Nathaniel's fist connected with Kurt's face with a brutal crack, the sound reverberating in his bones more than his ears. The sickening impact sent Kurt stumbling backward, his hands flying to his bloodied nose as he gasped, eyes wide with surprise and pain. Nathaniel stood there, staring down at the bully—Kurt, the same guy who had been tormenting the quiet kids for weeks, making their lives hell.
But there was no satisfaction. No sense of justice. Only the irritation that had been bubbling inside him all day, all week, and every day before that.
'This was becoming a damn routine.'
Again. Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, the anger simmering but not in the way it should. He felt nothing for the moment. It wasn't the rush of standing up for the weak or even the thought that he'd finally "put Kurt in his place." It was just... another damn thing he had to do.
The crowd around them murmured, eyes wide and some even recording the scene on their phones. Nathaniel could hear the whispers and the snickers.
"Man, he really just... busted Kurt's nose, huh?"
"He's gonna get suspended again."
The usual chatter, but Nathaniel didn't care. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. It wasn't even the hundredth. Every time, he felt a tiny shred of something close to resentment. Not toward Kurt, not even toward anyone else. Just... resentment toward himself. Toward the cycle he found himself trapped in.
"You really messed up this time, man," Kurt spat, blood trickling from his nose as he glared up at Nathaniel. His eyes were full of fury now, but Nathaniel wasn't impressed.
'Whatever.'
Nathaniel didn't feel proud of himself. He didn't feel like some kind of protector of the weak. What did it matter if he knocked out the occasional bully if he was going to be the one left to face the consequences anyway? The freaking consequences. It wasn't even about Kurt anymore—it was about the endless cycle Nathaniel found himself in.
The school bell rang, a sharp, cold sound that should've signaled the end of the day. But for Nathaniel, it was just another reminder that there was more coming. More of the same—more fights, more suspensions, more disappointments.
'Fuck this.'
He turned to leave, ignoring the glares and murmurs of the other students. As he walked away from the scene, he could feel their eyes following him, their judgment echoing in the back of his mind. But he didn't care. He couldn't. He had enough of it.
Nathaniel walked slowly down the hall, the echoes of his boots on the linoleum floor mirroring the thudding of his own heartbeat. His anger still simmered beneath the surface, but it wasn't the satisfaction of a fight that he felt—it was the bitter weight of inevitability. The fight with Kurt had been nothing more than another drop in the ocean of chaos that was his life. He had expected this, knew this would happen. The principal's office, the suspension. It was all so predictable.
As he passed through the hallway, a pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders from behind, forcing him to stop.
"Come with us, Blackwood," a voice growled behind him.
Nathaniel tensed. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Danny and Mark—two of the school's biggest jocks, always the ones the principal called on to handle things when things got out of hand. They were the kind of students who thought of themselves as the enforcers of the school, the ones who made sure nobody stepped out of line.
Nathaniel gritted his teeth.
'Of course. They couldn't just let me walk to the office on my own, could they?'
"Is there a problem?" he asked flatly, already knowing the answer. He wasn't in the mood for games.
Mark sneered. "Yeah, there's a problem, Blackwood. The principal wants to see you."
"You're gonna love this," Danny added with a chuckle, giving Nathaniel a rough shove in the back that sent him stumbling forward.
Nathaniel didn't respond, feeling the familiar rise of frustration. These guys didn't get it. They never did. He wasn't the one who had started the fight; he was just trying to put an end to it. But they didn't care about the details. They were just the muscle, the ones who followed orders without asking questions.
As they marched him toward the principal's office, Nathaniel's mind raced. The last time he had been here, he'd been on the receiving end of another suspension for something similar. The same speech. The same disappointment. The same fucking mess.
'And here we are again.'
By the time they reached the door to Principal Harrison's office, the two jocks pushed him inside with no care for his personal space. The door slammed shut behind them, and Nathaniel stood, arms crossed, staring at the principal who was already seated behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose. Principal Harrison was a tall, imposing figure, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his frown deepening when he saw Nathaniel walk in.
"Ah, Nathaniel Blackwood," Harrison's voice was low and disapproving. "I was wondering when you'd show up again." He gestured toward the chair across from him. "Sit."
Nathaniel stood there for a moment, his hands twitching at his sides, but he sat down without a word. He wasn't scared of the principal. The man couldn't do much more than suspend him, and Nathaniel had already gotten used to that.
Principal Harrison flipped through some papers on his desk, his eyes narrowing as he read over the details. "Another fight. This time with Kurt Dempsey. A fight that left him with a broken nose, and you with another suspension." He looked up at Nathaniel, his eyes hardening. "This has to stop, Nathaniel. You can't keep acting out every time someone looks at you the wrong way. You're not a hero. You're not some vigilante. You're just a student here. Do you understand that?"
Nathaniel didn't respond. Instead, he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, clenching his jaw.
"No response, huh?" Harrison muttered, as though he was used to Nathaniel's defiance. "Let's be clear about something. I'm not here to punish you for standing up for yourself. I get it. You've got a sense of justice that's admirable. But violence isn't the answer. You're not solving anything by punching people in the face."
The principal's words were supposed to hit him, supposed to make him feel guilty, but instead, they bounced off Nathaniel like water off a duck's back. He already knew what Harrison was going to say. He had heard it all before. The lectures, the tired speeches about "being better"—none of it made sense to Nathaniel anymore.
