TRAGIC SUICIDE SHAKES COMMUNITY: WREN ANGELINA STEELE FOUND DEAD
My pulse skips. Just like your brother.
Wren Steele.
As in… Kai Steele?
Was Wren Steele his sister?
I skim through the article, and my heart sinks with each word I read. Details of her life, her death, her family—it’s all here, laidbare for anyone to see. I can’t imagine how Kai must feel. I can’t help but feel horrible for him. My chest tightens as I scan the text, looking for something, although I’m not sure exactly what.
And then I see it.
The time of death: 1:15 P.M.
My breath catches in my throat. Almost the exact same time my dad’s death was estimated.
Addie
Four months ago
As students take their places, there’s a murmur of voices and the scrape of chairs across the classroom. I take my usual seat at the back, trying to make myself invisible. It’s the safest place for me, the one spot where I can sink into the background and pretend I don’t exist. It’s just another day, another suffocating hour in this hellhole they call school.
Relaxation in a place like this is non-existent, and the whispers and the snickers that ripple around the room just prove my point.
I can feel their cruel eyes on me like a thousand needles pressing into my skin. And they won’t leave no matter how much I try to sink into my chair and disappear. But their words are worse, and they sting worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
I try to focus on the teacher’s voice, but it’s drowned out by their mocking laughter.
It feels like my skin is burning.
“Look at her,” one voice sneers. “God, what a depressed loser. Just like her brother. It’s a shame, too. He could’ve been great, but he flunked it last second.”
I swallow hard, the bile rising in my throat.Her brother.It’s all I’ve been hearing lately; they’re either apologetic, or they’recruel. There’s no in-between. I want to stand up, to scream, to tell them that they have no right, no right to say his name like that. But I can’t. It’s like every part of me is paralyzed. Paralyzed and pathetic.
“Herdeadbrother,” a girl sneers then turns to me. “I wonder…” she starts, “are you a druggie, too?”
I don’t even know how to respond.My brother didn’t do drugs, but I can’t seem to make my voice work. The words catch in my throat, tangled in the mess of grief and guilt that’s wrapped around my heart.
“My brother was not—” I start, but the sentence dies before it even leaves my lips. I can’t even convince myself anymore. So, I lie. “He didn’t take drugs.”
“Oh, are you sure?” She laughs again. “Because I can definitely get you a few hits if you want? But I’m sure your mum can help you out there too. Bet she has all their numbers, all ready for you.”
I don’t know how to stop the tears from coming. I stare down at my textbook, trying to block them out, but the words blur, and I can feel the moisture gather in my eyes.
“May I please go to the restroom?” My voice is shaky, fragile. Embarrassingly so.
“Looks like she’s gonna cry,” a voice mocks from the front. The laughter that follows fills the room, and I feel it like a fist in my chest.I won’t cry. Not here. Not for them.
I bite my lip hard, the pain sharp enough to stop the tears, but it’s only temporary. The lump in my throat is growing, and it’s getting harder to swallow. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
The teacher looks at me, her gaze flickering with pity, which only makes me angrier.If you’re so upset, do something about it, you coward.She grants me permission without a word, and Igrab my things, too eager to get out of that room, to escape their eyes. I don’t look back as I slip out into the hallway.
I don’t care about anything anymore. I just need my dad.
The bathroom is empty. Thank god for that. The door clicks shut behind me, and for a moment, the world feels still. I lean against the cold tiles, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts, my body trembling from the effort of keeping it together.
It’s like I’m drowning in this place, in these people.
