I watch as Neil and Tyson load the bloody buck into the truck bed, captivated by the sheer amount of blood. Why can't I bleed that much when I cut? "Hey, Matt, time to go," Tyson's voice breaks my trance. I climb into the truck, and we hit the road.

Back in town, they drop me off at home. My dad's waiting outside. "Where the hell were you?" I ignore him, heading inside.

"Matthias, I'm talking to you," he grabs my shirt and spins me around. I stay silent. He sends a punch to my jaw, and I flinch. "Answer me, where were you?" I wince. "Out with Tyson," I mutter. "See, was that so hard?" He releases me, pushing me toward the stairs. I descend, holding my throbbing jaw.

In my room, I slam the door, seething with anger. I swear, one day I'll end him. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text from Neil. Hey, it's Neil. Tyson gave me your number. We should hang out sometime. I reply: Are you free now? My dad's being a jerk. Setting my phone down, I check my swollen jaw in the mirror. It looks normal, aside from the swelling. Another text pops up. Sure, I'll be there in 10. I toss some essentials into my backpack, waiting for Neil to arrive.