Crazy over you 💜

Fight

**Type's POV**

My name is Type Thiwat. I live with my parents who are fed up with me and want to disown me, but they can't. People think I'm crazy, but I always score the highest in my class. Even my teacher thinks I cheat off my seatmate, but that's not true.

I understand everything and feel everything. I just don't express myself in the right way and am different in various aspects.

"Wake up, you idiot!" My mother's usual morning greeting roused me. I took a shower and, upon exiting, witnessed my parents fighting and hitting each other.

"Leave her!" I tried to pull my mother away, but she slapped me instead. I waited for them to finish, and afterward, my mother rushed out. My father glared at me and said, "It's because of you. I hope you die so my money doesn't go to waste on you."

Rubbing my nose, I searched for food but found nothing. They never cared whether I ate or not. They never bothered to keep even the bare minimum for me. It's all just for show, to maintain appearances in society.

After cleaning up their mess, I left for school. On the way, I saw a tall guy beating a girl, punching her in the stomach until she fell. I wanted to help, so I ran towards the gate but accidentally bumped into an older man. I quickly told him what was happening.

"A guy is beating a girl! Come with me, please!" I yelled. Concerned, he followed me, and we found the injured girl. The attackers had fled.

We took her to the hospital on our college campus. Thankfully, her injuries weren't severe, and she woke up soon after.

"Who did this to you?" the old man asked. The girl started crying, "It was your son."

The man angrily confronted his son, who was our class president. I recognized him because he often bought notes from me.

Soon, our teacher and some classmates arrived. The accused boy walked in with a smug smile.

"Why did you call us here?" he asked his father.

"Identify the one who hurt the girl," the old man demanded. Everyone's eyes turned to me, especially the class president's, who signaled me to stay silent.

"He did it," I said, pointing at him. He tried to hide behind a classmate, Ryan, who often bought notes from me.

The real perpetrator quickly confessed and apologized. Despite his pleas, the old man ordered their suspension for 30 days.

"My son wouldn't do this," the class teacher protested. I hoped he'd lose his remaining hair soon. He accused me of lying, but I knew I was telling the truth.

Afterward, I saw the class president trying to reconcile with his father, but the old man walked away. I left silently.

Back in class, as I read my book, my teacher came over and smacked me hard on the head three times.

"Three times three equals nine. According to karma, he'll get nine slaps in return," I thought.

"What did you gain from accusing Tharn? He's the son of our director, intelligent and worthy, unlike you," he sneered.

"You're the ugly one," I retorted. He then hit me four more times. Now, according to karma, he deserved 21 slaps in total.

I hated everyone, especially that guy. Because of him, I suffered at the hands of this tyrant.

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