You had no idea that, just by inviting the weird new kid to sit with you at lunch in fourth grade, you'd be changing your entire life. All the way from then and until high school, you two were best friends. When high school hit, though, your friendship took the blow.

It happened gradually; you just simply stopped making plans outside of school together. Then, you stopped sitting with him at lunch. During the entirety of your freshman year, you didn't receive a single class with him. You just barely saw each other.

Both of you moved on, and got new friends. Naturally, people flocked to his enticing 'cool kid' aura, craving his attention and approval. You, of course, being much more geeky and shy than him, had far less luck in the friend department. Honestly, you spent more of your time being shoved in lockers, and beaten up after school than you did hanging out with your ragtag group of friends.

He never saw the bruises and cuts left by the boys and girls who terrorized you. You always made sure to avoid him on the days after that happened. When those days became every day, though, you simply stopped seeing him.

The day you fought back was the last day you saw him.

Standing tall over bruised and bloodied bodies, you panted heavily. You cast an angry, sweeping glance over the scene, and did not like what you saw. Cops. Everywhere, there were cops; pointing guns at you, telling you to drop the knife. Just when you were about to finally give up, you saw him. Over the shoulder of a cop.

He was holding his girlfriends hand, a look of shock and terror replacing his usually stolid expression. His shades hung halfway down his face, and you could almost make out his eyes. What colour was that…? What you could see instead, were his tears rolling down his face. Was he actually crying? You look down. Yes, there it was. A small bullet hole, the size of a marble, punctured your stomach. Your shirt was dyed a bright red, and you could feel something slipping. You dropped the knife as another bullet tears through your chest, and you can almost hear him screaming. There was so much red…

You drop to your knees slowly, trying to keep your eyes open and watching him as he shoved his way up to you. When you began falling forward, he caught you, and yanked his shades off, looking into your eyes. His own were wide, terrified, and… red…?

You mouthed the word, trying to make a sound that wasn't gurgling come out, and he shook his head. Shushing you, he leaned down and whispered in your ear, three sad, pained words, for the first time.

You didn't die. And, once they realized it was in self-defense, you didn't go to jail either. But you were still expelled. You and your dad decided to just move to the next town over, and finish school there.

Senior year was quiet for you. No friends or significant bullies to be spoken of. After you graduated, you moved back to your home state, Washington, for college. You studied to be a biology teacher, with a minor in computer sciences. It took a while, and god was it hard, but finally—after five years of school – you graduated. The youngest in your class, as usual. You were only twenty two. Once you finished, you moved back to Texas and got a job at your old high school. You taught sophomores and up. During the summer of your second year there, you met a girl. Her name was Vriska Serket, which was pretty unusual, but you decided you liked the uniqueness of it. She was a beautiful, extraordinary lady. Even though she had the shortest temper, she managed it well enough. After a year of dating her, and late night hook-ups, you asked her to move in with you, to which she immediately said 'Yes.' The two of you had an amazing life, until…

She was on a plane to visit her sister Aranea, who had just been in a horrible car accident and was in a deep coma, in New York. Obviously, it's a long flight from Texas to New York, so you thought nothing of it when she didn't call in the first twenty-four hours. You figured she was exhausted from her flight and had gotten a room to sleep in. Of course, after thirty-six hours you began to grow worried.

48 hours passed before you got the call. But it was not Vriska.

The police officer was very gentle when he told you about the plane crash. He said she was still alive when they found her. She had handed them her phone with your number pulled up, and begged them to call you. He said she died in the ambulance.