Chapter 23
Jul 18, 2025
The hallway reeked of floor wax and teenage desperation, but underneath? Pure poison. I felt the shift before I saw it—that collective intake of breath that happens right before someone gets publicly executed.
Walking in anyway because I’m apparently a glutton for social annihilation.
Amber hadn’t wasted a single fucking second. The story was already metastasizing through group chats faster than a celebrity death hoax.
The narrative? Zoey Hale broke Chase Donovan. Sweet little good girl finally snapped the bad boy nobody thought could break.
Timeline didn’t matter. Logic was optional. All that mattered was the delicious irony.
People parted like I had the plague. Some stared. Others pretended not to while obviously staring. All of them mentally taking notes for later dissection.
“Did you hear she basically forced him—”
“—told him he wasn’t man enough—”
“—no wonder he ended up in the hospital—”
Each whisper felt like a tiny knife finding new places to cut.
Miles passed me by the library. Didn’t speak. Just looked at me like I was a car accident he couldn’t decide whether to photograph or help clean up.
English was a special kind of torture. Empty seat next to mine like I had a communicable disease. Mr. Langdon droning about metaphor and tragedy while I lived it in real time.
Still no text from Chase. No update. Just the echo of his mom’s words and guilt dragging behind every step like a ball and chain.
Lunch meant escape to the quad. Wrong move. They followed like sharks smelling blood.
“Guess the good girl act was bullshit from day one.”
Camera clicks. Giggles. The shuffle of people pretending not to document my destruction.
I found a bench, sat down, pressed my hands between my knees to stop the shaking. Even that felt performative. Even breathing felt like giving them ammunition.
Girl with a high ponytail flipped past: “Slut sympathy tour in full swing.”
Another one, barely knew her from bio, stage-whispered to her friend: “Honestly wouldn’t surprise me if she’s lying about the hospital thing too. Drama addicts, you know?”
Eyes closed. Just for a second. Just to stop seeing their version of me reflected back like a funhouse mirror.
Phone check number forty-seven. Still nothing.
My reflection in the black screen looked like a ghost haunting a body she didn’t recognize. Maybe that’s all I was now.
I kept replaying the moment I walked into that room—the white walls, the thin blanket, his wrists. And then the sickening realization that I hadn’t known.
I hadn’t known how close he was to breaking.
I’d been so angry at his silence. So consumed by my own mess that I thought he was ghosting me. I thought he didn’t care. That he was playing games.
But he wasn’t trying to hurt me.
He was trying to disappear.
And now I couldn’t stop thinking—what if I hadn’t gone that day? What if I’d stayed home, curled up in my self-pity while he slipped away in real time?
I would’ve taken the blame for everything if it meant he stayed breathing.
Let the school keep whispering.
Let Amber keep winning.
Let the teachers keep looking at me like I’m a cautionary tale.
Let my mom think I’ve ruined everything.
If it meant Chase could just be here—be safe—then let them burn me instead.
Because no one gets to touch him.
Not the rumors. Not the guilt. Not the shame.
He almost didn’t make it.
I’ll carry whatever I have to so he never feels like that again.
Even if it means no one ever looks at me the same.
Even if he never does.
