Once, while I was cleaning the rooftop, I witnessed his girlfriend slapping him and threatening to break up.
Gary caught sight of me staring, mouth agape, and shot me a death glare, warning me that if I said a word, I’d regret it.
Later, while getting water during a break, I accidentally bumped into him.
Before I knew what was happening, Gary kicked me in the stomach, sending me tumbling down the stairs. He didn’t even stop, just kept chasing after his girlfriend.
I curled up on the ground, clutching my stomach, when two male classmates dragged me to the boys’ bathroom.
Gary, leaning against the sink with a lit cigarette, barked, “You made my girlfriend think I was cheating. You’ll pay for that.”
He grabbed my hair, holding the cigarette dangerously close to my face, my long hair catching fire instantly.
I begged him to stop, but it only seemed to excite him more. Just as the flames licked at my face, he doused me with cold water from the sink, leaving me shivering and soaked.
This happened several times, each incident worse than the last.
Whenever he was in a bad mood, he would take it out on me, torturing me to make himself feel better.