My sister told me I should start a diary. Because apparently therapy’s too expensive. She said it might help me vent. Reflect. “Process things,” whatever that means. I thought it was kind of bullshit, but... I trust her.

And today was a complete disaster, so I decided to stop postponing this and just bite the bullet.

So let’s start this:

The phone's alarm dug deep into my head. I groaned, slapped around for my phone until the noise finally died. My hand fell back onto the mattress with a dull thud. It was only the second week of junior year, and I was already sick of it.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, the early morning light bleeding in through the blinds. All I wanted was to crawl back under the covers and disappear for a few months. Hibernate, you know. Just until I felt a little better. Just until everything stopped feeling so... heavy. But part of me felt like that day might never come.

Dramatic? Probably. I like to throw the occasional pity party.

Sunday's fight with Mom still echoed in my head. You know when you slam your room's door mid-fight with your parents? That instant regret when you realize you've just committed the worst crime possible? Yeah...

I knew that instant she was coming for me. I swear to God, if Godzilla had stormed through my door like that, instead of Mom, I would've greeted it with open arms.

Unfortunately, though, it was Mom.

And then the shouting started. And I was just so goddamn tired of being reminded that I was a screw-up.

Anyway, today was the kind of day that started bad and just kept going. I was late to school. Forgot to do my homework. My locker jammed. The vending machine ate my money, and I couldn't even kick it because last time I got sent to the principal's office for that. Every little thing felt personal, like the universe was poking at me just to see when I’d snap.

By the time we hit last period, I was completely tapped out. The teacher was droning, the lights were buzzing overhead, and my patience was melting like cheap plastic in the sun.

When the bell rang, it was almost a relief. Almost.

As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I heard shouting. Loud, sharp, angry. Instinct kicked in, and before I could think, I was moving. Rounding the corner fast.

That was when I saw him.

Benson. Six-foot-two and built like a linebacker. He had some kid—smaller, thinner, clearly terrified—pinned up against the lockers.

“Look at what you did, you piece of shit!” Benson roared.

Something inside me snapped.

I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed the guy by his backpack and yanked him behind me, planting myself between him and Benson. My heart was thudding, but I didn’t flinch.

And I knew what was going to happen. But did I care? Nope.

The kid wouldn’t have stood a chance, you know... But then again, neither would I. I was used to this, though. And honestly? I’d been itching for a fight all day. Masochist? Maybe.

“What the fuck, Bennett?” Benson barked. “Get outta the way! This has nothing to do with you!”

“Leave him alone, and I’ll walk away.”

I'm not this courageous hero, or whatever. I don't go around volunteering to fight other people's fights. At all.

But yesterday... I just wanted to feel something.

Benson sneered. “Ohhh, I get it. Found yourself a new boyfriend?”

Maybe it was the way he smirked when he said it. Maybe it was just everything else piling up. Either way, I swung.

My fist connected with his jaw, and pain exploded up through my knuckles. I probably hurt myself more than I hurt him, but I didn’t care. It was worth it just to see the surprise on his face.

Then his face twisted, and retribution came fast.

He slammed his fist into my nose with the full force of someone who’d done this before. The impact sent me sprawling. The tile floor slammed into my back, knocking the air from my lungs.

Before I could move, he was on top of me, fist raised again. I braced for it, eyes squeezed shut.

But it didn’t come

“That's enough, Benson! Let him go!”

I cracked one eye open. Tears blurred my vision a bit. God, I hated being hit in the nose. It made my eyes tear up instantly.

Jamie and Ryan had him by the arms, dragging him off me. Benson was still thrashing, veins bulging in his neck like he might break free any second.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he spat.

I pushed myself up, wiping blood from my upper lip on my sleeve. Ryan crouched beside me.

“You okay, man?”

I glared at him. That polished, social media-perfect smile. Like he was already imagining the retell. How if it wasn’t for him, Benson would’ve beaten me into a pulp. When in reality, I knew it was Jamie who stepped up. It was always him.

Ryan was just the kind of guy who only showed up when there was an audience. A professional backstabber.

I slapped his hand away hard enough that it stung my palm, fighting the urge to spit on his face.

“Fuck you, asshole. Go play hero somewhere else.”

He recoiled, but not enough to look actually offended.

“Whatever, man. Just trying to help.”

