The note on the dining table caught my eye as I entered the house.
"MOM AND DAD HAD SOME URGENT WORK TO DO. CALL YOUR AUNT IF THERE'S AN EMERGENCY."
No explanation. No details. Just that. I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or unsettled. Either way, I had bigger things to worry about.
Tomorrow, I would finally confront Sylvia.
I wasn't sure if I felt prepared, but I had to try.
As I walked through the school hallways, my stomach twisted into knots. This was the corridor where I usually talked to Sylvia—where I had once laughed along with her, despite knowing better.
Then, I saw her.
Sylvia stood in front of a locker—the new kid's locker—slipping in a folded note.
My heart skipped. I knew her well enough to suspect the worst. What if it was another one of her cruel tricks? Another fake confession, another setup to humiliate someone? But what if it was harmless? My feet refused to move, and my mind waged war with itself.
Before I could decide what to do, someone bumped into me.
"Sorry!" The boy barely turned as he rushed to his class. I glanced at the clock. I was late too.
Lunchtime. That's when I'd check.
I barely heard anything in class. My knee bounced under the desk, fingers twitching with impatience. I needed to read that note before the new kid did.
The second the bell rang, I rushed to the locker, only to come face-to-face with Sylvia.
She had Dutch braided pigtails. My stomach dropped. Sylvia only wore those braids when she had something big planned.
"Hey," she said, her eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?"
"I… I need to put a note there… haha…" I stammered. Why was I still afraid of her? I had let her get away with so much, but when it came to standing up to her, my voice still wavered.
She smirked. "Kay, as you say, Oxygen thief." Then she turned and walked off, arrogance in every step.
I exhaled shakily and grabbed the note.
"MEET ME ON THE TERRACE AT 2. – LUCIEN."
Lucien? The popular yet distant guy? My grip tightened. This was Sylvia's handwriting—she didn't even bother to disguise it.
If I hadn't intercepted this, the new kid would have shown up expecting something real, only to be humiliated.
Not this time.
I tore the note into tiny pieces and shoved them into my bag.
Now, I just had to figure out what to do next.
I didn't confront Sylvia right away. I had played along with her games for too long—I needed to be careful. Instead, I went to the terrace at 2, prepared.
Not that I knew what I was preparing for.
Maybe an argument. Maybe just the satisfaction of being there before Sylvia could enjoy her little "show."
What I didn't expect was Lucien.
He stood near the railing, bathed in the afternoon glow, the golden light catching in his light blonde hair—a color so soft it looked like spun sunlight. The wind tousled the strands, making them shift between pale gold and silver, depending on the angle.
His blue eyes were sharp yet distant, the kind of blue that reminded me of the ocean just before a storm—deep, intense, and unreadable. His long lashes framed them like dark ink strokes against porcelain, making his gaze feel almost too much to meet directly.
Tall and effortlessly composed, he exuded a quiet confidence, the kind that made people take notice even when he wasn't trying.
He was the kind of person who belonged in paintings, too perfect for reality. Then he spoke.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can return your feelings, Ora." His tone was polite, final. There was his voice—low, smooth, and velvety, like the kind you hear in the moments just before sleep takes you, comforting yet impossibly distant.
I blinked. "I'm not Ora."
Sylvia's laughter rang through the terrace.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Her footsteps were deliberate, loud.
"What do you think you're doing here, Oxygen thief?" Her eyes flicked to the baseball bat in my grip.
I tightened my hold. Why did I bring this up again?
My mind raced for an excuse. "Ora… Ora's my friend, and she… she asked me to turn him down for her."
Lucien turned to me, brow furrowing slightly. I hoped he understood. That I wasn't just here to cause trouble, that the note was fake.
Sylvia tilted her head. "Oh? Were you going beat him up or what?" She laughed hysterically.
I didn't answer. My heart pounded too fast, too erratic. My breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps. The edges of my vision darkened, blurring like I was staring into a fog.
