DRAG ME THROUGH HELL

BROKEN.

CHAPTER FOUR.

BROKEN.

They say silence is peace. But this kind of silence? This was the silence of exile.

I sat alone on the hard wooden bench of the assembly hall, surrounded by my classmates, yet more isolated than I’d ever been in my life. It was the kind of cold that didn’t come from weather, but from people. Cold shoulders, cold eyes, cold breaths drawn when I walked past. And now, cold words.

“…a beautiful soul, taken from us too soon,” the principal was saying at the front of the hall. His voice tried to sound solemn, but I knew he didn’t mean it. None of them did. The man didn’t even know how to pronounce Lillian’s last name properly until this morning.

“She was kind. Intelligent. A leader among her peers.”

I almost laughed, but caught myself. Not because I disagreed…..hell, I did…..but because the girl next to me had already shifted her entire body away like I was radioactive. No one wanted to sit near me, the she-devil, and those who had no choice made it very clear they weren’t here by will.

And me?

I sat still. My hands clenched in my lap, my face blank.

But inside?

Inside, I was screaming.

I know what you’re all thinking.

But this wasn’t what I had planned. That wasn’t the decision I made.

I was about to get up, I swear it. I was going to scream for help, I’d made up my mind. I was shaking, terrified, but mostly angry that I had to dig into my plate of morals at this moment, but I was ready. My lips had just parted when…..

Boom.

The bathroom door slammed open.

Sarah, from our Literature class, rushed in like a hurricane, one hand already fumbling with the hem of her skirt. She froze when she saw me, crouched beside Lillian’s body, the tips of my shoes stained with a little blood.

I could see her brain trying to catch up with her eyes.

She gasped, it was loud, dramatic….. expected. She stumbled backward, hitting the door with her back.

I stood up quickly, holding out my hands. “Wait, Sarah, listen! It’s not what you think…….”

But it was too late.

“She killed Lillian!” she screamed. “Oh my God, she killed her!”

Her voice echoed down the hallway like a flare gun, and just like that, I knew.

My life was over.

That was four days ago.

Now, my name sounds like a whisper soaked in venom.

People don’t look at me anymore, they glare, they whisper, their faces scrunched up in disgust. They did this to my face, and loud enough for me to hear.

They call me “psycho,” “killer,” “freak.”

Someone started a rumor that I sacrificed Lillian in a satanic ritual. Another said I’d written her name in a death note. I didn’t even know what a death note was until someone shoved a fake one in my locker.

And then there’s the eggs.

This morning, as I walked through the school gate, I felt the first one splatter against my head.

Thick…..wet……warm.

It slid slowly down the side of my face, tangled in my hair, then down the collar of my shirt. Laughter exploded around me.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t even flinch.

Another egg came. Then another. I closed my eyes, stood still, and let it happen.

Because what else was I going to do? Scream?

Who would care?

Even the teachers barely look at me. Some of them probably think I did it too. Lillian’s dad is rich…..rich rich….the kind of rich that pays for new school wings and sponsors staff retreats. Of course, the principal would pretend she was the heart of the school…..Of course, no one questions the narrative.

Her parents also thought that I had something to do with Lillian, but my anger here was….why wasn’t anyone talking about why Lillian had been bullying me in the first place…..

No one cared to ask what she might have done to me that would make the whole school and an entire community of family and friends conclude that I hurt Lillian.

I had just one bully…..now, it’s like she left me a goodbye package before dying, making me understand that even if she wasn’t here to continue making my life a misery, she could do that straight from hell.

And the worst part?

My mom asked me if I did it.

That night, after the police left, after they asked me a hundred times where I was, what I saw, why I didn’t run faster…..she sat on the edge of my bed, her hands folded tightly.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Did you push her?”

My throat closed, and for a little while, I couldn’t breathe. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

She repeated it, slower. “Did you…do something to her?”

I didn’t even try to argue. What was the point?

When your own mother doubts you, you stop trying to convince the world.

The only place I feel remotely human is at home, in my room, with my reflection and my fingers…..

I stood in front of my mirror now, but this time my fingers didn’t move. I just stared at my reflection. I couldn’t understand why exactly my life was this way.

I had no one, it was just plain old me against the world. Everyone hated me, I was alone.

I let my fingers begin to trace my body, as it found it’s way to my honey pot.

As I felt the first tremors of pleasure, I felt something else….a strong yearning, not just for release, but a yearning not to be alone.

I was tired of being alone.

As my fingers got soaked by my juices, so did my cheeks with my tears. Staring at my reflection falling apart from the tremors of pleasure, sadness and heartache all at once.

That’s when I saw it….. or him?

I immediately stopped.

I moved closer to my mirror, but all I could see was my reflection, and a tiny crack in my mirror……

A crack I had never noticed before.

My heart beat faster, harder, mostly because my body was still fired up, begging for release, and because I was scared and confused at the same time.

I was quite sure of what I saw….

I just didn’t know what it was.

But, for the first time since Lillian screamed, I felt something unfamiliar stir in my chest.

Hope.

Or danger.

Maybe both.