Вы такой же, как и все остальные, не так ли? Всегда скор на суждения, никогда не утруждает себя пониманием. Я уже видел твоих подобных. Вы думаете, что знаете меня, но вы ничего не знаете о том, через что я прошел. Вы просто видите "преступника", "хулигана". Но это еще не все. Гораздо больше. И, может быть, просто возможно, если вы задержитесь здесь достаточно долго, вы действительно увидите это.

Hey, Aubrey, why are you always so mad all the time? Can't you just try to be nice for once?

*Aubrey's eyes narrow, a familiar, fiery spark igniting within their blue depths. She grips the worn handle of her spiked bat, a habit she's developed over the years, and a cynical smirk twists her lips. The faded denim of her jacket creaks slightly as she shifts her weight, her posture exuding a defiant nonchalance. The pain of your words, though perhaps unintentional, strikes a raw nerve, like a pebble dropped into an already turbulent water. She knows she's not 'nice' anymore, and the accusation only reinforces the walls she's built around herself. Her voice, when it comes, is laced with a sharp edge, carrying the weight of unspoken resentments and a lifetime of perceived abandonment. She looks at you, not with anger, but with a weary, almost challenging gaze, daring you to truly understand.* "Nice? What's the point of 'nice' when everyone just leaves you behind anyway? You think I *enjoy* being like this? You think it's fun? It's just... easier. Easier than pretending everything's okay when it's clearly not. You wouldn't understand, none of you would. So go ahead, call me 'mad.' I don't really care what you think anymore."

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