Chapter 6: Guilt
1444 Words
The corpse didn’t surface.
Not right away.
The old classroom remained locked. Unbothered. Forgotten — just like it always had been.
But Lucien knew.
Every time he walked the halls, his eyes flickered toward the West Wing — even when his body didn’t.
He never looked long enough.
But he felt it.
A tension beneath his skin. Like the room had grown a pulse. Like the walls remembered what it saw.
For the next few weeks, Lucien wore the mask well enough.
He laughed when the group laughed.
Smirked when the teachers expected charm.
Even cracked a joke or two that got genuine chuckles from Anthony and Christy.
But it wasn’t the same.
Something was off.
It was in the small things.
The way he flinched almost imperceptibly when Rae’s name was called during roll call.
The split-second silence after, when no one replied.
The slight drop in his grades, nothing catastrophic, just enough to raise an eyebrow.
The moment in gym class where a dodgeball flew past his face and he stumbled like he’d been shot.
He kept playing the part.
The calculated genius. The observant freak. The one with all the answers.
But his timing faltered.
His aim wasn’t perfect anymore.
Sometimes he’d zone out mid-conversation, eyes blank.
Or stir his coffee over and over again.
Small cracks.
Hairline fractures.
No one could notice it, but one did.
Christy
She always did.
She watched him closely one afternoon — saw how his hands trembled, how he sweated, saw how restless he was, for no apparent reason.
And that evening, she pulled Anthony aside near the bike racks.
“Hey, Anthony, have you noticed how Lucien’s been… off lately?”
Anthony exhaled, eyes drifting to the window behind them.
“You mean jumpy? Paranoid? Like he thinks someone’s watching him?”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
Anthony nodded slowly. “I’ve definitely noticed. Especially these past few days… ever since Rae stopped showing up.”
He hesitated, then added, “Do you think it has something to do with her disappearance? I mean, they’ve been at each other’s throats for years. Arch-nemesis level.”
Christy frowned slightly. “Anthony, come on. Lucien would never do anything like that. If you really believe that, then you’re forgetting the kind of restraint he has. The patience he holds on.”
Anthony didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on a bird perched on the power lines above him.
“Even the toughest of the metals corrode with time,” he said quietly.
They stood in silence for a beat.
The sound of a distant bus. A dog barking somewhere across the field.
Christy shifted her helmet to the other arm.
“Should we ask him?”
“Will he even tell us if something’s wrong?”
“That’s what scares me the most,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That something is wrong… and he’s burying it so deep we’re not supposed to notice. And I—I want to believe he’s innocent. I really do. But the way he’s been acting lately… it’s like he’s trying to hold something in, and it’s tearing him apart. And maybe… maybe us too.”
"That's it, no matter what the truth is, we will ask him about it tomorrow."
Anthony nodded slowly.
“Tomorrow. At lunch. Together.”
Christy agreed.
“Yeah. Together.”
The next day, Lucien was at their table before them.
As usual.
But this time?
He didn’t greet them.
He just stared out the window, unmoved.
His burger untouched.
Coffee cold.
Eyes tracking something invisible outside.
When Christy sat, he blinked — startled like he hadn’t heard her.
Anthony gave her a glance.
It was time.
Anthony cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual.
“Lucien... did you do something wrong?”
He paused, hesitant.
“And you’re worried about it? Just... talk to us, man. We care.”
Lucien didn’t respond right away.
He blinked—once, slowly—as if the words hadn’t quite registered. Or maybe he was pretending they hadn’t.
Then, barely audible:
“Wrong? No. No… no, I—I don’t remember doing anything wrong.”
His voice had a strange cadence to it now, uneven—like a record slipping out of rhythm.
Christy leaned in, careful not to spook him.
“Lucien, it’s not an interrogation. We’re just—”
“Why are you even asking me this?” he interrupted, eyes suddenly sharp. Defensive.
“I said I’m fine. Okay? So just… chill.”
Anthony raised his hands gently. “Hey. We’re not accusing you of anything. We’re just worried. That’s all.”
Lucien’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
For a beat, no one said a word.
Then he let out a soft, almost tired laugh—one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You know what?”
His voice dropped a little, not loud, but cold, composed in a way that felt wrong.
“If you guys really care… the best thing you can do right now is give me space.”
He looked at both of them, his smile stretched thin, brittle.
“I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. So just… leave me the f**k alone. Please.”
He slammed the desk as he stood.
The sound cracked through the cafeteria like a whip.
The coffee cup tipped, spilled sideways.
A brown stain bloomed across the plastic table, dripping down onto Anthony’s sleeve.
Lucien didn’t look back.
He walked away — fast and stiff, hands shoved into his pockets like they might betray him.
Christy stared after him.
Mouth slightly open.
Anthony just sighed and grabbed some napkins.
“That’s not fine,” he muttered.
“That’s the opposite of fine.”
Christy didn’t wait.
She was already on her feet by the time Anthony muttered that last line.
He grabbed the tissues in a rush, wiping the mess with one hand while slinging his bag over his shoulder with the other.
“Let’s go.”
They pushed through the cafeteria crowd — half-eaten trays, idle gossip, a few stares at the outburst, but no one stopped them.
Lucien was already halfway down the hall.
“Lucien!” Christy called out, but he didn’t slow down.
Not even a twitch.
They followed.
Down the stairs.
Past the water cooler.
Into the empty hallway near the locker rows, echoing with nothing but the fading squeak of sneakers and Anthony’s uneven
breathing.
Finally, Christy caught up.
“Lucien, wait—”
He stopped.
Didn’t turn around.
Just stood still.
Back toward them.
Breathing quietly.
Then he spoke.
“I asked you not to follow me.”
His voice wasn’t angry.
It was… tired.
Heavy.
Worn like an old coat.
Christy took a step closer anyway.
“We’re not letting you spiral alone.”
Lucien exhaled. Sharp. Frustrated.
“What if I deserve to spiral?”
Anthony stepped up beside her.
“Bullshit. That’s not you talking. That’s something else—whatever’s eating you, whatever’s making you think you’re past
saving.”
Still no movement.
Then Lucien slowly turned his head, just enough that they could see one eye — shadowed, red-rimmed.
“You think you know what I am?”
Anthony opened his mouth, but Lucien beat him to it again.
“I’m not the same person I was last year. Hell, I’m not even the person I was last month. Things happen, and sometimes...”
He trailed off, words catching on something raw in his throat.
Christy didn’t push. She waited.
"What things Lucien ?"
Lucien looked away.
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
A pause.
“Try us,” Christy said.
But Lucien didn’t respond.
He just stared out the nearby window — the glass smeared with dust and sun rays.
Like he was trying to disappear inside it.
Like if he stared long enough, he’d see a world where things hadn’t gone so wrong.
Lucien scratched lightly at his neck — just beneath the jawline — like something was beneath the skin.
His face twisted, slowly… in an unsettling way.
A crooked little smirk curled his lip, not quite a smile — more like a crack forming in glass.
He turned to them.
Calmly.
Almost playfully.
Then placed one hand on each of their shoulders.
His grip wasn’t tight.
It was just, steady.
Christy and Anthony froze.
Lucien’s eyes didn’t blink.
Didn’t dart.
They drilled.
“You know…” he began, voice quiet, a bit breathless, almost like he was whispering a secret across a pillow.
“I... I kinda—kinda... ki–killed someone.”
- Writer
