Chapter 8 #2
The shame coils tighter, a serpent in my gut, whispering I'm ruined, exposed, unworthy. How many have seen? Downloaded? Shared with laughs or leers?
Ms. Rivera leans forward slightly across the desk, her expression softening just a fraction. It’s the kind of practiced sympathy administrators learn somewhere between policy manuals and crisis training. But when she speaks, her tone stays clinical.
“We understand this may be distressing, Iris.” Her fingers fold neatly over a stack of printed emails.
“Has anyone approached you about the video? Do you suspect who might be responsible?” She glances down at her notes. “We’ll need details for the report. Timestamps, the platforms it’s circulating on, any messages you received.”
Her eyes lift again, steady but distant. “Campus policy requires us to address disciplinary concerns promptly, especially when they affect the community.”
Disciplinary concerns.
The phrase echoes in my head with a strange, hollow absurdity. As if I’m the delinquent here. As if being humiliated in front of half the student body somehow makes me the problem.
“It’s a stalker.” I say.
The words come out flat, mechanical, like I’m reading them off a cue card instead of describing my own nightmare. “Unknown number.”
My hands tighten in my lap. “He installed a camera in my flat.”
A faint crease appears between Dean Hargrove’s brows.
“I tried reporting it to the police yesterday.” I continue quietly. “But they… wouldn’t take it.”
The memory burns fresh. The mocking smile. The dismissal. That humiliation stacks itself neatly on top of this one, doubling the weight pressing down on my chest.
Dean Hargrove exhales slowly and exchanges a glance with Ms. Rivera. Something unspoken passes between them. It feels a lot like judgment.
“We sympathize with what you’re going through.” He says carefully. “But unfortunately, our options are somewhat limited.”
He adjusts the papers in front of him.
“The video has already circulated widely through student forums and private chat groups.”
Ms. Rivera nods beside him.
“We’ve issued takedown requests.” She adds, “But as you can imagine, digital permanence complicates things.”
The words feel strangely detached from the reality of what they’re describing. Like they’re discussing a corrupted file instead of my body.
Dean Hargrove clears his throat.
“For the time being,” he says carefully, folding his hands on the desk, “we’re advising you to stay off campus while we review the situation.”
The words land slowly. He continues before I can respond.
“No on-campus events. No public academic activities until we assess the potential risk to the institution’s reputation.”
Reputation. The room suddenly feels too small.
“This isn’t a suspension.” Ms. Rivera adds quickly. “Just a precaution while we look into the matter.”
“Do you have a support system?” She asks gently. “Friends? Family?” She slides a brochure across the desk. “Our counseling services are available if you need them.”
The words blur together in my head. Reputation. Risk.
None of them sound like they belong to me. Like they’re talking about a faulty machine that needs to be shut down until someone figures out what’s wrong with it.
Fear crawls up my spine. What if they expel me? My scholarship. My degree. The fragile threads that have barely held my life together since the night Mom and Dad’s car went over that cliff.
“Stay off campus?” I repeat weakly.
My voice cracks for the first time. The numbness finally splinters under the rising panic. “But I didn’t do this.” I look between them desperately. “He did.” My throat tightens. “Please… you have to believe me.”
Ms. Rivera nods immediately, but the motion feels automatic. Procedural. “We do believe you, Iris.” Her voice remains calm. “But protocol requires caution.”
She taps the folder gently. “If you can provide evidence. Screenshots, message logs, anything that identifies the individual responsible, we’ll coordinate with the authorities.”
Authorities who already refused to listen.
“In the meantime,” she continues, “it would be best if you avoided campus for a few days while we review the situation.”
Her eyes soften slightly. “Stay off social media. Avoid confrontations. Let the investigation proceed. We’ll follow up with you soon.”
The meeting is clearly over, even though my life is still falling apart in the chair across from them.
I stand on autopilot, the room tilting as I mumble a “Thank you” that tastes like ash, and stumble out. The door clicks shut behind me like a quiet verdict.
Hollow. That’s all I feel. Scooped out, echoing with the void where trust used to be. No tears come. My body can’t muster them. Just this vast emptiness swallowing every step.
The corridor waits, stares heavier now, whispers louder.
"She out yet?"
"Bet she's expelled."
I keep my head down, but the weight crushes anyway, each glance a confirmation of my ruin.
