The first time he hit me was the time it hurt the most.
Apparently I'd been staring at him for too long, or maybe too hard, and he didn't like it. He was waiting for me outside the newsagent when I went to buy a paper.
Pain blossomed in my cheek like a burning flare. I tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood, my head snapping around with the force of the impact.
My own impetus knocked me off my feet, and my balance shattered, sending me spinning to the floor.
As my face slammed into the tarmac pain shot through my nose, and I saw dark red blood spill out onto the pavement. The recoil came, already too late as muscles belatedly kicked into action, rolling me over to stare up at him.
I expected him to yell at me again, scream something homophobic and derogatory, but he didn't. He just stared.
There was something in his eyes, but it wasn't anger, nor was it the loathing I expected, but something else altogether.
I couldn't say for sure, but it looked like denial...
It was explained away easily enough. The nosebleed was dealt with, the scrapes cleaned up, the excuses of carelessness and clumsiness made. No-one knew and no-one cared - everyone accepted the alibi and the explanation.
Everyone except me. I alone knew the truth - who had hit me and why.
The second time, I probably deserved it even more than the first.
I hadn't seen him coming. I pulled the classroom door open and walked straight into someone. All the frustrations and annoyances of the insufferable day I'd just had came
flooding to my lips, but before the torrent could start my head flicked up, and I recognised him.
«Why don't you look where you're...» The words trailed off, turning to ash in my mouth. I swallowed them, their taste acrid and bitter as they trailed a slow, tortuous journey down my throat. Anger flared up again in his eyes, and I flinched.
This time it was just a slap, open-handed and with little power behind it. My cheek burnt with the memory of the earlier blow, a few days ago now, but there was little real pain.
His hand dropped back to his side and his eyes widened with emotion - which one I couldn't tell. My own hand came up to cover my cheek, the abraded skin flushed and thrumming with blood which lent it a warmth far greater than that of my cool palm.
He started to stammer his way through an apology. I looked straight at him and saw the brightness in his eyes - he was crying! I couldn't believe it.
I pushed past him and raced off to catch my bus.
I sat alone, my CD player blaring Alanis Morissette into my ears. Normally I'd have to stop myself singing along, but today her words fell on deaf ears. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd seen - he'd hit me, then started crying! He couldn't feel the same way, could he?...
No. My subconscious cut me off instantly. There was no-one else like me, no-one as screwed up as I was.
The third time, it wasn't so much a physical as an emotional blow.
I was coming out of Chemistry late, but it didn't matter. My bus was always late, and today would be no exception.
I thanked the teacher despite the tortuous experiment she'd just put us through, and left the lab.
Instantly, I saw him. The Science corridor was long and straight, and there he was, walking straight towards me.
I looked around wildly, but my teacher had already gone, locking the door behind her. There was nowhere to hide.
I decided to brazen it out. I hunched my shoulders and dropped my head into what I hoped was a nonthreatening pose, and set out to walk past him.
I never made it. As I passed him, he lashed out, shoving me over and pinning me against the wall. I had only a second to take in the expression in his dark brown eyes as he lunged forward...
He was kissing me. I tried to push him away, but something stopped me.
It only lasted a second. He pulled away. I gasped, reached out for him, but he was already gone, leaving nothing but a memory - his dark hair brushing my forehead as his lips pressed against mine. I gathered up my coat and left.