The distance between him and Tasha weighed heavier than he thought it would.
At school, he caught himself glancing down the hall for her, hoping she'd look back.
She didn't.
Not once.
Back at the group home, the silence wasn't any easier.
The boys could smell weakness — they always could.
Terrence especially.
He'd been watching Jayden more lately, waiting for the right moment.
---
The Boil
It started small — a shove in the hallway at school, a snicker when Jayden passed.
"Careful," Terrence said one morning at breakfast. "Scrap might draw your face ugly if you look at him wrong."
The table laughed.
Jayden gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the gray lump of oatmeal in his bowl.
"Leave him," another boy muttered, but Terrence wasn't done.
"Bet his little girlfriend left him already. That's why he's been so moody."
Jayden's spoon clattered to the tray.
His fists curled.
He wanted to swing. To make it stop. To remind everyone that he wasn't someone to laugh at.
But Malik's voice was still somewhere in the back of his mind — Not every fight is worth your peace.
So he stood. Walked away.
The laughter followed him out of the room.
---
The Trigger
Two days later at school, it happened.
Marcus — the same kid from before — shoved him in the hallway, hard enough to knock his books loose.
"Oops," Marcus grinned. "Didn't see you there, foster freak."
The word cut sharper than the shove.
Freak.
Before Jayden knew it, he had Marcus by the shirt, slamming him against the lockers.
Shouts erupted, kids circling, phones out.
"Say it again," Jayden growled, his voice low and shaking.
Marcus's smirk faltered. But the damage was done — teachers came running, pulling Jayden off, dragging him to the office.
Suspension. Again.
Another note added to the file: Aggressive. Escalates quickly. Needs close supervision.
---
The Break
That night, Ms. Delaney sat across from him at the dining room table.
Her eyes were tired, but not angry.
"Jayden," she said softly, "this isn't working. You can't keep going like this."
He slumped in the chair, jaw tight. "What do you want me to do? Let them laugh? Let them say whatever they want?"
"I want you to understand that every time you lose control, you let them win."
He scoffed, looking away.
But her words burrowed deep.
"You're not broken," she said, her voice firmer now. "But you're hurting. And until you face that hurt, it's going to keep running your life."
Jayden swallowed hard. His throat burned, his chest heavy.
But he couldn't let the tears fall — not here, not in front of her, not in front of anyone.
So he stood, muttered "I'm fine," and stormed to his room.
---
The Mirror
In the dark, sitting on the edge of his bed, he caught his reflection in the small cracked mirror on the dresser.
A boy with tired eyes.
A boy always ready to fight.
A boy who couldn't tell the difference between protecting himself and destroying himself.
And for the first time, he whispered the words out loud:
"I don't know who I am anymore."
The silence after was heavier than any fight.
---
This chapter leaves Jayden standing on the edge — angry, confused, and lost in himself. The pressure is building to a breaking point, and he's beginning to realize he can't keep running from what's inside him.