As the evening draped our neighborhood in a serene glow, I walked alongside Buddy, our faithful canine companion, the gentle patter of his paws echoing against the pavement. Amidst the tranquility, I found solace in confiding the unsettling events at school to my mom. Our bond was steadfast, allowing me to share even the most troubling aspects of my life, including the enigmatic figure who had become my tormentor. Unlike my grandmother's strict demeanor, my mom approached life with an open heart and a discerning mind. She urged me to rely on common sense, fostering empathy and understanding even in the face of adversity. While I admired her compassionate approach, I remained uncertain about how to navigate the complexities of my situation.

"Do you think he's merely toying with you, or does he harbor genuine malice?" Mom inquired, her voice tinged with concern.

"I honestly don't know. Do you think I should confront him?" I sought her counsel, hoping for clarity amidst the uncertainty.

"It's worth a try, but be prepared for any outcome. He may not be truthful," she cautioned, her words infused with maternal wisdom.

Jennie pressed her fingers lightly against her lips, a wistful smile adorning her features.

"Perhaps he harbors feelings for you. Why else would he kiss you? Right?" her mother proposed, her tone gentle, yet tinged with playful curiosity.

I shrugged, a heavy sigh escaping me, eliciting a soft chuckle from my mom at the depth of my perplexity.

"You might find his attention more appealing than you realize," Mom suggested, prompting an indignant protest from me.

"I'm just confused, Mom. That's all," I insisted, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Some boys struggle to express their emotions. They resort to misguided actions to garner attention. Your father, for instance, used to throw pebbles at me on our walk home from the school bus. At first, I mistook his actions for disdain, only for him to confess his affection. Perhaps if you confront this boy, he'll admit his true feelings for you," Mom recounted, drawing from her own experiences.

"Really?" I queried, intrigued by the notion of hidden sentiment.

"Didn't you claim to dislike him?" Mom teased gently, prompting a flush of embarrassment from me.

"I... I don't," I stammered, my words betraying a hint of uncertainty.

"Then it's simple. Tell him to stop or you'll report him to the school," Mom advised firmly, her resolve unwavering.

"Okay, Mom. I will," I agreed, though a lingering sense of trepidation remained.

"If he doesn't stop, call me and I will go to the school to take care of it. He can't get away with his rude behavior, she reassured me, her voice comforted me.

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The following day, his lips remained distant, shattering the fragile equilibrium between us. An unsettling unease enveloped me. Was I truly yearning for the touch of my tormentor's lips? Despite my efforts to disregard him, his presence lingered, a haunting specter in the recesses of my mind. As our gazes met, I found myself ensnared in the depths of his penetrating stare. Since when had his eyes held such mesmerizing allure? Damn it, I'm ensnared in his web. This guy is just playing with me. Don't fall for him, Jennie. Min Yoongi, I'm going to sue you!

After school, I sought refuge amongst my friends, yearning to evade the solitary journey homeward. Yet, fate conspired against me, as he materialized once more, a shadow trailing in my wake. Did he await my emergence? With each step, his presence loomed larger, a palpable tension thickening the air. Abruptly, he circled, a predatory silhouette barring my path, seizing my wrist with an iron grip. In the dwindling echoes of the deserted hallway, we stood alone, engulfed by a suffocating silence.

With a decisive flourish, he raised my trembling hands above, his touch suffused with possessive intent. His proximity was suffocating, his actions imbued with an unsettling fervor.

"Stop!" I pleaded, my voice trembling as his lips converged upon mine.

Beneath the veneer of hostility, a simmering anger lurked, his demeanor veering towards the precipice of violence.

"Never again call me a 'butt wipe,'" he snarled, his grasp tightening with each syllable.

"I won't. Please let me go," I implored, my voice tinged with apprehension.

He lowered my hands and placed them on his crotch making me palm him through his pants. My eyes grew big in shock, a jarring intimacy that left me reeling. I wasn't used to this treatment and, as if that wasn't enough, he whispered in my ear. "I hate you bitch, the epithet pierced the fragile veil of composure, leaving me adrift amidst a sea of confusion. 

I struggled to contain my anguish, refraining from questioning his motives amidst the tempest of his fury. With a parting gesture, I fled, the staccato rhythm of my footsteps echoing against the vacant corridor. Though I dared not cast a backward glance, I knew that Min Yoongi's laughter would linger, a haunting testament to my vulnerability in the face of his relentless torment.