down the wall and dropped my bad beside myself, pulling out my phone and sticking one ear bud in, keeping the other open for alert.

Try to be normal, I told myself. Three years now. Then you have the rest of your life.

All too soon, someone came down the hall. I didn't look at him for a long moment until he was looking through the window into the classroom. He was too tall to see his face, so I looked down at my phone pretending to be busy, hoping he would ignore my presence.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I nodded stiffly, opening and closing apps, still acting like I was doing anything but worrying over having some company now. I heard the shuffling as he sat down to my left, and I resisted the urge to scoot a few inches away.

Things were silent for a long time. Eventually I lifted my eyes timidly, and saw he was just sitting there cross-legged on the floor. Didn't he have something he could be using to fill the empty time while he just… sat there? I reached a shaking hand up to remove the ear bud, and I joined in the silence of the hallway.

"Never seen you around here before."

I hadn't expected him to say anything, and stumbled on a response. "I- This is my first day. I just came from a different school…"

"Where'd you move from?" He seemed friendly enough; I hesitatingly decided I could bear some conversation with the pleasant stranger.

"I didn't move from anywhere. Some… stuff happened at my old school, so now I'm here. Transferring- Transferring was hell, though. Lots and lots of paperwork that my parents made me fill out myself to come here. They've been very supportive with the move, though. I guess it makes sense that I had to put the effort in to make the switch."

He hummed a little, nodding. He leaned forward a little, while I kept my back pressed against the cold wall. The school was incredibly warm, and my layers weren't very comfortable. He was in long sleeves, too; I figured maybe he wouldn't question my jacket and all that.

"What kind of… stuff?" he asked, voice soft like he wasn't going to press for an answer if I didn't want to give one, but casual like he wasn't going to judge my reasons.

I sighed heavily and stared down at my lap. "Some… assholes that I had to deal with. And my ex-boyfriend was a complete douche to me, always putting me down and convincing me I wasn't good enough –for him or for anyone else. Like he only stuck around because he pitied me, and for a while, I was actually grateful." I scoffed at my own naivety. "Fourteen years old and he managed to shoot down any shred of self-esteem I had, and for a while I was completely dependent."

I saw his face redden a bit, and he started stuttering. "You- You don't have to tell me if- if you don't want to."

I shook my head, relieved to address it out loud. "You're not the first person I've told. I told a teacher I trusted, who told my parent by obligation. They talked to me about it and I told them everything, and I started going to counseling. I like to think I'm better now. Still, I couldn't stand to be in the vicinity with him any longer, and I needed to get out and go somewhere else."

He didn't respond, just stared down at his open lap. I let the silence settle around us, indifferent to whether or not the conversation continued.

"Did he ever hurt you?"

I shook my head, though he wouldn't see it. "Not physically, anyone, though he always threatened to. Still, I couldn't live like that."

After another long pause, I leaned forward to get a better look at my new companion. But as soon as I got close, he turned his face away and turned in on himself, closing off from me. I frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, brushing it off as if it really was. "You don't need to see me, trust me. You'll find out –everyone here talks, and they'll tell you."

He seemed so bitter I just had to know what was bothering him. I honestly had no idea what was bringing on this sudden concern for someone whose name I didn't even know, but I found myself still pushing for an answer. "No, I want to know. I doubt anyone else will give me a real story about you like you could. Talk to me –what's wrong?" I tried to keep my voice soft, but my curiosity was only growing.

He didn't say anything. Eventually he let out a heavy, trembling breath, and sat back against the wall, turning to face me.

I held a gasp in my throat. The entire side of his face was burned, red raw as if it was fresh. A long dark fringe barely hid a milky white eye; there was no color or pupil to be seen. I couldn't ignore how his other eye was watering up a bit, and before I could fearfully ask what had happened, he went on.

"That's not all of it," he laughed bitterly, staring down again. "Most of my right side is like this, burned all over, but I won't show you that. There are splotches of it all over my chest and running down my leg, and my arm is pretty much deformed. All the nerves there are dead; I can't feel any of it, and I can't see in my right eye."

I could tell he hated talking about it, looking about ready to break down by just telling me. He wasn't hiding much of it, though, at least not on his face. I had to wonder how people had reacted in the past. From what I knew of people our ages, they'd probably ostracized him, or ignored him. And maybe it was only because of not understanding, or not knowing how to react. Kids could be cruel –I knew it all too well. And he seemed affected by the scum of our generation as much as anyone.

My mind buzzed with questions I couldn't bring myself to ask. I sat back, letting the information sink in. "I… I'll show you my scarring if you show me yours…"

He seemed taken aback by my offer. "You…"

I lifted the sleeve of my jacket for what felt like the first time in forever, and let someone in on my darkest secret for the first time. I showed him the scars crisscrossing my arms. He just stared blankly at my arm, and I felt self-conscious as ever about it, but I didn't regret it and didn't tug my sleeve back down.

"I… I'm sorry that you do that to yourself," was all he could seem to say in response, and I smiled softly.

"Don't worry too much, I've been getting better. Therapy helps, and he doesn't know about this, but I'm slowly learning to like myself again…"

"So it was because of your abusive ex?" I nodded. "I'll kill him if you give me the chance."

I laughed, pushing my hair out of my face. "You don't need to. From what I hear his parents watch him like a hawk, now, after they found out what he did to me."

The next silence wasn't so uncomfortable or empty, at least for me. I was kind of relieved to have finally told someone, and not have gotten disappointment or disgust in return. He seemed genuinely supportive and hoping that I'd get better, and maybe I was reading too much between the lines or putting words in his mouth, but he seemed to care.

It took him a long time, but eventually he pulled up his sleeve and turned to show me. Everything there was burnt more horribly than I could've imagined, and couldn't describe properly. His hand seemed to have the worst of it, fingers twitching every once in a while as all I could do was stare. I felt so guilty for just gawking but I could hardly imagine what had caused this. He told me it was an accident; it didn't sound convincing, but I'd never know the truth about how this all came to be.

"It's not the same, though," he sighed. "As bad as this looks –and trust me, I know it does— it's not gonna ever be worse than what you've been doing to yourself, because yours were all self-inflicted. And I really do hate that you feel this way about yourself, even if you are getting better; I can't imagine being in that kind of dark place."

I softened a bit more and scooted closer to him, reaching over and taking his burnt hand with the one leading up to a ladder of healed hate wounds. He looked to me, and I smiled a little.

I knew he couldn't feel how I was holding his hand tight in mine. He had his eyes shut tight, tears leaking from the corner of the good one. I leaned in to whisper, "I'm squeezing your palm, and running my thumb over your fingers."

He smiled, and I did, too, a little brighter.

When the bell rang for the next class, we had to part ways for him to go across the hall. We both pulled our raised sleeves down as students filled the hall.

"Will I see you again?" I asked nervously.

"Tomorrow? Same time, same place?"

I grinned and nodded, waving goodbye and ducking into my classroom. I didn't care about whatever might happen for the rest of this first day. I didn't mind being the new kid now, because I'd already made a friend, and I was seeing him again tomorrow. Who needed physics, anyway?