It was a windy February afternoon. I leaned against the school entrance, waiting for my friend Jasmine to finish with her club ctivities. The hoodie I wore did little to protect me as the cold air cut right through it.
All this… just for my manga back.
I'd been kind enough to let Jasmine borrow it when she first got into anime, for whatever reason. I started her off with Erased—she loved it. So I gave her something longer: Fullmetal Alchemist, my all-time favorite manga series. I'd lent her a few volumes, and now I was waiting for her club to end so I could get them back.
Honestly, I was surprised Jasmine even approached me at all. We were total opposites. She had every bit of normalcy in the world, and I was… not.
"Hey! Naywood!"
I looked up—just in time for a fist to slam into my nose with a loud WHACK!.
I stumbled back against the wall, but rough hands grabbed my hoodie, keeping me pinned.
"You've got a lot of balls, you weak son of a gun! I told you to stay away from Jasmine! I told you!"
WHACK! WHACK! Two more punches across my face.
Through the daze, I saw who it was—Wilburt.
Wilburt was a loose case. The mall was open, but they forgot to unlock the doors, if you know what I mean. The guy didn't have morals, kindness—hell, I don't think he even had a soul.
Don't believe me? I've been to his house before. Our moms are friends, for whatever reason. One time, I dropped something off to his mom and saw he had a bird in a jar—just watching it suffocate. The guy was a psycho.
"H...hey Wilburt... h-how ya doin', man—"
WHACK! WHACK!
He glared at me. "You jerk. How many times do I have to tell you she's mine?" His voice dripped with venom.
Wilburt had this weird obsession with Jasmine. So when she started hanging out with me, that pretty much put me at the top of his crap list.
"Y-you told me a lot, Wilburt," I gritted through my teeth, trying to push through the pain. I could feel my face starting to bruise a hideous purple. "I... I just think it's better for her to choose who she hangs out with."
Wilburt looked at me like I'd just suggested he brush his teeth with tar.
"You think she knows what's best for her?"
"Yes," I spat, "I do."
He sneered. "Out of all people, she chooses to hang out with the guy who can be blown away by a light breeze."
I hid a scowl. "At least I don't belong in a penitentiary."
His eyes widened in anger. "The freak did you say?!"
Shit. I said that out loud.
He raised his fist again—but before it could connect with my already bruising face, another fist flew forward and hit him square in the jaw, knocking him back.
It was Jasmine.
She stood there in her purple and blue cheerleader outfit, glaring at Wilburt with pure defiance. Her parents had money to shell out for self-defense classes—she was a black belt with an amateur ranking in boxing. She didn't need a knight in shining armor because she was the knight in shining armor.
"Who the hell do you think you are!?" she shouted. "Putting your hands on him!?"
Wilburt rubbed his chin, grinning. "Hey there, doll. If you wanted to touch me, I would've let you—"
WHAM! Jasmine's foot connected with his face, sending blood from his nose.
"Touch him again," she said coldly, "and I'll break your hands."
Wilburt groaned, furious that she was taking my side again. They started arguing—like always. And I hated that I was used to it.
God, I'm pathetic. So freaking pathetic.
I snapped back to reality when Jasmine screamed, "I'd rather wipe my butt with sandpaper than ever go out with someone like you!"
I stifled a laugh—bad move. Wilburt glared at me, eyes full of deranged malice.
"I'll freaking kill you."
He'd said that plenty of times before, but this time… I believed him.
Jasmine glared right back. "And I'll kill you."
She grabbed my jacket sleeve and started dragging me away from the entrance.
The city of Manhattan was always bustling—people were too busy to care about teenage drama. As we walked, her grip on my wrist tightened. Jasmine was tall, with dirty-blonde hair, probably of German descent. She was beautiful—too beautiful—and even I caught myself staring sometimes.
I rubbed my bruised cheek. "Thanks, Jasmine. I don't know what I would've—"
SMACK!
"OW! Dang it, Jaz, I'm still bruising here!" I whined. "What was that for!?"
She glared at me. "What the hell was that back there, Axel!? You need to learn to defend yourself! Don't you feel ashamed?"
I rubbed the back of my stinging head. "Yeah, ashamed I'm getting beat up by a guy named Wilburt, of all names."
She exhaled sharply, trying not to laugh. "T-this is serious, Axel. Look at you! You look like you got into a fight with a gorilla."
I chuckled. "Jasmine, I did get into a fight with a gorilla. Did you see that guy!?"
It didn't take long for her to laugh too.
"Seriously though, Axel. When are you going to learn to defend yourself? Or at least ask for help? He can't keep hitting on a disabled person like that, no matter how messed up in the head he is."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not disabled. Being born premature isn't a disability."
She gave me a sarcastic look, then pinched and twisted my arm.
"OW!" I yelped as the spot turned purple. She gestured at it. "I wasn't even trying that hard."
"Either that," I muttered, "or you've got the strength of a wildebeest."
