14. Chapter 9
Unforgiven
Evin
H istory had always been one of Evin’s favorite subjects.
The structure, the clarity—it offered her a retreat from the chaos of her social life.
But today, on this Monday morning, everything felt different.
The room seemed smaller, the air stifling, and the stares that met her were sharp, cutting into her like daggers.
She stood in front of the class, clutching her notes on nationalism in California tightly, yet her thoughts were spinning elsewhere.
The news about the video had spread faster than she could have stopped it.
No matter how hard she tried to focus, she couldn’t block out the intrusive whispers and judgmental glances.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to steady her breathing.
"Focus," she whispered to herself, flipping through her cue cards. But it was as if the room was charged with tension, and the words stuck to the roof of her mouth. Of all days, it had to be today that she gave this damn presen tation. Everything was spiraling. Her stomach clenched tightly.
The rustling of books and chairs, the laughter from the corners of the room—it all seemed louder than usual.
Everyone knew about the video. She could feel their eyes on her.
No one even bothered to hide their stares.
In her trembling hands, her cue cards shook slightly.
What a perfect day for this, she thought bitterly.
"Nationalism in the 19th century..." Evin began, but her voice sounded dull in her own ears. She knew Mr. Brunner’s eyes were fixed on her. He perched on the edge of his desk, his expression both bored and condescending. Every sentence she spoke seemed to be dissected by his gaze, and though he said nothing, she could feel her confidence crumbling under the weight of his scrutiny. Just what I needed. Why does he sit there like he’s waiting for me to fail? Her voice began to waver.
"Ms. Hayes, you may start," Mr. Brunner said dryly, his tone cold, almost irritated. He made the words sound like an obligation he had no interest in fulfilling. Since the beginning of the school year, he had seemed to take a perverse pleasure in challenging Evin and putting her in uncomfortable situations. But today, he wasn’t alone—the entire class seemed against her.
Evin cleared her throat, trying to find her voice.
"With California’s admission to the Union in 1850...," she started, making an effort to sound firm and clear. But the tension in the air was palpable, as if everyone was expecting something to happen. The first faint giggles were barely audible, but they were there.
Evin’s heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to focus on her words.
Every sentence she uttered felt like a step further out onto thin ice.
She could hardly concentrate. All she felt was Mr. Brunner’s sharp gaze boring into her back.
You can’t mess this up, she told herself over and over, but her thoughts were a jumbled mess.
She barely dared to look directly at him, afraid that one more disapproving glance would shatter what little confidence she had left.
Why does he always have to be like this?
she thought desperately, as her voice faltered again.
And then, from the back of the room, came the first taunt:
"Let’s see if this presentation goes as viral as your last video."
The giggling swelled, accompanied by scattered coughs—weak attempts to mask laughter.
"Quiet," Mr. Brunner said, but his words carried no real authority. His gaze made it clear he wasn’t particularly impressed with Evin standing at the front of the room. She felt her breathing grow heavier, her grip on the notes tightening as if they were the only thing anchoring her.
Evin pushed forward. "California's admission was marked by debates over slavery and the question of whether it would become a free state or a slave state. This decision had a significant impact on national politics—"
Before she could finish, another voice cut through.
"Evin, you’re really good at... presenting."
The room erupted into raucous laughter. This time, Mr. Brunner didn’t even attempt to intervene. He simply stood there, letting her squirm, probably well aware of the situation.
Everything seemed to close in on her. The words on her notes blurred, and the stares from all around felt like sharp needles pricking into her skin.
"Maybe we should give you more stage time—you clearly love being in the spotlight," came Cat’s unmistakable voice.
Of course, it had to be her.
Evin clenched her jaw, frustration and humiliation flooding her chest. If Bas goes back to her after this, he’s lost it , she thought bitterly.
Her focus shattered. The laughter in the room was deafening now, a relentless noise she couldn’t block out. Her gaze flicked to Bas.
He sat in the back corner, quiet and expressionless. But she noticed the subtle tension in the way he spun his pen between his fingers—calm, almost indifferent, as if nothing was happening. But there was something in that small motion, something that made her pause.
He acted like she wasn’t even there.
No laughter, no defense—just silence. And that hurt more than anything else. He was supposed to be her anchor, her lifeline in moments like this. But his silence? It screamed louder than any insult.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and rolled her eyes.
"This is so childish," she said, her voice straining to break throug h the noise.
Thomas, a boy she had barely exchanged words with before, called out, "Hey Ben, you gonna help her prep after class?"
The comment hit her like a punch. Her shoulders slumped under its weight. The laughter, the staring, the endless whispers—it was suffocating.
She didn’t have the strength to push back anymore. No sharp comebacks, no witty remarks. She was drained. All that remained was an overwhelming exhaustion.
The class burst into hysterical laughter. Almost everyone joined in, and even Mr. Brunner stood there with his arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face.
In the corner, a few girls exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to join in or show some semblance of sympathy. None of them spoke.
Evin felt her cheeks burning, her throat tightening as if a vice had clamped down on her airways.
"Miss Hayes," Mr. Brunner said, his tone dry and cutting, "if you’re unable to complete your presentation, we can proceed without your... performance."
Performance? Evin thought bitterly. What a joke.
She wanted to say something, anything—to hold onto the last shreds of her composure—but her voice caught in her throat. The words she’d prepared were trapped, smothered under the weight of the stares, the laughter, and the crushing humiliation raining down on her from every direction.
