The girls; four of them. They whispered. Murmured. Then they talked louder. And I could no longer pretend their words weren’t giving me more anxiety than the idea of not finding my math notebook.
“The entire team in the disciplinary committee are either just bloody ridiculous or clearly just favoured her.”
“Her story sounded straight out of an old novel.”
“Maybe she sucked Principal Rozanov’s dick, too.”
“Sounds about right. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
They all giggled, the cruel sound echoing down the hall. And my eyes began to twitch.
“Hell, I really hate her so much.”
“Seeing her ruins my mood.”
“I need her gone.”
Then one scoffed,“Just gone? I need her dead.”
They needed me to feel how despicable they thought I was. To realise how cruel and unforgivable my actions had been, and the consequences it left behind.
Rowan McRae was a handsome man. Just 26. The youngest teacher Lochborne Academy of Arts had ever gotten. Many girls liked him, some wanted him. Miss Robinson, the English teacher who caught us, had invited him to her house for dinner many times. They all knew Rowan McRae was good at heart. They knew my story was full of shit.
I was sure of this harsh welcome back to school. I just thought I was prepared for it, to be very honest. That I would justtune the world out like I always did. But it was so hard. It was always hard to digest when I wasn’t the one choosing to die, but someone was suggesting it to me.
A wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach clenched, and bile crept up my throat.
The girls finally left the locker and walked toward me, probably heading to their classes, but the weight of their approach and the way they trapped me with their spiteful eyes felt like the world was towering over me, closing in on me.
“Ugh, such a drama queen.”
“Once a slut, always a dirty slut.” The crude words weren’t unfamiliar, yet it cut deeper than the blade from this morning.
I felt like letting out a choked cry. But a loud gasp escaped my lips instead, while heaviness pressed into my chest, as my fingers clutched the notebook I had been looking for.
Close your eyes.
Breathe in.
Release.
“Release, dammit!”The irritated voice in my head snapped.
A long breath whooshed from me when I heaved a sigh, the sound bouncing off the walls and vanishing as a quiet echo.
I glanced around me again to be sure I was alone with my demons and no one saw that. Then I moved closer to my locker, resting my forehead on the opened door, hoping for their words to dissolve into nothingness. But hope suddenly seemed out of reach. Because their words, though harsh, were nothing but the truth. And this truth was haunting me.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there like that. To be honest, I felt like I had dozed off at some point. When my eyes snapped open, the bell for first period had gone off. Lifting my head off the locker, I stepped away and slammed the door shut.
But there he was, leaning against the locker next to mine, arms folded, a casual, youthful grin on his face.
Banks Awolowo.
Just like the previous occasion I was near him, his dark skin stayed smooth like onyx, dimples deeper than the last time, and teeth white enough to resemble pearls.
Even though I was already drowning in a suffocating mess, blush still crept up my cheeks. Because pretty boys had a way of drawing a smile from me.
Banks Awolowo was Yòrúba, a tribe in South-Western Nigeria. No, he wasn’t related to the school counsellor, Mr. Coker. Though, Mr. Coker seemed to be aware of Banks’ kinship. Apparently, Banks family was said to belong to a long line of royals. This made him a Prince, of course. The red beaded bracelet constantly present on his left wrist was apparently a significance of his kingship. And he always wore it, as far as I knew.