Like I said, I was born premature, which came with a lot of inner and outer problems. I bruise easily, and I have a hard time building muscle. Because of my weakness, my parents drifted apart. They're not divorced officially, but they act like it. My mom lives with my grandma, and I only see her about three times a month.
They couldn't agree on how to raise me with my condition, so they both silently agreed not to raise me at all. I don't even want to think about my dad right now.
"Oh yeah!" Jasmine exclaimed. "You need your Fullmetal Alchemist mangas back!"
She reached into her bag, but I held up a hand to stop her.
"Keep 'em. I've read them a thousand times."
She smiled, then jumped up and hugged me. "Thanks! You're the best!"
In that moment, I was glad my face was bruised—so she couldn't see me blushing. Even if she was just my friend, she was still a beautiful blonde in a cheerleader outfit. And she smelled like mangoes.
Goddammit, now I sound like a creep.
I cleared my throat. "You can let me go now."
She stepped back with a knowing smile. "Speaking of go—are you going on the field trip to Japan in February? The fee's only two hundred fifty dollars."
"Only two-hundred-fifty?" I muttered. "I can barely get my dad to give me allowance money. I'm pretty sure he'd bitch-slap me back into the womb if I asked for that much."
"I don't think I can pay that. Even with my part-time job, I wouldn't make enough."
Jasmine pouted. "But it's Japan! Think of the things we could do! Think of all the hot people we'd see! What if we bump into a K-pop group? Or some hot yakuza?"
I stared at her like she'd lost it. "You've been watching too many J-dramas."
I sighed, looking up at the sky and the skyscrapers—imagining their metal fingers dipping into the blue. "I just can't afford it."
We walked in silence for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jasmine's gears turning. She was as stubborn as an ox and twice as clever. A devilish smirk crossed her face.
"Fine then," she said. "Guess I'll have to pay for you."
I looked at her in shock. "No! I can't let you do that—I can't—"
"It's too late," she interrupted. "I already made up my mind." She chuckled when she saw how upset I looked.
"Jasmine, I mean it! I can't ask you to shell out two hundred fifty bucks for me!"
"It's my money," she said, rolling her eyes, "and I can do what I want with it."
I groaned, rubbing my forehead as I felt a migraine forming. I heard her step closer.
"Come on," she teased. "Don't you want to go to the city of love and romance? With me?"
My face burned. I know what you're doing.
"You can't manipulate me," I stammered. "T-the answer is no."
She leaned down in front of me, eyes locked on mine. "Who said anything about manipulating you?"
I tried to back up, but she stepped forward, grabbing my chin and holding me still. Her voice softened, but her eyes were serious.
"You honestly think I'd manipulate you?"
"...N-no," I whispered, confused.
She stared straight into my eyes. "I might joke around sometimes, but I'm serious. Don't you want to go with me? We could... have fun together."
My heart started pounding. What? Why is she so close?
I laughed nervously. "W-wow, Jasmine... you're gonna give a guy the wrong idea."
But she didn't step back. Instead, she leaned closer.
"The only thing I'm not going to give you," she murmured, "is the wrong idea."
I froze. My face felt like it was on fire.
"I have my reasons for wanting you to go," she said softly. "And you are going to go. Understand?"
"U-uhh... yes, I understand," I managed.
She smiled, leaned in close, and whispered in my ear, "Good boy."
What. The. Fuck.
She let go and walked ahead, her teasing self returning as if nothing had happened.
"You coming?" she called with a smirk.
But before I could answer, her expression twisted into confusion—then fear. Her eyes widened.
"Axel! Move!"
A hand gripped my hood and yanked me sideways—straight into the street.
The last thing I saw was Jasmine's face frozen in horror... and Wilburt's look of glee.
Then—impact.
A garbage truck slammed into me.
I didn't even have time to scream as the air was knocked from my lungs. My body hit the pavement, and the wheels crushed my bones, twisting my limbs in unnatural directions. My ribs shattered; my body bruised and battered.
I was sensitive. I bruise easily.
I felt pain better than most people.
And this hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It HURT.
The truck screeched to a halt, dragging my body along the asphalt. I felt my skin peel away, raw flesh exposed to the open air.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears.
I couldn't scream.
I couldn't cry.
I couldn't do anything.
Someone knelt beside me—Jasmine. Tears streamed down her face as she screamed words I couldn't hear.
The garbage men shouted for an ambulance. Wilburt was nowhere to be seen, probably melting into the crowd.
I realized I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel anything.
The pain was fading.
I was going numb.
Is this it? Am I dying?
Oh God, why? Why me?
I've been dealt the bad end of the stick... and I didn't even get to live the pitiful excuse that was my life.
My eyes grew heavy. Jasmine's face blurred, panic still etched in her features.
Jasmine... I'm sorry. I wish things were different.
Mom... I'm sorry. I wish you were around more.
Dad... I know you hated me... but I still loved you. Even if my weakness ruined everything, I still loved you.
Now I'm going to die, and I'll never get to say any of it.
I couldn't even feel my tears anymore—just the cold creeping up my body.
I closed my eyes for the final time.
Like it or not...
I had died.