It's Sunday now. I'm unlocking the door of the dorm after bringing Claire and Ledger back home.

It's uncomfortably silent in the dorm. No Claire crying her eyes out or Ledger babbling with Minho. Sonya is also home. I don't know where Newt is.

I need to get out. I need to walk. I need to feel something other than this hollow feeling sitting in my chest.

I hate being alone.

So, I grab my jacket, shove my hands into the pockets, put my headphones on, and leave without a second thought.

The streets outside are less crowded than usual. It's Sunday, after all. The cool air brushes against my face as I walk aimlessly through familiar streets.

It doesn't take long before I see them—four guys leaning against the corner of a building, hands in their pockets.

"Hey, look who it is," one of them sneers, and my stomach drops.

I try to walk past them, trying to pretend like I'm not paying attention, but one of them steps right in front of me. "What's up, faggot?" With a tap of his finger, my headphones end up on the ground.

I try to step around him, but his hand shoots out, grabbing my arm and forcing me to stop. "What's the hurry? Got somewhere to be?"

"Yeah." Again, I attempt to step forward, but they close in around me. So I take a step back instead, my heart racing, my palms sweating. "Can we maybe not? I didn't do nothing to you guys."

"You're influencing Newt." The first punch lands against the side of my face before I even see it coming.

The impact sends me stumbling back, my head spinning for a second. It takes me a moment to regain my balance, but they don't give me the time.

Another punch, this time to my stomach, and I gasp for air, my vision flickering as I feel the wind knocked out of me. My knees buckle, but I don't fall. I can't fall. If I do, I know they won't stop.

They keep pushing, shoving me around, laughing with every strike. Their words don't stop either, slurs flying from their mouths like it's their job to remind me of who I am and who I'll never be.

I try to fight back. I try to shove one of them away, but they grab me again, dragging me to the ground.

My head slams into the concrete with a sickening crack. My ears ring. For a second, the world is nothing but pain and confusion.

I do my best to push myself up, but my arms won't cooperate. Something warm trickles from my nose, mixing with the taste of blood in my mouth.

A fist cracks across my jaw, sending a jolt of pain straight through my skull. My teeth rattle, my lip split from the force. I barely have time to recover before the same guy punches me in the ribs. My desperate attempts of gasping for air are useless.

For who knows how long, I'm just a ragdoll being thrown around by them.

One of them kicks me again, this time in my stomach. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, the heat of the tears in my eyes threatening to spill over, but I force them down. I can't show them.

Eventually, they get bored. Or maybe they just think they've made their point. I'm not sure which. They start to back off, the insults slowing, but the damage is done. I can barely move, my body aching in places I didn't even know I had.

One of them spits near me one last time. I lay there for a long time, unable to move, the tears stinging my eyes.

Eventually, I push myself to my feet, slowly, my body screaming with every movement. I can barely stand, but I force myself to walk, dragging my body down the street. The world feels hazy around me.

When I get back to the dorm, I stumble inside, barely registering the surroundings. My hands are shaking. I lock the door behind me, but I don't feel safe.

I make my way to the bathroom, my legs unsteady, and stare at myself in the mirror. My face is a mess—blood and bruises, my lip split, my eye swelling already. It's almost unrecognizable.

I try to steady myself, but it's hard. I give up after a while, sinking down next to my bed, face buried in my hands.