I never expected my high school bully to show up a decade later looking humbled and asking for coffee. I told myself one conversation couldn’t hurt, even when every instinct in me said to run. Six months after I let him back into my life, I found out some people don’t change.I hadn’t seen Marcus since graduation, and I’d preferred it that way. Even 10 years later, his name still left a bad taste in my mouth.Back in high school, he got a real kick out of cornering me in the halls. He’d drift up behind me, bump my shoulder, and murmur, “Less than,” with a grin for whoever was watching.

If my stutter caught when I tried to speak, he leaned in like we were buddies. “Spit it out,” he’d say, low and amused, and heat would crawl up my neck into my ears.Teachers called him “spirited,” like he was a puppy who’d knocked over a lamp. “Ignore him,” they told me, eyes already sliding away to the next problem.My friends would squeeze my hand and whisper, “Just survive.” They said it as if it were the easiest thing, as if my body didn’t tense every time I heard his laugh.I survived anyway. I counted the days, and the almost right after graduation, I packed my car and left town with my hands tight on the steering wheel.