News flashed everywhere.
Apparently, It's some sort of virus outbreak. I stumble to the restroom.
My head hurts. God, my head hurts. It's almost as if somebody is carving something into my head.
I stand by the sink, looking down. "Keugh.." I cough and groan. I flinch to my phone buzzing in my pocket. I see a text from an unknown number. Confused, My brows knit together, as if drawn by a thread.
It said:
Hey Lavinia, Did I really hurt you? I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to act that way, I just.. I wanted to be heard. And seen. Once again.. I ended up being a useless weed. This... This might be first time I make somebody happy. I...I need to do this. I keep hurting people. I want to live but...
Just that.
No explanation.
But that does not mean I'm any less concerned for this person. I typed out a message, the sharp headache still there.
"Who are you?" But then I discard it. I wouldn't want to hurt them and make them feel more... Unseen.
I type out another message.
"What do you mean?" Yes, this might be okay.
I hit send. But I only saw one gray tick. Have I been blocked? If so, why?
I felt heavily unsettled because of this. I walk out of the restroom and head to class.
"Can I go to the nurse's office? I don't feel so good." I ask the teacher as my eyes scan the room. Sylvia is not here. Could she have sent that message? No, no, no. Lord no.. that can't be. It just can't be!
Lucien looked at me, concerned. The teacher cut through the haze,
"You too? Who am I even supposed to teach to, walls?" She sighed and then added, "Alright, Go."
I couldn't sleep. Not after the text. Not while having such a huge headache.
I stared at the text. I don't know for how long. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? I hoped for it to atleast go through. Then, maybe she could've atleast read it.
I saw Lucien at the corner of my eye. He spoke up, "Are you okay and...Have I done something wrong?" He clenched his jaw while clenching his fists. Did he do something wrong? Lucien is popular and he probably has many friends. Why would he care if he lost just one of them? Wait, am I even a friend of his?
"What do I mean to you?" The sharp words left my mouth. I did not mean to say it so... blatantly. But I did not correct myself this time. I wanted to see how he would react. I want to see how much I was worth.
He paused and stood frozen. "You.. you're a friend of mine. You... you're like me so I... I can express myself near you without being judged." He looked away, his breath ragged.
Me, Like him? Don't make me laugh. I looked at him as if he's just slapped me. "The..." Shit, I nearly mentioned the painting. But if he really had nothing to hide, why don't I just ask him? "You... You're only doing this because of the painting right? If not for that, maybe I would've just been a passing stranger—or classmates at best." I said, my voice wavering. Something wet dripped down my face.
He flinched, like the weight of it all had finally landed. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he just stared ahead—blank, lost. His eyes watered, the kind of tears that come slow and heavy, from pain. It was as if something inside him was crumbling and breaking down. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. It was all right there, written in the silence.
I shouldn't have mattered this much to him, but was I wrong to feel betrayed?