Maddie waits outside the admin building, pacing with her phone in hand, and the second she spots me, she rushes over, arms wrapping around me before I can speak.
“Ree! What happened?” Her eyes search my face anxiously. “Did they say anything about the video?”
For a second I just stand there. Then I lean into her without thinking, pressing my forehead briefly against her shoulder. The contact feels like the only solid thing left in a world that’s suddenly gone thin and unreal beneath my feet.
But the moment passes quickly. I pull back. My voice comes out flat. “It’s out.”
Maddie blinks. “What do you mean…”
“They showed me a preview.” I say. The words feel mechanical, like I’m reading someone else’s script. “Blurry, but… it’s me.”
My throat tightens slightly. “In the shower.”
Maddie’s fingers tighten around my sleeves.
“They want me to stay off campus.” I say quietly. “Until they ‘investigate.’” I let out a small, humorless breath. “Apparently it’s better for the school’s image.”
The words fall between us like something broken.
Inside my chest, emotions twist into a tangled knot I can’t begin to sort through. Shame burning low and steady. Fear spiking sharp and sudden. Betrayal layered over everything. From the stalker, from Ryan, from the system that seems perfectly willing to treat me like collateral damage.
For a moment Maddie just stares at me. Then her face crumples.
“They’re telling you to stay away?” She blurts. Horror flashes across her features as she grabs my hands. “For his crime?” Her voice rises. “That’s bullshit.”
A few students down the hall glance over.
“We’ll fight it.” She continues immediately. “Call the dean, my advisor. Anyone who’ll listen.” Her grip tightens, fierce and protective.
“People are assholes.” She mutters bitterly. “Vultures.” She shakes her head, already pulling me gently toward the exit.
“Come on.” She says, her tone softening slightly. “We’re leaving.” She glances back at the building like it personally offended her. “No more campus today.”
I nod numbly, letting her steer me to the car, the walk a blur of averted eyes and stifled snickers. Inside her car, I buckle up mechanically, staring out the window as she peels out, the campus shrinking in the side mirror like a bad dream I can't wake from.
Maddie glances over every few seconds, her voice filling the silence with worry. "This isn't your fault, Ree. That monster, he's the one who should be rotting. We'll get lawyers, go higher up the chain. My dad's an ass, but he knows people."
But I don't respond, the words trapped behind the hollow ache, the stalker's message looping endless, Let’s see who laughs when everyone enjoys watching you. Enjoy. Like I'm entertainment, my pain a punchline.
The drive stretches, Maddie's chatter fading to background noise. "We'll get a PI, anything." As betrayal settles deeper, a knife twist for every mile. Why me? What did I do to deserve this exposure, this erasure?
We reach her flat too soon, the elevator ride silent except for her soft "You're staying as long as you need."
Inside, she heads to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. "You need something? Tea? Or something stronger?"
But I don't answer, my feet carrying me straight to the bathroom instead, the door shutting and locking with a click that echoes final.
Maddie's knocks come immediate, muffled through the wood. "Ree? You need anything?"
"I'm fine." I lie, voice hollow even to me, sliding down against the cabinet until I sit on the cool tile.
The mirror looms across, and I force myself to look, but the girl staring back is a stranger. Eyes dull and shadowed, face slack with defeat, like life drained out with the video's release.
Who is she? Not the Iris who dreamed of stories, who laughed with friends over bad drafts. Just a shell, violated and discarded.
Desperation claws up then, raw and unrelenting, the noise in my head, a cacophony of whispers, stares, that blurred preview, too loud, too much. I need it to stop. Just stop.
My hand trembles as I reach for the cabinet, fingers closing around the first bottle they find. Maddie's anti-anxiety meds, the label blurring under tears I didn't know were falling. I don't read it, don't count, don't think beyond the ache screaming for silence.
The cap twists off easy, pills spilling into my palm like small white promises of peace. One. Two. More. They go down dry, bitter on my tongue, chased by nothing but the sob hitching in my throat.
Why fight anymore? The shame's too heavy, the betrayal absolute. Stalker, Ryan, the world that watched and whispered.
My vision blurs, and my limbs start to feel heavy. The mirror shifts in front of me as everything fades.
For a moment, there’s only silence. Then the world goes dark, and I slump sideways as the bottle slips from my fingers and rolls across the floor.