Chapter 3 BETH
BETH
And there it was. A sharp scrawl in red ink.
My headphones were strapped to my ears, no music, no distraction, except for the hushed chatter coming from three lockers away that I had been trying so hard to ignore.
My fingers moved mechanically over the spine of books in my congested locker. My math notebook seemed to be missing. I was sure I didn’t go home the last time with it. It should be here somewhere, tucked between other books.
I couldn’t afford to misplace it. There was a lot for me to cover up after a two weeks of suspension. Starting the note from the beginning was not going to work in my favour. Not when the mid-term test was around the corner. I needed to find the note so I could study for my test.
“I really can’t believe she came back here.”
“Me too.”
“Why did Mr McRae get fired and she gets just a suspension? Why can’t the punishment be equal?”
“She was incredibly favoured.”
The chatter three lockers away was getting under my skin now, breaking through the wall I thought I had so carefully built before showing my face at school today.
The girls; four of them. They whispered. Murmured. Then they talked louder. And I could no longer pretend their words weren’t giving me more anxiety than the idea of not finding my math notebook.
“The entire team in the disciplinary committee are either just bloody ridiculous or clearly just favoured her.”
“Her story sounded straight out of an old novel.”
“Maybe she sucked Principal Rozanov’s dick, too.”
“Sounds about right. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
They all giggled, the cruel sound echoing down the hall. And my eyes began to twitch.
“Hell, I really hate her so much.”
“Seeing her ruins my mood.”
“I need her gone.”
Then one scoffed, “Just gone? I need her dead.”
They needed me to feel how despicable they thought I was. To realise how cruel and unforgivable my actions had been, and the consequences it left behind.
Rowan McRae was a handsome man. Just 26.
The youngest teacher Lochborne Academy of Arts had ever gotten.
Many girls liked him, some wanted him. Miss Robinson, the English teacher who caught us, had invited him to her house for dinner many times.
They all knew Rowan McRae was good at heart. They knew my story was full of shit.
I was sure of this harsh welcome back to school. I just thought I was prepared for it, to be very honest. That I would just tune the world out like I always did. But it was so hard. It was always hard to digest when I wasn’t the one choosing to die, but someone was suggesting it to me.
A wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach clenched, and bile crept up my throat.
The girls finally left the locker and walked toward me, probably heading to their classes, but the weight of their approach and the way they trapped me with their spiteful eyes felt like the world was towering over me, closing in on me.
“Ugh, such a drama queen.”
“Once a slut, always a dirty slut.” The crude words weren’t unfamiliar, yet it cut deeper than the blade from this morning.
I felt like letting out a choked cry. But a loud gasp escaped my lips instead, while heaviness pressed into my chest, as my fingers clutched the notebook I had been looking for.
Close your eyes.
Breathe in.
Release.
“Release, dammit!” The irritated voice in my head snapped.
A long breath whooshed from me when I heaved a sigh, the sound bouncing off the walls and vanishing as a quiet echo.
I glanced around me again to be sure I was alone with my demons and no one saw that.
Then I moved closer to my locker, resting my forehead on the opened door, hoping for their words to dissolve into nothingness.
But hope suddenly seemed out of reach. Because their words, though harsh, were nothing but the truth. And this truth was haunting me.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there like that. To be honest, I felt like I had dozed off at some point. When my eyes snapped open, the bell for first period had gone off. Lifting my head off the locker, I stepped away and slammed the door shut.
But there he was, leaning against the locker next to mine, arms folded, a casual, youthful grin on his face.
Banks Awolowo.
Just like the previous occasion I was near him, his dark skin stayed smooth like onyx, dimples deeper than the last time, and teeth white enough to resemble pearls.
Even though I was already drowning in a suffocating mess, blush still crept up my cheeks. Because pretty boys had a way of drawing a smile from me.
Banks Awolowo was Yòrúba, a tribe in South-Western Nigeria.
No, he wasn’t related to the school counsellor, Mr. Coker.
Though, Mr. Coker seemed to be aware of Banks’ kinship.
Apparently, Banks family was said to belong to a long line of royals.
This made him a Prince, of course. The red beaded bracelet constantly present on his left wrist was apparently a significance of his kingship.
And he always wore it, as far as I knew.
