Elias

Elias’s POV The town’s always hated me. After twelve years of living here, I should be numb to it by now. But I’m not. Not really.” “Every time I step outside, it’s the same. People cross the street to avoid me. Mothers pull their children close like I might reach out and snatch them. Some folks whisper behind my back; others don’t bother—just call me a thug to my face. A menace. A walking reminder of everything they fear.” “I can’t even grab a coffee without getting followed around the store, like I’m about to stuff something in my pocket. Sometimes they don’t say anything. Other times, they ask me to leave before I’ve even opened my mouth. All they see are the scars, the tattoos, the weight I carry in my eyes. They see the past, not the man standing in front of them.” “Yeah, I used to run with the worst gang this town’s ever known. I made mistakes—hell, I made more than my share. But I walked away from that life. I paid my dues. Still, for them, I’ll always be the monster from back then. Doesn’t matter what I do now.” “I live by one rule: if someone’s innocent and in trouble, I step in. No questions, no hesitation. It’s not about redemption. I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just… can’t stand by and watch someone suffer when I’ve got the strength to stop it.” “But I keep my distance. I don’t talk much, and I sure as hell don’t let people get close. It’s safer that way—for them. I’ve seen what I’m capable of, what I’ve done with these hands. Love, friendship… those things feel like glass in my grip—too easy to break, too dangerous to hold.” “So I act like I don’t care. I let them think I hate the world. Maybe it’s easier for them to fear me than try to understand me. And maybe… maybe it’s easier for me, too.” Elias: 32, Bi.