- 10.
Jason used to get into fights a lot because of
<
me when we were younger. In elementary
school, boys would pull my hair, lift my skirt,
and put things in my backpack and desk to
scare me.
In middle school, a boy who I’d rejected
started spreading rumors about me being
promiscuous, accepting gifts from boys while
leading them on.
Jason confronted them one by one until no
one dared to gossip about me anymore.
One time, that same boy and his friends
cornered Jason after school and pushed him
out of a classroom window.
It was a first–floor window, thankfully, so he
didn’t get seriously hurt, but he landed on the
ground covered in shards of glass.
His arms were sliced open. When I found him,
his uniform was soaked in blood.
His face was contorted in pain, but he still
managed to reassure me, saying he was fine.
<
managed to reassure me, saying he was nine.
Tears blurred my vision as I watched
helplessly as blood seeped from his wounds.
From that day on, I always carried band–aids.
Even though after that incident, I dealt with
bullies on my own and never told Jason again,
afraid he’d get hurt protecting me, I kept up
the habit.
Jason had teased me about it, calling me
overly cautious, but I saw the amusement in
his eyes. I knew he appreciated it.
But when Brianna arrived, she saw the band-
aids fall out of my bag and told Jason it was
childish to use Hello Kitty band–aids at our
age, as if I was trying to be cute even when
injured.
Jason had just laughed and agreed.
I snapped back to reality and gently shook my
head at Jason.
<
I said.
“Not now, not ever.”
Jason didn’t seem surprised. The blood
drained from his face.
He gave a hollow laugh.
“I see.”
The light in his eyes dimmed, like a dying
star.
