After that incident, Kora Allen became even more ruthless.
She accused me of bullying her and rallied classmates to treat me the same way. As the heiress of a wealthy family, she effortlessly commanded a legion of devoted followers, making me their favorite target. Torn-up books and thumbtacks on my chair were just the start. They cornered me in the restroom, dunking my head into a bucket. My teacher's only concern was how my dropping grades tarnished the class's reputation, summoning my parents to discuss my possible expulsion.
During a school play, a mishap occurred when a falling spotlight grazed my eye. My classmates laughed, calling it karma, and left me writhing in pain without assistance.
I took it all.
What truly crushed me was my only friend at this school betraying me. She was a scholarship student with outstanding grades, and we were once inseparable. She told me we shared the closest bond. Yet, one threat from Kora—defiance meant expulsion—and she immediately turned against me.
She publicly shared our private conversations, making my vulnerabilities the class's entertainment, leaving me embroiled in a scandal that made life unbearable. Yet, behind Kora’s back, she came to me sobbing, “Violette, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I had no choice…”
No choice?
I can't recall whether I forgave her at that moment. But forgiveness was pointless. It couldn't mend my shattered existence.
In the eyes of the elite, without anyone backing me, I was nothing but a joke. No matter how hard I worked, pulling all-nighters to study as a means of escape, they could easily drag me back down.
Eventually, I surrendered.
Because of something Kora said.
She took me to the rooftop and mocked me, asking if I thought getting into college would solve everything. She laughed at my foolishness.
“Don't you know? Bullies never end well,” she said, dripping with disdain. “If I were you, I’d jump off—end it all.”
Her words came so easily, as if life held no value to her. And perhaps it truly didn't.
So I jumped.
Initially, I hadn't intended to die. But under Kora's relentless bullying, I developed severe depression—a darkness that consumed my every thought and move. Countless nights I tried to focus on studies, but my hands would involuntarily reach for a blade. I fantasized about cutting my wrists, jumping from a window.
The doctor said I needed to escape the suffocating environment to avoid a grim fate. I had to free myself from Kora’s grip. But I was powerless.
Biting into my arm until it bled, tears mixed with rage as I glared into the darkness of Kora's room, hatred coursing through my veins.
If I had no way out, then I would ensure she went down with me.
It wasn’t until long after my death that the diagnosis of my depression resurfaced, delivering a shock to my parents.
By then, they were consumed by guilt, living in melancholy silence. But upon seeing it, they snapped and went to confront Kora at the psychiatric hospital.
They intended to kill her, driven by remorse for the daughter they neglected. But they failed. The struggle left everyone scarred; caught off guard by my father's attack, Kora was rendered brain-dead, aware but waiting to die.
My parents were committed to a psychiatric facility, never to see the outside world again. As the doctors restrained them, they glared at Kora with venomous eyes.
“We loved you more, always pretending to be emotionally wounded! But in the end, our dear Violette was the one truly harmed…” they cried.
“She was remarkable, hiding her depression to spare us worry, unlike you! Always feigning suffering for sympathy!”
Their voices, raw with despair, accused, as my mother lay back, tears streaming, staring at the sterile ceiling.
“Sweet daughter, we’ve sinned gravely. May you be born into a kinder family in your next life.”
I heard them.
And I will.
