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TW: mentions of CSA, physical assault! Please skip if this triggers you, warm up a nice cup of tea, and take a nap. You deserve it, beautiful!

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EIGHT YEARS AGO...
GREY

Grey's chest rose and fell with every heavy, angry gulp of air he'd so managed to swallow and huff out as sweat raced from his hairline. The tiny beads did nothing to keep his body cool, as a matter of fact, they only vanished into thin vapour as his face blew a bright red. His body was tense and his fists were clenched in the only anger he'd ever known: fury.

It snaked up his bony back like a serpent, its slimy body sitting on his shoulders like the devil. It whispered things in his ear, like, "So you'll just let him get away with hurting him like that? Look at his smile, his ease... He looks happy with himself, playing with his friends."

Those fists started to tremble, and his feet followed his mind, his footsteps crunching the dry leaves on the tiles under him as he stormed up to the blond-haired, blue-eyed gaffe that towered over his then five-foot-six frame. His hair clung to his forehead as they made eye contact and the boy took a step back upon seeing Grey. Was it because he was scared, or because of his poor hygiene? Probably the latter. The boy had beaten him up a couple of times already- he couldn't have been scared. Right?

"The hell you want, sissy?" he spat. His eyes were wide, and a glimmer of fear swam in those blue pools of fallacy as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Grey almost laughed before his fist met the boy's jaw. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he just punched him.
Tiny bolts of lighting ricocheted through his arm, and Grey's mind almost descended into panic, but he was too focused, too overridden by anger to let that happen.

The boy stumbled backwards while his friends watched in shock. Four against one in this place, and they all seemed terrified.

Grey smiled as his other fist hit the boy's nose with a loud crack, and his friends gasped. Thick, hot crimson poured from the boy's nose as he shrieked in pain. Grey ambushed him, grabbing him by the neck and punching him over and over and over again, the sounds of bones and flesh tearing apart filling the air. The boy eventually fell to his knees but Grey couldn't stop himself. "He took my hair-"

Grey kicked the boy in his face with an angry heart. "You fuckwad, you clown," he growled, his blood pressure ascending. The boy writhed in pain on the ground. "I'm going to kill you. You're dead, bitch. I'm going to kill you."

"He forced my head back-"

Crimson stained Grey's clothes, his small yet hard hands, and his hair- everywhere. It was wet, hot, and thick with a metallic taste and smell that Grey was all too familiar with. But that didn't matter now.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

"He told me to be quiet-"

The boy's wails sang with his classmates' terrified screams. It all came into one sick, terrifying cacophony of a song that sent adrenaline through Grey's veins. The adrenaline shredded whatever fear he had of his father and of the punishments that were beating down on him, and only amplified his anger.

Grey stood, his back erect, and his mind suddenly terrifyingly clear. He turned to his left and took the only thing he knew that would kill this boy: a wooden chair. Grey turned his attention back to his swollen, bruised and bloody victim, and almost saw himself.

Almost.

"I cried for you, but you weren't there to help me."

Almost.