[External POV]
He'd always kept his head down.
Was there a time when Rowan, out of his frustration, had decided to look straight in the eye of his problems and not cower in fear? Definitely not. Not in this hell hole. Kingstown Middle school. He'd spent every school hour being the victim of every blame, every blows. Every visit to the infirmary.
Avoiding bullies had worked in the worst way possible. Everytime he decided not to engage and just walk away from trouble, his bullies would pull him back by the collar, and land a hit on his face even before he could resist.
He'd tolerated it all. That was the only option he had anyway. Someone as weak as him couldn't do anything. He couldn't start a fight he knew he would definitely lose. He couldn't walk up to the staff room and report his bullies— or they would only make his school life worse.
But then, there was one thing he could do. He could fight back. Or at least, learn how to. Rowan had stopped by the school library one too many times, just to grab another of Bruce Lee's books. Every last page had kept him coming back, every words had given him reason to invest in his physical appearance.
Pushups. Squats. Sprints. He'd managed this consistently for a week or two, while channeling in the anger of being beaten. That was the purpose, to become strong enough— because apparently, having good grades alone wasn't enough to beat bullies.
And then, one day, everything stopped.
He was on his seat as usual, heads down, reading through Bruce's book— the Tao of Jeet June Do— pausing way too long on a particular line.
"The best fighter is never angry." He read the line out, his voice low enough so as not to attract trouble.
Then his thoughts drifted. He'd seen cases where the best fighter in a scenario was the one with cooped up experiences, the one who fought through the pain in him. Those cases were usually common in revenge tropes. And he knew for a fact that people who fought for revenge had the most brutal attacks.
So, why?
"Hey, errand boy!"
Jackson Brown. Even if his sleep, Rowan could recognise that voice anytime. Jackson was his classmates and also his main assailant. They called him Jackson Brown not just because his hair and eyes were brown, but because of the freckles on his cheek that also gave his face a browner edge.
At first meet, one would access the look on his face and assume he was just another cheeky loner. But it was the other way around instead. Jackson was a bully. He'd been the class biggest bully ever since seventh grade, and somehow, he'd maintained the same title for over two years now.
Rowan was seemingly now his favourite person to bother. From little things like random finger nudges to his forehead to capital activities like asking him to run errands for him. He'd even given Rowan a nickname. Errand boy.
"Hey, you deaf?" Jackson must've felt intimidated by Rowan ignoring him. Because he never did. Up until now, Rowan had always been his obedient little slave. He stood and walked up to him, scoffing as Rowan ignored him still and kept his eyes on his book. "You daring me right now?"
Rowan didn't reply. Neither did he move. His head remained downwards. His body frozen in one position like he'd just been shot with a petrification dose. For once in his life, he wanted to stop being the victim. To stop being at their beck and call. Maybe...just maybe if he ignored Jackson for a while, he would eventually walk away.
Or at least, that how he assumed it was supposed to go. But Jackson never walked away. Without permission, he grabbed a water bottle from the next desk, cranked it open and let it out on Rowan hair without hesitation.
Rowan's hair wasnt the only the only thing that got soaked. His clothes. His pants, and even worst of all, Bruce Lee's book of quotes. He raised the book up, slowly, trying to process whatever storm was going on inside of him at that moment. Something in him imagined standing up and grabbing Jackson by the throat, strangling him until he was close to death.
But then, Bruce Lee's quote resounded in his mind. The best fighter is never angry. He didn't know anything else about immediate reactions. But Bruce Lee advised never to react on emotional impulse. The man definitely knew better than he did.
He dropped the book on his desk, heaved a long silent breath as he took in the mocking laughter of his classmates. He stood slowly, turned, about to head out towards the bathroom, and then Jackson spoke.
"The Tao of Jeet June Do." He was holding the book up. "Bruce Lee?" He smiled mischievously at Rowan. "Don't tell me...are you trying to learn how to fight?"
Rowan's frown deepened. His fists clenched. He watched, timing out his reaction as Jackson raised the book up, displaying it to the entire class.
"Hey look everyone. The errand boy wants to learn to fight!" The class laughed. They always did. Either it was a funny context or not, they'd always forced their laughter when it was time to mock. "Isn't it crazy?"
"Give that back." Rowan warned, fists clenching harder.
"Oh, I'm so scared." Jackson said emphatically, a sarcastic shiver in his tone. "Please don't hurt me with one of your badass Kung Fu moves."
The class laughed.
"I'm not joking, Jackson. Give it back." Rowan stretched out his hands, inwardly praying that for once in two years, Jackson would ditch his default and choose peace instead.