“Hi there,” Banks said slowly, his deep voice hinting at a playful, lighthearted tone.
Then a fleeting memory surfaced; a time before Rowan McRae, when Banks caused my anxiety, like other boys who I’d had a crush on in the past. But the emergence of Rowan relegated Banks to the background, regardless of his efforts to stay in my sight.
Now he was here again. Like he always was.
Adjusting the books in my arms, I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Hey.”
“So…is it finally my turn to have some of your time, or am I out of luck?” he asked, his dark eyes almost hopeful.
Perhaps a relationship with Banks could last until college, or even beyond.
Maybe he would marry me. From a home bound slave to achieving royal status.
What could possibly be better? Well, Banks did say he wouldn’t end up as the king, though.
There were a string of others before him.
But I would be a princess, at minimum, I believed.
“Not today, Banks.” I shook my head, exhaling a soft laugh. “Not today.”
Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Because it usually took nothing for me to fall into a deep sea of infatuation again.
My rejection, though, caused a tiny flash of disappointment in his eyes. And I could I swear I saw a small clench in his sharp jaw. But it almost went unnoticed. He hummed in response, studying me for a few seconds, searching for a crack in my armour.
“Well,” he sighed, leaning off the locker and running a hand through his buzz cut. “Can’t say I wouldn’t try again, though.” Then he flashed me a charming smile and a wink.
I shook my head, unable to fight off the small, but genuine smile creeping up my lips. Then I watched him stride down the hallway until he disappeared behind a curve.
I fixed my headphones back on, music on this time, and began to walk to my class.
Fortunately, I was able to avoid further encounters. The hallway was nearly deserted. Though the atmosphere when I finally stood in front of my classroom was one I didn’t prepare for.
First, I was hit by the cruel sense of déjà vu as my eyes fell on Rowan’s desk. My breath stilled immediately. And no matter how hard I fought it, my gaze remained pinned on it, the image burning into my mind.
For a split second, I saw a piece of gum stuck under his desk, the memory fresh as though it happened a second ago–when I took out my gum to kiss him before any student could walk in.
I no longer had control over my mind as more memories kept slamming into me like flash photography.
I felt it, the brush of his fingers tracing circles. And he whispered, so low I barely heard it, ‘You’ll be okay. I promise.’
“Out of the way, man!” A hard bump against my shoulder jolted me back to reality. The boy that shoved past me barely spared me a glance, a wave of sandy blond hair disappearing into the crowd.
My blood turned to ice when I finally realised that the entire class was now looking at me.
Whispers.
Snickers.
Their eyes were like knives.
“Ignore,” the familiar voice in my head murmured, “this isn’t your first rodeo, anyway.”
“You guys are so mean,” someone said as I stood, looking at the mess on my table.
Crumpled sheets littered the top like discarded trash, while slur and derogatory words were scrawled across the surface in bold, ugly black marker.
Slut.
Whore.
Bitch.
How much to suck my dick, too?
My throat tightened at the familiar words I was seeing, the corners of my eyes itching, albeit my struggle to stay…okay.
The need to bolt churned at the back of my mind. But I suppressed the tremble in my hand instead and reached for one of the crumpled sheets, the paper thin yet rough against my palm.
Like whenever I logged into the school portal at the end of the year to check my performance overall, hoping I hadn’t flopped and lost my scholarship, my heart raced as I unfolded the paper.
And there it was, a sharp scrawl in red ink.
‘Kill yourself, why don’t you?’
There was a sting that threaded a path through my chest, but I pretended not to feel it. I must not break. Not when all eyes were watching, waiting for me to.
I took in a deep breath and crushed the paper back into a ball, tossing it across the room.
I searched through my rucksack for the pack of pocket wipes I always carried around. But somehow, I seemed to have left it at home.
My gaze dropped on my arm warmers. They were dark grey, the stain would show. But the material was woolen, great for absorbing a mess such as this. So I bent over my desk and began to wipe the table. And to my dismay, the stain wasn’t leaving. If anything, it got worse, smearing further.
They used permanent markers, so I wouldn’t be able to clean it. So the words would stare at me every single second I sat on that desk.
My head felt heavy, my chest constricting again. I felt like I was suffocating and everyone was watching me die, waiting for me to die already.