He walked off like nothing had happened, sliding right back into place beside Benson and Jamie, like it had all been some lunch break drama they’d forget by next week.

Then someone new stepped into my periphery.

“Jesus, are you okay?! You're bleeding.”

I glanced to my right. It was the kid Benson had been targeting. Blond, wide-eyed like a deer that didn’t know whether to bolt or stay frozen. He was gripping the strap of his backpack like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing myself upright. “Don’t worry about me. You should get to class.”

He hesitated. “Well, I’m not going now and leave you like this. And you seriously need to go to the nurse’s office.”

“And get suspended? No thanks.” I looked him over. “Listen, if you’re skipping, fine. But let’s get out of here first.”

He nodded once, still watching me like I might keel over at any second. His movements were quick and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he should talk or shut up.

Not gonna lie, I was intrigued. The way he hovered, like he was one strong gust away from running or catching me. I also found it a bit amusing, to be honest.

We headed toward the back of the school, past the empty sports field, and out to the bleachers. My nose was still bleeding. Not as bad now, but enough that it kept dripping down the back of my throat if I leaned too far.

My T-shirt had some blood blotches on it, and my hoodie’s sleeve had a bloody skid mark where I had wiped my nose. I looked like hell, but I couldn’t tell if I felt embarrassed or just numb. What a mess...

“You have to sit down,” he blurted, his voice pitched a little too high. “You might pass out or something.”

I glanced sideways at him, eyebrows raised, fighting the urge to smile. “Are you always this dramatic? Who even are you?”

He blinked like I had just slapped him. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I’m Chris. Christopher Higgs.”

I paused, nodded once. “Troy Bennett. I hadn’t seen you around before. You new?”

“Yeah,” he said, tugging at the strap of his backpack again. “My dad and I moved here a couple of months ago. My cousin’s a senior here, actually.”

I just nodded. Too tired to say anything else.

We reached the bleachers, and I dropped down onto the lowest bench, legs folding under me like a puppet cut from its strings. The metal was warm from the sun, but I barely felt it. My body was still running on adrenaline and embarrassment.

“Is... is this a normal school day here?”

I snorted. “Course not. Only every other week.”

He laughed. Might’ve just been because of the wet and awful sound I made thanks to blood still clogging my nose, but it didn’t feel mocking. It actually made me relax a little, and I grinned despite myself. The tension in my chest loosened just a little.

He finally flopped down beside me, still slightly out of breath from trying to keep up.

“Lean your head forward and pinch your nose,” he said, settling a little awkwardly on the bench.

I gave him a look. “What are you, a doctor or something?”

“I just used to get a lot of nosebleeds when I was a kid. And my dad’s a doctor, actually. “

He smiled, a little awkward, a little shy. And for some reason, it hit harder than it should have.

He wasn’t conventionally hot. His features were soft, but not delicate. He seemed kind, but not naive. His blond hair had fallen a little into his eyes, messy in a way that looked accidental but worked anyway. And his glasses slid down his nose every few seconds. And the way he looked at me, like I was more than a bloody mess on a bench, that had caught me off guard.

I’m such a sucker for guys like that. Quiet. Blond. Nervous. Kind.

I shook the thought out of my head and did what he said, pressing the bridge of my nose between two fingers. The sting felt almost cleansing.

Chris shifted beside me, unsure. “I think I’m gonna head home. You coming too?”

“Can’t,” I said, voice muffled through pinched nostrils. “If my mom sees me show up with bloody clothes like this, she’ll kill me.”

I dug into my back pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The cardboard was soft from being sat on. I shook one loose and held it up. “Want one?”

He wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. You really shouldn’t be smoking. Especially not with a busted nose.”

“Yeah, well, that’s exactly why I need it.”

The first drag hit like a warm blanket. Hot at the back of my throat, grounding in a way nothing else was. He wouldn’t get it. And hopefully he never would.

There was a pause. Then he said, almost shyly, “You can... I mean, if you want, you can come over. Clean yourself up. I can lend you some clothes.” 

Hey! Thanks for checking out The Real Fix.

This story is already fully written, and I’ll be releasing new episodes twice a week — every Tuesday and Thursday at 11 AM PDT.

That means you’re getting the whole story. No waiting forever. No ghost updates. Just me, slowly peeling back the emotional layers of a bunch of messy, idiot characters. Whenever a chapter has multiple parts, they’ll all be released on the same day.