The cracking sound of my ribs, the laughter, the thud of fists against my body. Their voices, snarling insults.

I groan and try to sit up, only for a sharp pain to shoot through my chest. My hand flies to my ribs, the other one to the back of my head. Everything aches.

My throat tightens as humiliation washes over me. How pathetic am I? Letting them get to me like that?

"Finally awake," a voice mutters from the corner of the room.

I don't need to turn to know who it is. "What are you doing here?" I rasp.

He hesitates. I hear the scrape of a chair as he moves closer. "I—" He stops himself, like he doesn't even know what he's doing here either.

Newt's face is pale, his blonde hair a mess. He looks wrecked, but not in the same way I am. Not physically.

"Just go," I mutter, shifting my head to look anywhere but at him. The movement makes the room spin, but I'd rather feel dizzy than see his face right now, when it's been on my mind for years.

"Sander." He sounds desperate, like he wants me to believe he cares. Like he hasn't spent years barely acknowledging me unless it suited him.

My fingers curl into the hospital sheets, my knuckles burning from where the skin's been torn raw. I shouldn't have walked alone. I shouldn't have... existed, I guess.

"I understand you're upset, and you have the right to be angry, but... but you can't just..." he trails off at a loss of words.

"You're in no position to tell me what to do when I'm upset. Look at yourself."

He looks up slowly, his expression so broken it physically hurts. "That's not fair," he whispers.

"Fair?" I try to push myself up again, biting back a groan as my ribs protest. "Was it fair when your friends decided to use me as a punching bag? Or when you ignored me for years, but now you suddenly care?"

"You told me to change and I did. I have changed," he still speaks softly, but there's a new sort of sadness. "Why are you against it now?"

I stare at the ceiling, my chest tightening. I've spent so long hoping for something from Newt. A glance. A smile. The affection I've wasted years waiting on. And now, when he finally starts to care, I can't even let him in.

Maybe I'm falling in the same trap all over again. It might just be a façade.

He sighs when I don't reply. "Look, they're not my friends. You know that. I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I befriended them—"

"You weren't thinking. That's the point."

He flinches. For a second, I almost regret saying it. "I'm sorry. I know I've been a shitty person."

I close my eyes. The hospital bed creaks as I shift.

"Why are you even here?" I finally ask. "To make yourself feel better? To prove to yourself you're not like them anymore?"

"No. I'm here because I care about you."

"Stop lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not sure what caring about someone means for you, but apparently it's different."

"You can't just care about someone out of nowhere. You have to get along and like them for a few weeks before you can actually care about them. You randomly decided to like me yesterday or whatever, so you can't care about me just yet."

"Whatever. Can't I at least be worried that my roommate and sister's best friend is in the hospital? Don't say I don't care."

"You cared enough to be friends with them," I bite out. "You cared enough to laugh at their jokes and look the other way when they said things about me. Don't stand there and act like you're any different now. Maybe you've changed, but you've lied before, so why should I trust you now?"

"I didn't know they'd—"

"Stop," I snap. "Just stop. I don't want to hear it."

But he continues. "I'm not like that anymore. I was stupid, and I was selfish, and I hated myself so much I let it make me hate everything else too. I'm trying, Sander. I'm trying to be better."

"That's what they all say."

"There is no 'all'."

"Yes, there is!" Raising my voice hurts. Moving around too much hurts. This conversation hurts.

I'm sorry, Sander. I know I've been selfish. I know I've been uncaring. But I promise I do love you. I'm really trying. I am. I am trying to get better. For you, for Helen, for Krista— for all of you.

And Mom always lied.

I study Newt for a moment, the way his hands are trembling in his lap. He looks like he means it. But how many times have I imagined this moment? How many times have I told myself that he was better than the people he hung around with, only to be proven wrong again and again?

"I'll leave you alone," he mutters eventually, standing up. His hands are in his pockets as he walks away.

✧

"What happened to you?" Aris wonders, eyes wide as he takes me in.

"Doesn't matter. Let's finish this project." I let both him and Jeff inside. They awkwardly sit down on the couch. Newt greets them with a nod, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Aris gives him some weird kind of look. "I feel quite... strange here. One of you chased me with a knife and the other one looks like he became the eventual victim."

Jeff's head snaps towards Newt. "Yo, what the..."

"Yeah, that was an interesting moment," Newt murmurs.

"Mind you it was my first impression of you," Aris adds.

"I'm very sorry. I could explain all of it right now, but it's a bit complicated—"

"He wanted to show off to his friends but he's really just a pussy," I interrupt. I can't help it.

How dare he even do something like that to Aris?I don't care that he was pressured into it—I know people who wouldn't do it no matter how much they get influenced. 

"Erm, yeah, we should really finish that assignment now," Jeff agrees.

"Do you guys want something to drink?" Newt wonders.

"No, thank you," they both reply.

He eyes me. "What about you?"

I shake my head, putting my laptop down on the coffee table as I prop my knees below me on the floor. It hurts, but I don't care.

According to the doctors, I have a few broken ribs, a concussion, and bruised liver. My swollen eye should heal just fine along with everything else. 

"Put a pillow below you when you sit down," Newt starts. "You know you can't—"

"You're not my father."

With a loud sigh, he gives up and walks into his bedroom, slamming the door shut with a loud bang.

"Anyway," I mutter. "Where were we?"

"Presentation preparations."