"Kurt's been bullying kids for weeks," Nathaniel finally said, his voice flat but with a layer of frustration creeping through. "Someone had to do something."
"And you think you were the one to do it? You think you're the only one who notices what's going on around here?" Principal Harrison scoffed. "This isn't your world, Nathaniel. It's high school. Kids get into fights. It's normal. But you? You keep pushing everyone's buttons."
Nathaniel leaned forward in his chair, his eyes burning with frustration. "It's not normal, though! Not for them!" He gestured toward the door as if to emphasize the countless kids who were too afraid to speak up, the ones who were silenced by the Kurt's of the world. "You don't get it. I'm just doing what needs to be done."
Harrison sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. "I get it. I do. But this—this ends now, Nathaniel." His tone grew more serious, more final. "You're suspended. Three days. Take this time to reflect. Think about what you're doing to yourself and the people around you."
Nathaniel's fists clenched at his sides, the anger building again. Another suspension. It was a constant cycle—one that never seemed to end. He didn't even feel guilty anymore. Just annoyed. Annoyed that he was the one who always had to be the example. Annoyed that he was the one who had to clean up the mess, even if it wasn't his fault.
"I'm not done here," Nathaniel muttered under his breath, pushing himself to his feet.
"Excuse me?" Harrison's voice grew sharp.
"I said, I'm not done here." Nathaniel repeated, his voice cold. "You think this is gonna teach me a lesson? Think again."
Harrison's eyes widened slightly, his stern expression faltering for just a moment before he cleared his throat. "You'll learn eventually, Nathaniel. I'm just trying to help you avoid more trouble down the road."
Nathaniel shook his head, turning toward the door. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that."
As he walked out of the office, the doors swung shut behind him, and he heard Harrison's voice calling after him. "Take some time to think about your future, Blackwood!"
But Nathaniel didn't want to hear it anymore. He didn't want to think about the future. Not when the present felt like it was falling apart.
The hallway seemed longer as Nathaniel walked toward the exit. The school felt empty, but he was too full of pent-up frustration to care. The suspension didn't matter. The lecture didn't matter.
By the time Nathaniel arrived home, he felt more tired than he had in a while. It wasn't physical exhaustion, but mental. He was drained from always trying to live up to a standard he never asked for—always trying to be the one to step in, to fix things when nobody else would. It wasn't the hero's journey, it was just a trap, and it was getting old.
The house felt too quiet as Nathaniel opened the door. The familiar scent of dinner in the air—something his mom had made but he'd never cared to taste in the last few weeks. But he knew one thing for sure: his father was home. And if Lance Blackwood had gotten the call about the fight at school, Nathaniel was about to walk straight into the storm.
The kitchen light flickered above him as he tossed his keys on the counter.
"Dad?" Nathaniel called out, knowing that his father would be lurking somewhere in the house, waiting.
A grunt came from the living room. "In here."
Nathaniel hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the living room. His dad, Lance, was sitting in his usual spot on the couch, beer in hand, eyes locked on the TV but his attention clearly elsewhere. His jaw was set tight, and Nathaniel could tell from his father's posture that this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
Lance didn't look up. "You wanna explain what happened today? Or should I just assume this is the same old story?"
Nathaniel stood there, staring at his father, but the words wouldn't come. He wasn't ashamed, but he wasn't exactly proud either. All he could think about was the last time he'd been in this exact situation—one more fight, one more suspension, one more moment where he had to justify his own damn actions.
"Come on, Nathaniel," Lance said, his voice colder now. "Another fight? Is this how you think you're going to make a difference? Beating people up who can't even fight back? You're not some hero."
"Yeah, I get it." Nathaniel's voice was sharp, laced with the frustration he couldn't contain anymore. "I'm not a hero. I'm just—" He stopped, trying to force the words out. "Just trying to stop assholes like Kurt from making other people's lives miserable."
Lance's gaze finally lifted from the TV, meeting Nathaniel's eyes with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. "That's not the point. The point is that you can't keep doing this, Nathaniel. You think you're fixing the world by beating the shit out of every bully you find, but all you're doing is digging a hole for yourself. You keep getting suspended, getting in trouble, and it's not even making any real difference. It's just... more trouble."
"I'm not doing it for you, okay?" Nathaniel snapped back, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I'm not doing it for anyone but myself. Because someone needs to do something about it. Someone has to."
Lance leaned back, staring at him with a hard, disappointed look. "You're angry. I get that. But you don't fix anger by fighting everything that pisses you off. You want to make a real difference? Start thinking about your future. Start thinking about how your actions affect the people around you."
Nathaniel shook his head, his chest tight. He didn't have time for this right now. He didn't want to hear the same damn lecture. The weight of the fight, the frustration, the disappointment in his dad's eyes—it all pressed down on him like a vise.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. I don't care about the future if it means I'm just going to keep watching people get stomped on. Someone needs to stand up."
"Maybe someone should stand up for you for once," Lance muttered under his breath.
Nathaniel clenched his teeth. Fuck, why does everything have to feel so heavy?
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of his father's disappointed sigh. Without another word, Nathaniel spun around, heading upstairs to his room. He needed a break—anything to get away from the weight of everything pressing on him.
He and his father both knew the reason he fought bullies was because the cause of his mother's death was a bully