This was too much to bear.
Tears stung my eyes. But I blinked them away. I didn’t pick my bag to run even though I desperately wanted to. I sat down instead, placing my book on the desk, waiting for the teacher to walk in.
Several minutes passed with words flying over my head and the door finally swung open. But it wasn’t Rowan McRae. It was a teacher I didn’t know, never met before.
Reality hit me again. Rowan had been replaced. Rowan lost his job. All because of a lie I told.
???
The sharp scent of grass and sweat clung to the air, mixed with the echo of shouts and laughter of boys charged with adrenaline.
I didn’t step onto the field. I sat there by the terracing which was cold beneath me, but I barely registered it. My arms rested on my knees, my fingers twitching, scratching, pinching.
There were no tears. But my eyes burned, red-rimmed, and unfocused.
Kenzo didn’t notice me. I had been here for the past ten minutes after I bolted out of math class.
No one noticed me. No one ever did unless they needed something I could offer.
Then, someone finally did. One of Kenzo’s teammates, Gerald.
He had briefly glanced at the stand and spotted me. He frowned, confused, then nudged at Kenzo before throwing a small nod in my direction.
Kenzo turned, confused at first. And when the realisation hit him, the soccer ball in his hand rolled off, abandoned on the grass.
He jogged over to me, his movements quick and urgent. He stood near me now, winded after running. But I didn’t react. I didn’t move.
I had my arm warmers rolled up, my nails digging into the unhealing scar, scratching, pinching, tugging at the blemished skin around it. I wanted to carve it off, this skin, this body.
A tremor ran through my fingers, my lips pressed tight to keep them from shaking.
Kenzo breathed a curse, then muttered, “I’m coming.”
In a second, he was back on the field again. I watched as he jogged to his team, speaking animatedly to them. And before I could blink, he was back again, lifting me up and leading me away from the field.
“Home?” he asked.
“No, Rowan’s.”
???
The knock on the door persisted, each one echoing into silence. But I was relentless.
With my fist clenched again, I placed another one, my knuckles burning.
No answer still.
I stepped back, arm crossing over my chest as I stared at Rowan’s apartment door. But there was nothing. No footsteps. No sound. No sign that he was even inside. Just like how there was no sign that he was receiving my calls or seeing my texts.
Kenzo exhaled behind me, shifting uncomfortably.
He said it was not a good idea to come to Rowan’s house. But I had remained obstinate despite the uncertainty regarding this visit. My apology would fix nothing. But I still wanted to try.
“Maybe he’s not home?” he offered. But I knew better. He was home alright? He was watching through the drawn curtains of his room.
I stepped closer to the door again, my fingers hovering over it. Then I let them fall to my side again.
“He’s home,” I muttered in defeat. “He’s ignoring me.”
Kenzo didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed my wrist gently and pulled me away from the door, away from my guilt. Away from something I couldn’t fix.
“We’ll come back.”
I didn’t move.
“I just wanted–” I took in a sharp breath, my nails digging into my palm. “I just wanted to apologise. It can’t fix anything, but I just needed him to know that I’m truly sorry.”
Then I chuckled, out of nowhere, a very dry and passionless one. “But I guess if I was truly sorry, the saint thing to do is to go back and tell the truth to the entire school?” I bit my lip, my toe kicking at invisible dust. “And I am not brave enough to do that.”
“It’s alright.” Kenzo’s words weren’t at all dismissive. They held regret and understanding. A quiet acceptance that I needed to hear, perhaps.
“He’ll come around,” he said, so assured.
“I doubt.” My voice drifted softly into the wind, carrying the weight of my dismay. I stared at the door for a moment longer.
Rowan wasn’t coming around. How saintly could he possibly be to come around after the wicked way I paid him back for caring about me?
It was over.
The chapter between Rowan and me had ended. We should just flip to the next page.
Or burn the damn book.
“Come,” he said, then grabbed my wrist gently, leading me to the car.
Safely inside, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out the mini first aid kit he had kept there because of me. Because his best friend was a liar who didn’t know how to keep a simple promise.
I would swear that I had stopped cutting myself, yet would put a blade to my skin the second my darkness whispered.
He walked around with bandages because I was a broken girl he had to patch up every damn time.