Then she glanced down at her trembling hands, clutching the notecards like a lifeline in the middle of the chaos.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, a fragile confession meant for no one but herself.
Her hope that this presentation might provide an escape, like history class often did, had crumbled. Everything felt wrong today—the classroom, the teacher, even Bas. The laughter echoed louder, each giggle and snicker like a dagger to her chest and each taunt was another weight pulling her down.
She could no longer stand there. Every second felt like an eternity. Without thinking, she turned, her feet moving on their own, and yanked the door open. The loud slam as it closed behind her felt like a brief release, only to be drowned out by a fresh wave of laughter.
Trying to catch her breath, Evin leaned against the cold wall.
But it was no use.
Each inhale brought the sting of frustration and humiliation back tenfold.
Her hands trembled, no longer with fear, but with restrained anger. The words of her classmates replayed in her mind like a cruel, mocking echo.
"Fuck this," she muttered, her voice trembling with frustration.
How had she let it get this far? Why hadn't she said anything?
A thousand comebacks danced on the edge of her tongue, but they had all stayed trapped inside, smothered under the weight of her humiliation.
Coward.
"Why didn’t you fight back?" she thought bitterly.
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as her anger simmered, threatening to boil over.
She should have stood up for herself. She should have shouted, made them listen, silenced the jeers. But instead, she had stood there, frozen, and let them tear her apart. The helplessness burned.
And Cat. The queen of drama, reveling in every chance to humiliate her. She enjoys watching me suffer , Evin thought, jaw tightening. And she could picture Cat now, laughing, smirking, soaking in every second of her humiliation.
But more than anything, her anger focused on Bas. He had sat there. Silent. Unmoved. He hadn’t laughed, hadn’t defended her, hadn’t even flinched. "Idiot," she seethed internally. He watched them rip me apart and did nothing.
Her heart raced as she replayed the moment she had looked at him, hoping for support, a shred of empathy. But there had been nothing. Nothing! Not even a flicker of recognition.
"He could have done something," she muttered bitterly. But instead, he had ju st sat there, as if he didn’t care. Her fists shook with the force of her frustration. And this is the guy I’m putting myself through hell for? The guy I’m breaking myself for?
"You’re so fucking stupid," she whispered to herself, voice cracking.
She turned into the empty hallway, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
She heard another set of steps closing in from behind.
Just when she was about to turn around, a firm grip seized her arm and shoved her into the girls' restroom.
He spun her around—Bas pressed her against the wall, his hand firm on her chest. Evin felt the cold stone against her back as her breathing quickened.
For a moment, the world stood still.
Really, Evin?" His voice was low, almost eerily calm—and that made it worse.
The door shut behind them with a slow, final click.
"After everything... this? With him?" His lips curled into a faint, mocking smile, as if all of it were nothing more than a ridiculous triviality to him.
Evin opened her mouth to respond, but he raised a hand, silencing her before she could say a word.
His other hand pressed firmly against her chest, pinning her in place.
Her skin tingled under the pressure, and though she wanted to fight back, her body seemed frozen in place.
Her breathing grew faster, her heartbeat erratic, and the heat pooling in her stomach mixed with something else—something unsettling.
She should push him away. She should scream. But her body betrayed her, drawn to the heat, to the edge of something she didn’t want to name.
His hand slid up to her neck, and though his grip was cold, and his fingers pressed with more force than necessary, she couldn’t ignore the unmistakable intensity that sparked between them.
This—this confrontation—meant there was still something left, a connection neither of them had severed. Silence, a lack of touch, or words unspoken—that would have been far worse than this volatile interaction.
Evi n swallowed hard, her throat tightening under the weight of his hand. As long as he held her pinned against the wall, as intense as it was, it meant he hadn’t completely let her go.
"Save it, Bas. You made it clear... I’m not your problem anymore."
"You really think this is a game, don’t you?" His voice was almost amused, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the restraint he was barely managing to hold.
"Bas, stop—" She tried to push against his grip, but his eyes bore into hers, icy and disdainful.
"Stop?" He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching, his voice now a low whisper. "I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and no one could stop me. But here—you can watch me stop."
His cold, cutting gaze locked on hers, sending a shiver down her spine. He was so close she could feel his breath brushing against her skin.
"This is all you're worth now," he muttered quietly, the sharp edge in his tone echoing the tension in his clenched jaw.
Evin’s body tensed, her fingernails digging into her palms. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to stay quiet, to let the moment pass, to walk away with whatever pride she had left. But she couldn’t. Not this time.
Her voice was hoarse, but her words cut just as deep. “Then why are you still here?”
Bas froze. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to see something flicker in his eyes—something he wasn’t ready to admit.
Then, without another word, he released her, his fingers slipping away like she was nothing. But his piercing stare lingered on her face for what felt like an eternity.
"You disgust me, Evin."
Then he turned away without another word. No glance back. As if she had truly vanished from his world.
Just as the door slammed shut behind him, the anger in her chest flared, breaking through the numbness. She didn’t even think—her voice lashed out before she could stop it.
"I was thinking the same about you!"
The words hung in the air, swallowed by the empty bathroom. But he was gone. And she was alone.
When the silence settled, she didn’t just feel empty—she felt utterly lost. Without the fight, without the sound of his voice, there was suddenly nothing. No angry glare, no cutting words to wound her—only silence. And the silence was worse than anything else.
In the midst of the pain and disappointment, she realized it wasn’t just Bas she had lost—it was the illusion that she could ever truly have him without losing herself in the process.