CHAPTER 95
WINTER
There used to be moments I looked forward to quiet nights out with my friends, and the calm of working at the library. Back home, life was simple, and even though we didn’t have much, I felt content.
But now, I found myself far away from home, more miserable than I had ever been. After the incident with Zion and his obnoxious football friends, my sleep had been fitful and restless.
Every little noise had me on high alert, leaving me with dark circles under my eyes and a puffiness I couldn’t hide, no matter how much makeup I applied.
I had no clue when Zion's friends had finally left, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think my battle with him was over. If anything, it felt like this was just the beginning. I knew he would find a way to retaliate; that was his speciality. I needed to stay vigilant and ready for his next move, which I could bet would come sooner rather than later.
I longed to crawl back into bed and forget the world rather than drag myself down to the kitchen.
But I had a class to get to.
As I walked into the kitchen, the sun poured through the windows, casting bright rays that stood in stark contrast to my current mood. My plan was simple: get out of the house early and avoid any unwanted encounters with Zion.
Yeah right!
........
The day unfolded in a relentless cascade of taunts and abuse, shattering any hope I had of getting through it unscathed. I’d foolishly wished for a day where I could go unnoticed and slip through the cracks without enduring the crude remarks, but that was nothing more than a delusion.
In every class, I’m met with sneers and whispers. Cindy and her band of followers lead the charge, but they’re far from my only tormentors. Strangers—people I’ve never even spoken to—take turns hurling insults my way as I walk from one class to another. They mock my clothes, tear apart my appearance, and spit venomous comments about how I don’t belong.
After my third class of the day, I returned to my locker only to find the word “SLUT” scrawled in red across the door, surrounded by a border of opened condoms taped all around it. My stomach turns, but at least they’re unused. That’s the silver lining, I guess.
Lunch is a disaster waiting to happen, and it doesn’t disappoint. As I navigate the crowded dining hall with my tray of chicken and potatoes, someone sticks out their foot and sends me crashing to the ground.
My plate goes flying, food splattering across the floor as I land hard on my hands and knees. The room erupts in laughter and applause, the sound echoing in my ears as I push myself up, my face burning with humiliation.
A group of sophomores, apparently enamored with Zion and his crew, start chanting “clumsy slut” in mocking sing-song voices, adding yet another label to the growing list of insults I’ve endured since stepping foot in this place.
By the time I drag myself to my next class, the weight of the day already feels unbearable, but I know it’s far from over. The rest of my day looms ahead, promising more of the same, if not worse.
If it weren’t for Claire and her friend Harry, whom I met earlier this morning, I’m not sure how I’d have survived the relentless onslaught of abuse.
Claire is a true beacon of kindness in this hellhole.
From the moment we met, she’s made it her mission to stick by my side, becoming a constant presence as we navigate the school together.
She’s taken to walking me to as many of my classes as she can, serving as a human shield, a buffer between me and the endless barrage of bullshit that gets thrown my way. It’s like she’s made it her mission to protect me, and for that, I’m more grateful than I can put into words.
Harry, Claire’s friend, turns out to be a surprising and welcome addition to this small circle of sanity. He’s the quiet type, reserved but not in an unfriendly way.
There’s a calmness to him that’s almost soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos that seems to follow me everywhere else. He doesn’t talk much about himself, but there’s an unspoken understanding that he’s someone I can trust. I can’t help but notice that he’s good-looking enough to fit right in with the popular crowd—Zion and his so-called “royal” crew.
Later that afternoon, as we’re walking to class, he shrugs and casually mentions how little he cares about their wealth or power.
“He can be such a fucking idiot sometimes,” Harry mutters, clearly frustrated.
I catch him mumbling something about Zion, saying he’ll deal with him later, his tone dripping with irritation. It’s kind of refreshing to hear someone talk about the so-called "Kings" without sugar-coating it.
Claire shoots him a sharp look, eyes narrowing in silent warning like she's telling him to watch his words.
He quickly backtracks with a smirk, shrugging it off. “Except for Clark, of course."
It’s been impossible to find any peace of mind since Zion’s threat yesterday. His words echoed through my thoughts like a broken record, playing over and over again.
*This isn’t over. I’m not done with you....”*
The malice in his voice had been unmistakable, and it sent a chill down my spine every time I recalled it.
This morning, Claire dropped a bombshell on me: Zion had declared it
“Open Season” on me at the party last night. While I was anxiously wondering why he hadn’t come after me during the night, he’d been busy making sure everyone else knew it was open season on me.
He had given the green light for everyone to target me without consequences.
Despite this, Zion himself hasn’t approached me since our last confrontation. It’s like he’s content to sit back and let others do his dirty work, orchestrating my torment from a distance.
It’s clear that Zion thrives on my misery; I’ve caught glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye, smirking as I’m bombarded with taunts and insults, his expression one of smug satisfaction.
What I can’t figure out is why he’s keeping his hands clean. It would be so easy for him to confront me directly, to deal the final blow himself, yet he hasn’t. It’s almost like he’s savouring the slow breakdown of my defenses, feeding off the fear and desperation I’m trying so hard to keep hidden. Every time I stumble or falter, every time I’m humiliated in front of the school, I can feel his eyes on me, taking it all in like he’s watching his favorite show.
The worst part is that, despite his distance, Zion is still in control. He’s pulled the strings and set everything in motion, and now he’s sitting back, watching his little game unfold exactly the way he wants. And I hate that he’s managed to get so far inside my head. Even when he’s not there, I can feel his presence looming over me like a dark cloud, impossible to shake.
But I won't let him intimidate me.
Never.
Game on
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