ve slipped from my grasp, its sharp corner hitting the stage with a loud crack that echoed my own break

arrying across the silent auditorium. "She

ss eyes-they were weapons she used to dismantle my life piece by piece. She got me a failing grade by "honestly" telling our professor I'd signed her

sical weight, pressing down on me until I couldn't breathe. I ended it a

sharp, annoying

Are yo

ir smelled of cheap lavender air freshener and old pi

ad that same familiar, vacant look on her face. A look I had once m

ointing to a page. "It's for Professor M

get me to fail. This was it. This was the day it all started.

n my chest. It wasn't fear. It

just snatched the book from her hand, tossed it onto her own

loe? What's wrong?

s life, I would have immediately apologized and spent the ne

this

poke, my voice low and fla

lanket. I imagined the gears turning in her head, recalculating, confused by this

just survive it. I was going to make Madison pay for every tear I shed, for every opportunity she st

ery few minutes. She dropped a pen on the floor, letting it roll under my bed before making

ish. I don't understand it. W

The constant, low-level harassment that was so easy to deny. If I ever confronted her, she'd just look at me with those wide, inn

spoil. When I found out, she just said, "Oh, I didn't know that would happen! I'm so bad with electronics." Or the time she "a

ack. She thrived on my frustration and misery. She wa

ch was abou

rs and sat up, lookin

f you have a problem with me, say it to my fa

ask slipped for a second, revealing a flicker of raw anger in her eyes. It wa

lem," she stammered. "

ck to her and closing my eyes

st going to defend myself. I was going to go on