The words blur together, foggy from tears burning in my eyes.
I shove the phone into my bag so quickly I almost fall out of my seat.
I blink hard.Breathe deeper.
Then, I lift my pen.I force my eyes to the board, anything to anchor myself in something that isn’t him.
The teacher’s droning about ecosystems or equations or some shit I should probably care about.So I write it down, word for word.Not because it matters, but because focusing on the lesson means I’m not replaying his voice in my head.
I underline a heading, then write the date.Pretend it’s just another day, and I’m not falling apart behind every word I write.
By lunchtime, he’s sent me seven more texts.
Each one a digital scream, buzz after buzz, his name lighting up my screen.I don’t open them.I already know what they’ll say.
I didn’t mean it.I swear.It wasn’t like that.Please, Red.
I just sit there, watching the notifications stack up.All the while pretending my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time his name flashes across the screen.
All day, the whispers follow me like shadows I can’t escape.They cling to my skin, crawl under my clothes, and settle in the space between my shoulder blades.Every hallway feels longer.Every turn is sharper.I hear them behind locker doors, between class changes, and over the flush of toilets.
The stares hit harder.
Some land with pity.Eyes wide, soft, full of that sad-girl sympathy that makes me want to scream.Others are sharp with curiosity, trying to read the scandal on my face as if it’s written across my cheeks.But the worst ones are the ones that laugh.The ones who treat my humiliation like a goddamn group chat joke.Passing comments in the hallway: “Guess she wasn’t that innocent after all” or “Bet he didn’t even have to try that hard.”
A boy behind me snickers during biology.Another one whispers something to his friend in the hallway, and they both burst out laughing after I walk past.
They don’t care if I hear.
That’s the point.
Their words weren’t meant to be secret; they are meant to brand.
And they do.
Every one of them sinks into my skin, poisons my blood, wraps around my ribs, and squeezes until I can barely fucking breathe.
And the worst part?
There’s no escaping it.
We sit at our lunch table as if the world isn’t tearing me apart with every whisper.Conversations buzz loudly in my ears.Fluorescent lights stab into my skull.
But we sit anyway, pretending my name hasn’t become the punchline of every locker room joke and hallway rumor.
Lola sits to my right, and Aubrey to my left.They both check in with me in their own subtle ways.No grand gestures, just gentle glances and small touches.Their hands rest on my arm, or knees nudge mine.A steady rhythm of ‘I’ve got you’ without needing to say it.
And thank fuck for that.
They’re the only reason I’m upright.The only reason I haven’t grabbed my bag and bolted from the cafeteria like I’m on fire.
Reece takes his usual seat at the table, directly across from me.
The tension sticks to us, thick and uneasy.He says nothing.Not with Lola watching him like she’s about to throw her juice box at his head.Not with Aubrey stiff beside me.And definitely not with Noah, glaring at him as if he’s ready to swing if Reece so much as breathes wrong.
So he remains quiet.
And so do I.