He'd already opened just enough slot for peace making.
"Is this piece of crap that important to you?" Jackson's eyes moved with something darker. "Come get it then."
Before Rowan could take another step, Jackson ripped the book in half, then both halves in quarters. He continued ripping until all that was left were micro pieces of paper. He smiled and threw the torn pieces at Rowan. The papers showered on Rowan like a small confetti.
"There you go." Jackson said, satisfaction in his tone. "Happy reading—"
Rowan moved without hesitation, and definitely without a second thought process. He grabbed Jackson by the torso, slamming him against the class board. Jackson groaned, smashed his fists continuously against Rowan's back. But Rowan didn't feel anything. Not at that moment at least. He was way too angry to register the pain.
He jammed his arm against Jackson's torso, issuing something that seemed like a blow, but only weaker. The whole class murmured, paving way as Rowan stumbled towards the lockers. His back hit the edge first, but he stood right back up like nothing had happened.
He came again at Jackson, fists ready to strike him pretty much anywhere it landed. Jackson dodged, and directed a blow of his own too. It landed on Rowan's jaw, causing his lips to bleed.
"You fucker." Jackson wheezed through his heavy breathing. "Did you really think you could take me on?"
Rowan didn't reply, he grabbed Jackson's torso and again, this time adding pressure until the ground came up to them both. Then he pounced on him, grabbing his collar with one hand, swiping a blow across his face with the other.
Then again, this time harder across his temple. Again. Jackson looked like he could barely keeping holding up. His hands stopped moving towards defense. His chest huffed in sheer, non-verbal panic.
Then, he groaned. Loud and abrupt, throwing his hand up in the air, towards Rowan. Then something fast and invisible gripped Rowan, throwing him off balance and into the wall across the window.
The moment his back hit the wall, everything else landed alongside. His head against debris, his consciousness. And then, darkness joined.
***
"No, I'm sure you guys are mistaken." The voice of a frustrated mother. "My boy... Rowan would never do such a thing. I'm not going to buy into what you're saying."
Mrs Hale wasn't the kind of person to open her ears to external judgement— especially when it was so much about her own family.
Twelve years. She'd spent twelve years bringing Rowan up. Even after his father had gotten into a fight purposely just to find a reason to abandon them— she'd still waited. Still watched him grow through all of that. Alone. Not that she had a better choice, or any choice at all.
And all their time together, she'd registered just enough about her son's aesthetic. He was calm, way too calm. He mostly would box in his problems and smile when she asked him how school went.
At first, it'd worked. But it didn't take too long for her to find out eventually. Scratch marks he claimed he got from playing volleyball. The look of fear in his eyes that he still couldn't hide no matter how much he told her that he was fine.
She'd called the school multiple times, even drove one mile there once, storming into the principal's office without permission, and questioned the chances of her son being bullied.
There was nothing to show for it, however. Even after a brief discussion with his classmates, what she'd seen— or what they'd tried to make her believe— was the hospitality of Kingston Middle School student.
But of course, she wasn't stupid. She wanted to transfer Rowan. She'd begun making the calls. But then, Rowan had pleaded with her to let him finish middle school first. Afterall, he only had less than six months over there. Until then, he'd promised to stay out of trouble.
Guess he forgot. Or maybe that choice wasn't up to him to make.
And now, in the middle of a school council meeting, Rowan was suddenly the person he never was. A bully, alleged of assault. And according to the school authorities, a tyrant.
"Mrs Hale, we are not asking you to buy our explanation." The principal's voice was firm, almost rude. "Rowan here was responsible for hurting Jackson. And apparently, he doesn't intend to explain himself. How do you expect us to handle that?"
"Why are we still doing this?" A woman—fluffy brown hair, darker freckles— rose up, slamming her hands against the table. She was Jackson's mother. "I want this boy expelled immediately, or I'm gonna file a lawsuit."
"Calm down ma'am." The principal raised his hands out, gesturing for her to take a seat. Then he stared straight at Rowan. "I'm going to ask you for the last time, Rowan. Were you or were you not responsible for bullying your classmate, Jackson?"
Rowan raised his head slightly, hands clasped, fidgeting as they rested on the table. Then his eyes met Jackson's, who was sitting directly at the opposite of him. He remained like that for a while, reading into the stare, something in it had consequences. Consequences for when he spilled the actual truth.
"Rowan?"
"I..." He paused, his eyes dropping down to his laps. "I'm the one who hurt Jackson." He muttered, barely unsure of his words. "I'm the one who bullied him."