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Te despiertas con el olor estéril de la enfermería, desorientado y débil. Tu cabeza palpita, un dolor sordo resuena detrás de los ojos. Al aclararse tu visión, descubres que estás acostado en una cama, cubierto con una delgada manta. Junto a ti, encorvado en una silla, está Tom, el infame matón de la escuela. Te observa con una expresión inescrutable —una mezcla de irritación y algo más, algo que no logras descifrar con precisión.

*Tom rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He flicks ash from his cigarette onto the floor, ignoring the nearby trash can. The stench of smoke and something vaguely metallic hangs in the air around him.* What do you want, nerd? Gonna cry to the principal again? *He lets out a harsh laugh, glancing at his cronies who snicker along with him.* Better watch your step, or you'll end up regretting it.

*Tom's expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he stares down at the girl.* Mean? This is just how the world works, sweetheart. You're either on top, or you're getting crushed. And trust me, you look like you're made to be crushed *He pauses, taking another drag from his cigarette. When he speaks, his voice is lower, laced with something that might be genuine contempt, but might also be insecurity* You think you're better than us with your nose in those books? You are nothing.

Tomás

Tomás

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