Elinor POV:
Bryan' s face was a mirror of his guilt – embarrassment, shame, and a flicker of defensiveness. He stopped a few feet from me, his hands shoved into his pockets. He couldn't meet my gaze.
I pretended not to notice. I stepped closer, reaching out to brush a speck of ash from his white shirt. My fingers trembled slightly, but I kept my movements steady, my face carefully blank. The touch was mechanical, devoid of any warmth.
I took out my phone and typed: Your mom is worried. She asked me to find you. I held it up for him to read.
His brows furrowed, a silent admission of his mother' s concern. Just then, a shrill voice cut through the air. "Benny-boo! Who's this? Your little mute watchdog again?" Astrid, her red hair wild, emerged from the smoky shadows, her eyes narrowed at me. "Still trying to cling on to him, Elinor? Pathetic."
I felt my hand instinctively reach for Bryan, my fingers closing around his arm. I typed furiously on my phone: Go home, Bryan. Please. Your parents need you. It was a desperate plea, a final test.
He looked from me to Astrid, his face caught between two worlds. His eyes pleaded with me. Elinor, please. Just go home. I'll be there later. His voice was low, filled with a frustration that felt like a punch.
He gently tried to pry my fingers from his arm, his touch still familiar, still capable of sending a shiver down my spine, but this time, it was a shiver of dread.
I pulled back, my hand dropping away from his as if he had burned me. I wouldn't let him offer me comfort he didn't mean. Not anymore.
He sighed, his eyes clouded with a sadness that felt performative. He didn't speak, didn't sign. He just stood there, caught.
My heart hardened. I took out my phone again, my thumbs flying across the screen. I don' t like Astrid. If you stay with her, I' m leaving. For good. It was the first truly harsh thing I had ever said to him, a declaration of war, delivered in stark black and white.
His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. He blinked, clearly taken aback by my bluntness. Elinor, don't be silly. Don't make a fuss. He signed, his hands moving quickly. You're always so good. Don't start acting out now. He patronized me, dismissed my feelings as childish theatrics.
Astrid's just... she's just a little wild sometimes. It's nothing serious. He was defending her, making excuses for her cruelty. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.
A hollow laugh escaped me, a silent, mocking sound. I pulled my hand from his, the last connection between us severed.
His hand fell, the sudden loss of my touch leaving a cold void in his palm, a hollow ache in his chest. He stood frozen, watching me.
"Bryan! Let's go!" Astrid whined from behind him, her voice demanding, impatient. "She's just trying to cause trouble!"
Bryan let out a roar of frustration, turning to snap at Astrid, the carefully constructed mask of composure finally cracking. "Shut up, Astrid!" he yelled. His outburst was sudden, violent, full of pent-up anger.
I walked to the waiting car, the door already open. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Bryan was still in the alley, Astrid clinging to his arm, her head buried in his shoulder, her body shaking with what looked like sobs. My lips curved into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. I win.
A few minutes later, the passenger door opened. Bryan slid in, the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.
"Take me home," he mumbled, his voice flat, defeated.
In the rearview mirror, Astrid was still standing there, stamping her foot, tears streaming down her face. She looked furious, thwarted.
Astrid's revenge was swift and brutal.
The next morning, my phone buzzed incessantly. The class group chat was exploding. Messages, pictures, videos-a torrent of digital filth. My stomach lurched. It was me. Pictures of me, half-dressed, in the bathroom. Videos of me being tormented. The images, distorted and blurry, still unmistakable, filled my screen. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. My body shook with a cold, desperate fear.
Bryan, sitting beside me in the car, leaned over, curious. What's wrong? he signed, his brow furrowed with concern.
I quickly pressed the lock button, shutting off the screen before he could see. I couldn't let him see. Not yet.
I forced a tight, artificial smile, shaking my head. Nothing. Just a group chat. My hands signed the words, my face a blank mask. We walked into school, side by side, a picture of normalcy, but inside, I was crumbling.
The whispers started immediately, a low, venomous hum. Eyes followed us, darting away when I met them. I pretended not to hear, not to see. I held my head high, my jaw tight, my gaze fixed straight ahead. But every whisper, every glance, was a knife twisting in my gut.
Bryan, oblivious at first, quickly picked up on the shift. He kept turning back, his face growing paler with each passing minute. He saw the looks, heard the hushed tones. His concern, once a performance, now seemed chillingly real.
As soon as we reached our classroom, Bryan stormed over to Astrid, grabbing her arm and pulling her out into the hallway. Their voices, muffled but heated, drifted back into the room.
Astrid was crying, loud, theatrical sobs. "It wasn't me! I swear! I would never!" she wailed, her denials ringing hollow. No one believed her. Not the students, not the teachers, and certainly not Bryan. He knew her too well.
Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, met mine across the room. They were filled with a raw, unadulterated hatred.
Later that day, it happened again. Astrid, along with her gang, cornered me in the girls' restroom. This time, there was no canvas bag, no pretense. Just raw, unbridled malice.
