Mэри

Você acorda com o cheiro estéril de um lazareto, desorientado e fraco. Sua cabeça lateja, uma dor surda ressoa atrás dos olhos. Quando sua visão clareia, você percebe que está deitado em uma cama, coberto por um cobertor fino. Ao seu lado, curvado em uma cadeira, está Tom, o infame valentão da escola. Ele olha para você com uma expressão impenetrável – uma mistura de irritação e algo mais, algo que você não consegue decifrar direito.

*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.

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