My eyes blinked open slowly to the familiar beige ceiling. Faint lines of sunlight crept through the blinds, lighting the dusty corners of my tiny room. Another day. Another mask.
I pulled myself up from bed, wincing slightly at the dull ache crawling up my spine. It was going to be one of those days. But I didn't complain. I'd learned not to.
Sliding into my usual grey cardigan, I reached for the hoodie that had become my second skin. I tugged it over my head, the soft fabric instantly hugging my face, shadowing everything beneath. This was how I moved through the world: hidden, safe.
Downstairs, I found the small square container of food on the counter. Labeled with a sticky note and my name in my mom's hurried handwriting. She hadn't come home again last night.
She was always working, always tired. I didn't blame her. We lived like ships passing in the night glancing, never docking.
I ate quickly, packed up, and caught the first bus to campus. The world outside the window blurred like wet paint, and I let my thoughts drift away with it. I had lectures today. Lab later. No talking. No eye contact. Just the way I liked it.
The moment I stepped onto campus grounds, the volume of life hit me like a punch to the gut. Laughter. Footsteps. Shouting. All too loud. I ducked my head lower under the hoodie, arms wrapped tightly around my books.
I moved fast. Left building. Second hallway. Third locker from the corner my safe zone.
The metal creaked as I unlocked it, fingers trembling only slightly from the morning chill... or maybe from the effort of pretending I didn't hear what was happening just down the hall.
Voices. Loud. Cruel. Sharp like knives wrapped in grins.
I didn't have to look. I already knew.
Bryan Carter. The king of every room, god of juvenile cruelty, and apparently, the school's most decorated heartbreaker. The school bully. And resident playboy.
I heard the thud of a body against a locker and a chorus of laughter. My stomach twisted. I wanted to leave. I needed to.
But fate, as always, had a sick sense of humor.
As I turned to close my locker, I caught him looking at me. Bryan. Towering, smug, with those sharp eyes that could slice you open and smile while doing it. His gaze narrowed like I was something stuck to the bottom of his designer sneakers.
I held it for half a second, then broke eye contact so fast it probably looked like I was afraid. I wasn't.
Okay, maybe I was.
Disgust pooled in my throat, hot and bitter. I slammed my locker shut and walked off before he or any of his crew could say a word to me.
Let them bully the world. I had built mine far enough away.
And I had no interest in stepping into theirs.
Not now. Not ever