Midterm didn't just go badly.
It was hell—wrapped in silence, laced with betrayal, and buried beneath the weight of my mother's indifference.
The morning after the call, my aunt moved around the house like I didn't exist.
But when her eyes finally met mine, they didn't need words.
They screamed louder than her cane ever did:
"You're a stain."
"An embarrassment."
My body still throbbed from the night she exploded.
Every bruise had a heartbeat.
Every chore she assigned felt like she was peeling the skin off my shame.
I scrubbed floors.
I washed plates that weren't dirty.
I ironed clothes I wouldn't wear.
Each task was a silent punishment layered on top of purple and yellow bruises that bloomed like rotting flowers across my skin.
⸻
That was when the family elders began to call.
Questions flew like knives over the phone, landing squarely on my cousin—Alex.
The same cousin I had lived with.
The one who used to tell me Rob was a good guy.
The one who used to defend me when my aunt's tongue got too sharp.
Now?
Now he was a stranger in a familiar face.
They asked him, "Why is your niece trending online?"
"What happened to the girl we raised with values?"
And Alex?
He told them everything.
Everything but the truth.
"She's been… difficult."
"She doesn't really talk to me."
"I don't know what she does when I'm not around."
He said it flatly. Like reading from a prepared script.
I was sitting in the hallway when I heard it—
Just behind the wooden door with peeling paint and no lock to protect me.
And as I listened, my hands trembled against my knees, pressed tight to keep myself from unraveling.
I swallowed every lie like I owed them.
Like punishment was my native language.
Like survival depended on my silence.
Because in that house, the rules were simple:
Stay quiet.
Stay small.
Don't make it worse.
⸻
It stung more because Alex had a girlfriend.
He always did.
Their love was loud and condemned by every living soul in school.
People judged them—but still, he had her.
And I had no one.
He was Rob's best friend. Had been for years.
And now? He denied even knowing him.
When the elders brought Rob up, he smirked.
"I don't even talk to the guy like that."
Lies.
Every sentence a betrayal dipped in calm.
He'd been the one to convince me to go for Rob in the first place.
Said, "He's different, Chels. Don't miss your chance."
But now he folded his arms and threw me to the wolves without blinking.
And I still… covered for him.
Still cooked when his mom told me to.
Still cleaned floors that never seemed clean enough.
Still bent over in silence like the shame might fall off if I worked hard enough.
⸻
Mum called again.
Her voice sliced through the air like cold steel.
No "How are you?"
No "Do you need anything?"
No "Are you eating?"
Just this:
"I heard you want to run for school president."
I cleared my throat.
"Yes, ma," I whispered, my voice barely mine.
"If they call me, I'll tell them everything."
Everything. That word echoed in my chest like a punch.
"Mummy, please… don't," I begged, panic leaking into every word. "This is all I have."
There was silence.
Then a long sigh. The disappointed kind.
"Don't disgrace us again."
Click.
Call ended.
No prayers.
No wishes.
No heart.
I wasn't her daughter—I was her disgrace.
⸻
My little brother, the golden child, was given more than enough.
Pocket money, provisions, even advice.
Me?
I was dead broke.
No sanitary pads.
No snacks.
Not even money to pay for laundry.
Not even ten naira to my name.
But my aunt? She handed Alex a thick envelope.
Enough money for two terms, maybe more.
She smiled as she gave it to him.
Proud. Loving.
Like he was a hero.
The one who didn't trend online.
And Mum? She compared me to my brother again.
Told everyone how he never caused shame.
How he had moral values.
How he respected his teachers.
Even though I was always top of my class—
There was always a reason to set him higher.
I started hating him.
I hated that I did.
But I couldn't stop.
She caused it.
The comparisons. The rejection. The silent competition I never signed up for.
She preached love.
But practiced favoritism like a religion.
⸻
Resumption day came.
The Uber ride was suffocating.
My cousin sat beside me, headphones in, fully tuned out.
He didn't look at me.
Didn't ask if I was okay.
Didn't notice how I flinched every time the car hit a bump.
My skirt rode up slightly, revealing the marks.
The lashes.
Red faded to purple. Purple bruised into yellow.
I sat in silence.
Counting potholes.
Praying each one would swallow me whole.
⸻
We reached the school gate.
He jumped out first.
Quick. Free. Careless.
But I stayed.
Because I knew I wasn't walking back into a school.
I was walking into a battlefield.
Not just whispers.
Not just stares.
But judgment.
Labels.
Rumors made permanent by screenshots and silence.
⸻
Then, I saw them.
My people.
Rob.
Maya.
Teni.
Tochi.
My circle. My backbone.
They were all standing at the school gate, eyes searching every car that arrived.
And when they saw me?
They ran.
No hesitation.
No disgust.
No questions.
Just open arms and tight hugs.
Rob was the first to reach me.
He held me like I was made of glass and fire.
And in that moment, I broke—quietly.
They didn't care about the whispers.
They didn't care about the bruises.
They just cared about me.
⸻
Turns out Rob had told them everything.
I had written to him from my laptop using a secret email.
Told him not to text my phone—it had been seized.
He understood.
And he worried.
And he told the circle.
They were worried sick.
Because even though the world felt empty—they still stood by me.
That day, I realized:
Some friends become family.
And some families become enemies.
⸻
They picked up my box—small and light, because it had nothing in it.
No snacks.
No pads.
No new clothes.
Just one worn notebook and a campaign speech folded in a side pocket.
Teni glanced down and saw the lashes peeking beneath my socks.
She didn't ask.
She simply peeled off her pop socks and gave them to me.
I nodded, tears blurring my view.
⸻
And together, we walked to the assembly.
A crew.
A storm.
A reminder that I was not alone.
Eyes turned.
Mouths whispered.
But I kept my head high.
Rob's hand found mine, firm and warm.
And in that moment?
I didn't feel like a victim.
I felt like a phoenix.
Burned. Scarred. But finally—rising.