Silvia

I wove through the crowded cafeteria, my tray precariously loaded with spaghetti, salad, and a pyramid of jelly cups. My eyes scanned the room for a quiet table—somewhere I could enjoy my meal in peace and perhaps engage in a heart-to-heart with my inner foodie.

Then, disaster struck. One moment, I was upright. The next, my tray had taken flight, and my uniform had been repurposed into an abstract masterpiece of tomato sauce and shredded lettuce. Somewhere, Jackson Pollock would have been nodding in approval.

Heat surged to my face as I stared at the wreckage. Lifting my eyes, I caught a glimpse of the culprit—Jared, retreating with nonchalance. He didn't even glance back. Not once. Just a faint smirk tugging at his lips, as though my public humiliation was nothing more than a passing breeze in his day.

The room erupted in whispers, giggles, and not-so-subtle commentary. A hundred pairs of eyes bore into me, each laugh hammering another nail into the coffin of my dignity. I fought the urge to shrink into myself, instead standing rooted in place, silently wishing for a trapdoor to open beneath me.

Mila, however, was having none of it. She stood a few metres away, her expression as fierce as a lioness ready to pounce. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on Jared's retreating figure, her lips twitching with the beginnings of what promised to be a verbal tirade that could leave scars. As tempting as it was to let her unleash it, I caught her eye and shook my head—a silent plea to let it go. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but she relented. Her narrowed gaze still pinned Jared, as if his reckoning was only postponed, not cancelled.

At a nearby table, Aiden leaned back in his chair. His hazel eyes offered nothing—not laughter, not pity, just detached observation. I hadn't thought much about him lately, not since the incident—the one where he'd literally fallen on me. After that, he'd stopped pestering me altogether. A relief, mostly. Yet his silence had a way of feeling unnervingly deliberate. Still, his enigmatic calm felt steadier than the laughter surrounding me, even if I doubted I'd ever decipher what went on behind those eyes.

I exhaled, trying to shake off the cafeteria debacle, and made a hasty retreat to the men's restroom. The moment I stepped inside, I regretted it. The air was a vile concoction of odours that burned my nose and obliterated any fleeting hope of salvaging my day.

With a grimace, I turned my attention to the damage to my windbreaker. A tentative sniff confirmed my worst fears—spaghetti didn't age gracefully. Resigned, I folded the windbreaker with the solemnity of a funeral. Rest in peace, Silus' reputation—and, by extension, my pride.

The mingling stench of spaghetti and...other unspeakable horrors made my head throb, but even that couldn't drown out the image of Jared's smirk. It wasn't just the expression itself—it was the ease with which he'd arranged my—or, technically, Silus'—public downfall.

"So, this is what he meant by 'watch your back'," I muttered under my breath. "Grin and bear it, Silvia. Just grin and bear it."

A rustling noise from outside the restroom broke through my thoughts. My head shot up, and I rushed to the entryway. When I peeked into the hallway, it was empty. Eerily so. Not a single soul lingered in sight. Maybe it was the noxious combination of smells clouding my mind, turning shadows into threats and solitude into imagined disturbances.

***

As the days crawled by, school became a never-ending circus. Jared was the self-proclaimed ringmaster, orchestrating my daily mortifications. I played the unwilling clown, juggling a fragile disguise, a lunch tray, and an existential crisis I had neither the time nor emotional bandwidth to unpack.

Every day brought a new act in his show—shoves against lockers, conveniently timed trips that left me stumbling, and whispered insults that curled around me like smoke, choking whatever resilience I had left.

Bruises began to dot my skin, faint smudges forming constellations across my arms and legs. They didn't tell tales of mythical heroes or noble beasts, as constellations ought to. Mine told a far less glamorous story—of a girl fighting a battle she never agreed to. Each mark was a reminder that no matter how hard I tried to push forward, the struggle was chipping away at me piece by piece.

Desperate for even a sliver of peace, I climbed the stairs to the rooftop. Just as my hand touched the door handle, voices floated down the stairwell, stopping me mid-motion. So much for solitude. It seemed I wasn't the only one seeking refuge today.

I nudged the door open, peeking through the gap. Dane and Aiden were leaning against the railing. The wind tugged at them, ruffling Dane's hair, while Aiden's windbreaker billowed behind him as if it aspired to be a superhero cape. Framed by the sky, they looked as though they were rehearsing for a silent film about brooding boys.

Aiden broke the silence first, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Dane, have you noticed Silus being harassed by that guy lately?"

Dane's eyebrows shot up. "What guy?"

"Haven't you seen it? It's been happening a lot over the past few days."

Dane straightened up, his usual easy-going expression replaced with something far more serious. It was jarring—like seeing a jester suddenly don a crown. "Tell me more."

"You know that guy, Jared? I think he's been bullying Silus."

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. They stood there, dissecting my life as Silus. No wonder the atmosphere felt as serious as a job interview.

A solitary raindrop splashed against the rooftop ground, followed by another. Taking the hint, I backed away and descended the stairs. Let them deliberate over Jared, the incoming storm, and whatever philosophical conclusions they'd inevitably reach. It wasn't like their musings were going to fix anything for me.

When I slipped into my seat in homeroom, I couldn't ignore the bandage on my cheek. It was a flimsy attempt to cover Jared's latest artwork on my face. Morning light struggled to filter through the rain-soaked windows, casting the classroom in a dreary gloom. The persistent downpour was ruining more than just hairstyles—it was dragging down everyone's spirits, mine most of all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mila. She was scratching at her legs furiously—a clear sign she was on the verge of snapping. I braced myself, half-expecting her to march out of the room, hunt down Jared, and deliver one of her blistering lectures that would haunt him well past graduation. As much as I admired her fiery loyalty, the thought of her making a scene on my behalf only made me sink further into my chair.