No. Not now. Not here.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself, but the world tilted, a spinning vortex that I couldn't escape. My legs wobbled, unable to hold me up. My thoughts were fragmented, slipping like sand through my fingers. Colors smeared into each other, all of it fading into a hazy swirl.
And then, everything went black.
When I woke up, warm sunlight streamed in through a window.
I blinked against the brightness, my head throbbing. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, and the muffled sounds of chatter and beeping machines filled the space.
A voice cut through the haze.
"You're awake."
Lucien.
He was sitting beside my bed, his gaze unreadable.
I shifted slightly, my limbs heavy. "What… time is it?"
"Five." He exhaled, leaning back. "School ended a while ago."
My eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. It wasn't a hospital—it was the school infirmary.
"Why are you still here?" I asked.
He hesitated before answering. "Nobody came to pick you up, so they asked me to stay behind. Thought it was dangerous to leave a woman alone."
I scoffed. "And the teachers? They left you behind instead?"
He let out a soft laugh. "You know how things work here."
Yeah. I did.
A school where bullying went ignored. Where students were left behind without a second thought.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my temple. "Thanks for staying."
Lucien didn't respond right away. He just studied me, as if trying to figure something out.
Finally, he asked, "What were you really doing on the terrace? You never spoke or were friends with anybody but Sylvia."
I met his gaze.
Maybe it was time to stop running from the truth.
"Aren't you going to go home?" He asked. Yeah, it's about time I go back home. "I'll go with you," he added.
"Thank you for offering that. I'm Lavinia, by the way, Lavinia Addams." I said, offering a small smile. I was really grateful to him.
Lucien gave a slight nod, his expression still unreadable. We walked home in silence — comfortable silence. I found it rather weird that, near Lucien, whom I'd barely even known, I felt comfortable. I think it was because no matter what I did, I couldn't find out what he was thinking; that way, I won't get hurt. He won't say hurtful things either.
I reached home, and the familiar scent greeted me, wrapping around me like a memory I couldn't quite place. It was the same scent I had always known, yet today, it felt strangely comforting. With a tired sigh, I dropped my bag by the door and made my way to my bed, sinking into its soft embrace. Just as my body began to relax, the sharp, unexpected ring of my phone shattered the silence.
Startled, I sat up, my heart skipping a beat as I glanced at the screen. Sylvia. What does she want now? She never calls me. Not unless she needs something. I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the answer button. A sigh slipped past my lips before I finally gave in.
"Hey, what's up?" My voice was flat, void of any real enthusiasm.
Her response came instantly, raw and filled with something I hadn't expected—desperation.
"Do you have a problem with me? I thought we were friends. How could you do this to me, Lavinia?" She cried out, her voice cracking, shaky breaths breaking through her words.
It was the first time she had ever called me by my name.
A sharp pang of guilt twisted in my chest. I didn't know what to say. My heart pounded in confusion, my mind scrambling for an explanation. "I—what happened…?" The words left my lips, hesitant, uncertain.
Silence. Then, without another word, she hung up.
I stared at my screen, the abrupt disconnection leaving me frozen. My breath felt heavy, the weight of something unspoken settling over me. What was that? Just when I thought today had been—well, better.
A part of me wanted to call her back. To ask. To know. But another part resisted.
She never cared when I cried. Why should I care now?
The thought was bitter, yet it carried a twisted sense of truth. Was I wrong for feeling this way? The guilt clawed at me, but deep down, I knew—I wasn't. Yet, despite the conflict raging inside me, my fingers moved on their own. I dialed her number.
The call didn't even ring.
Instead, an automated voice echoed in my ear: "The number you dialed is no longer in service." The words repeated in my head, growing louder with every passing second.
No longer in service.
What… what could've possibly happened?
Would I have been able to talk to her if I had called sooner…?
It must've been serious, Sylvia is too prideful to show weakness….