Thursday 17th of March 2022

Dear Diary,

Regret. It's a bitter pill to swallow, and today, it feels like I'm drowning in it. Bullying Yemisi backfired spectacularly, making this the absolute worst day of my life.

It all began when Yemisi, the girl I'd been mercilessly tormenting all week, approached me.  A flicker of hope sparked in my chest – maybe she'd finally cave, apologize, and restore the normalcy I craved. But that hope died a quick, brutal death.

"Alessia," she began, her voice surprisingly steady. "What you've been doing isn't cool."  An apology? Finally?

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Yeah, well, the way you handled yourself yesterday was far from saintly either," I retorted, my voice laced with venom.

"Look," she continued, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her tone, "I'm sorry I slapped you. Are we good?"

A humorless laugh escaped my lips. Was she serious? Was this some elaborate prank?  Fueled by a surge of misplaced confidence, I did something despicable.  I spat the water from my mouth onto her, relishing the shock that contorted her features.

A primal snarl ripped through the air.  Before I could register what was happening, a stinging slap echoed through the hallway, mirroring the one I'd delivered the day before.  Yemisi, eyes blazing with a fury I'd never witnessed, grabbed my water bottle and drenched me.

"Do you want to die?" she roared, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.  The air crackled with a tension so thick I could taste it.

Shame washed over me in nauseating waves.  Here I was, the bully, the instigator, now the one whimpering and humiliated.  Yemisi, with a final scathing warning, stormed off, leaving me reeling in the stunned silence of the witnessing crowd.

Pamela and Adediwura, my so-called friends, rushed to my side, their faces etched with concern.  Pamela, ever the firebrand, fueled my simmering anger, urging me to retaliate.  Adediwura, the voice of reason, pleaded for peace.  Frustrated and fuming, I stormed off with Pamela, vowing revenge.

Later that night, a new wave of terror washed over me.  The "dealmaker," the one I'd made a terrible pact with, sent another message, demanding another unscheduled payment.  This wasn't part of the deal, and the threats escalating with each demand gnawed at my resolve.  Telling anyone felt like an impossibility.  His name, a terrifying secret locked away, a promise I might not live to fulfill.

My pen trembled as I scribbled these final words.  Is this the end?  If it is, this diary, with its incriminating secrets, is my only hope.  Pamela will know what to do.  But a chilling question hangs heavy in the air – will she believe me before it's too late?