The door creaked open, and Dane strolled in. He stopped dead the moment his gaze landed on me. His eyes locked on the bandage, and his mouth parted as though he were about to say something. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding his stare and praying he wouldn't make a scene. The last thing I needed was more attention.

Eventually, the rain began to let up. The clouds begrudgingly parted as though the sun had finally won an argument. Sunlight poured into the room, bold and bright, but it did little to thaw the storm still raging inside me.

The day rolled on, tugging all of us along with it. As if to mock our collective misery, the dreaded hour of P.E. arrived. Even the sun seemed to regret its earlier bravado, casting a reluctant glow over the damp, muddy field.

We trudged outside, the earthy smell of wet grass clinging to the air. The concrete path cutting through the field was littered with muddy puddles, each one gleaming like landmines waiting to be triggered.

Without warning, a hard shove from behind sent me hurtling forward. My knees slammed into the concrete with a sharp, biting sting before my entire body plunged into one of the larger puddles. The cold, grimy water soaked through my sports uniform, clinging to my skin in the most uncomfortable way imaginable.

I pushed myself up slowly, mud clinging to my sleeves in heavy clumps. My palms and knees throbbed with fresh scrapes, but what hurt most was the humiliation. Lifting my head, I saw him—Jared, towering over me like a predator revelling in his latest kill. His gaze was cold, empty, and yet the cruel satisfaction in his smirk twisted my stomach. He said nothing—he didn't need to. That smirk said it all. He walked away and left me behind, as though I wasn't worth a second glance.

I sat there, drenched and coated in mud, staring down at my scraped hands. Tiny beads of blood welled up from the cuts, mingling with the dirt in a grim display of defeat. The chill from the puddle seeped into my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache deep in my chest.

The pressure inside me kept building, a silent, suffocating weight I couldn't bear any longer. Silently, I slipped away, leaving the rest of the class behind. I didn't care if anyone noticed—I just needed to get away. I needed air, space, anything to escape the oppressive mockery of that field.

I wandered the empty halls until I found an unused classroom. I slipped inside and shut the door softly behind me. The darkness enveloped me, and for a moment, I thought I'd find solace in the stillness. But the silence wasn't kind. It was deafening, amplifying every dreadful, awful thought I'd been trying so hard to ignore.

I sank onto the cold, unforgiving floor, wrapping my arms around my scraped knees. The sting of the cuts barely registered anymore—numbness had already taken over. My wet clothes clung to me like an unwelcome second skin, making the chill in the room feel sharper.

Tears blurred my vision, and this time, I didn't stop them. They slid down my cheeks, carrying with them everything I'd been bottling up. The exhaustion, the endless torment, the unbearable burden of pretending to be someone I wasn't—it all came crashing down, wave after wave, until it felt like I might drown in it.

I hugged my knees tighter, as though that might hold me together, but it didn't. I thought I'd known what I was stepping into, but I'd been so wrong. I knew Silus' life wasn't easy, but I never imagined it could be this...cruel. I never expected him to live in a world where his enemies didn't just mock him—they hurt him. Physically. Deliberately.

The more I thought about it, the heavier it all became. I couldn't keep doing this. Rock bottom wasn't just lonely—it was crushing. Pretending wasn't bravery, and it wasn't resilience. It was destruction, and I didn't have the strength to hold it together any longer. It was time to face the truth I'd been avoiding.

The soft creak of the door pulled me from my spiralling thoughts. My breath hitched as someone slipped into the room, the quiet click of the door shutting behind them. Before I could react, something warm and slightly worn was draped over my trembling shoulders. A windbreaker.

I looked up, startled, and found myself staring at him—Dane.

He knelt in front of me, his movements slow and hesitant, as if he thought I might shatter if he wasn't gentle enough. He reached out and slid my fake glasses off my face, setting them aside. His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away the tears I couldn't seem to stop.

He didn't speak, and I didn't dare break the silence. He probably thought I was upset over something trivial—spilled milk, a bad grade—anything but the muddy disaster with Jared or the suffocating weight of the lie I was living.

And yet, his actions didn't align with the assumptions he might have made. There was something unnervingly intimate in the way he handled me, as though he wasn't just offering comfort but truly seeing me. The thought made my chest tighten. He believed I was Silus—a boy who'd likely recoil at even the faintest display of softness. So why was he doing this? It didn't make sense.

In a soft but steady voice, he shattered the fragile silence. "Why are you dressing up as your brother, Silvia?"

My heart nearly stopped. My eyes widened, and for a moment, I was completely paralysed.

"No," I blurted, shaking my head so hard it might have detached if panic alone could will it. "What are you talking about?" The words tumbled out too quickly, clumsy and desperate.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was working through his own internal battle. "Thank god," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's been you all along."

My mind scrambled for a response—an excuse, an argument, anything that might undo the damage—but the bell rang before I could even open my mouth. Its shrill tone sliced through the tension like a referee calling time on a match I was clearly losing.

Dane straightened his back, his expression calm, as though he'd already made up his mind. "We'll talk after school, Silvia," he said, his firm tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Before he left, he set a first aid kit on the floor beside me. He stood, hesitated for just a second, and glanced back at me. His eyes, softer than I'd ever seen them, lingered on me long enough to make my chest ache. Then, without another word, he slipped out, closing the door as quietly as he'd entered.

For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at the first aid kit like it might suddenly explain everything. Almost without thinking, I pulled his windbreaker tighter around my shoulders. Gratitude surged through me—unexpected, strange, and almost surreal.

Despite the misery of the past few days, I felt my spirits lift—higher than Aiden's ego on his best day. Somehow, against all odds, an unlikely ally had appeared, offering me the smallest sliver of hope just as I was drowning.