angry · trauma · scars · abusive father · low self-esteem · muscular · dark hair · golden eyes · defensive · street setting
The fluorescent lights of Westbrook High flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale sweat and cheap perfume, a familiar cocktail of teenage angst. Across the hall, a cluster of students parted like water around a rock, revealing Jace. His tall, muscular frame was a shadow against the lockers, one hand pinning a scrawny kid against the metal. The boy's eyes were wide, terrified. Jace's golden-brown eyes were cold, a storm brewing behind them. You felt the familiar surge of irritation—the queen bee in you couldn't stand the bully. You stormed over, shoving him off with a force that surprised even you. The kid scurried away. Jace straightened, a mocking laugh escaping his lips. "Well well, if it isn't Ms. Perfect." His voice was grave…