The Redemption of my mates.

Dead weight.

Ariana's (POV)

I was alone. Dad had dropped me off and gone, and the silence of the house felt heavy, like a threat. It was past midnight, impossibly late, and the old, familiar knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I knew where this was going. He was probably drunk somewhere, and when he finally stumbled home, I would pay the price—a price for existence, for everything I hadn't done. This man is driving me crazy.

Twelve bells had chimed long ago. He wasn't here.

Now I have no choice. I have to go look for him. I have to go search for the very man who was going to beat me. It sounds insane, right? Imagine hunting down your own trouble. Stupid, stupid me.

I grabbed a thin shawl, wrapped it tight, yanked on my sneakers, and stepped out into the brutal, freezing cold. He better be grateful and sober when I find him.

After searching for what felt like an hour, I found him. He was curled up in the park, asleep on his side, knees drawn to his chest, looking like a discarded bundle of rags.

Just look at him. He had a warm, cozy bed waiting at home. But no. He’d rather sleep out here like a homeless man than just come home.

I went closer, shook him awake, and hauled him up. We had to walk. I didn't know how to drive, and his old pickup was nowhere in sight. His arm hooked heavy over my neck, and I used both my hands around his thick waist to support him. He was dead weight. We stumbled and staggered down the street, an embarrassing, agonizing journey until we finally reached the house.

I got him into his room, kicked off his shoes, and lowered him onto the bed. As I pulled the blanket over him, I saw him shiver and curl his legs tighter against his body. Instinctively, I placed my hand on his forehead. It was oven-hot. Shame. He has a fever.

But a dark voice in my head whispered, I don't care. He can die.

I turned and started walking out, reaching for the doorknob.

"Mmph..."

The low mumble stopped me. I froze and looked back. He was just a shape under the blanket, shivering. Something sharp and impossible pierced the darkness in my heart. He was my father. He only has me. I am the only family he has left. I can’t leave him.

The fever was bad. I stripped off his clothes, leaving him in his shorts, then went to the kitchen. I boiled eggs and made a steaming bowl of instant noodles. I’m sure he is hungry.

Even though he is sick, shivering, Dad didn’t refuse the food. He ate every bite I spoon-fed him. Afterward, I shoved two painkillers into his mouth and made him gulp down a glass of water.

The fever refused to break.

I filled a bowl with cool water and returned to his room, playing the role of the dutiful, ideal daughter. I dipped a small towel into the water and placed it on his scorching forehead, replacing it every few minutes. He was restless, his whole body shaking.

I stayed there, a silent vigil, until his fever finally broke. It was almost five in the morning when the shivering stopped. I crept out and went to my own room, falling into a sleep that felt stolen and thin.

Two hours later, my alarm blared. I dragged myself up and went to Dad's room. He wasn't there. I walked down the hall and found him in the kitchen, already making breakfast. The sight of him, upright and focused, made me smile—a real smile—and I quickly retreated to change into my clothes.

We ate breakfast together in silence. Then, he drove me to school.

I walked through the main doors, and instantly, I felt it. The atmosphere was wrong. People were staring at me, not the usual passing glances, but a unified, astonished, full-throttle stare. Was there something on my face? I ignored the whispers and hurried to the girls' bathroom. I scrutinised my reflection—nothing. I looked perfectly normal.

Then why?

I walked out and immediately saw the source of the trouble. A notice board had a printout pinned to the center, written in huge, hateful font:

ARIANA IS THE w***e OF THE SENIOR CLASS. SHE WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET A GUY TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH HER, EVEN IF IT'S A HOMELESS PERSON.

Below the text was a picture: me, helping my stumbling, disheveled father walk home last night.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Everyone was whispering, pointing fingers. They didn't know me, yet here they were, judging and condemning. I stood there, motionless, then wiped the single hot tear that slipped down my cheek. I didn't care. I wouldn't. I marched forward.

Who wrote this? Who was capable of this?

As I turned the corner, I saw Ginger. My heart actually lifted. Ginger was my friend. She would defend me. She would fight for me. I stopped and smiled, ready to rush into her arms, ready to cry on her shoulder.

Before I could move, she threw a handful of white powder at me.

Flour. It went into my mouth, unexpected and choking. I started coughing violently. Before I could even raise my hands, she smashed a dozen eggs over my head and shoulders. The stench was instant and sickening. Giggles and open, cruel laughter erupted all around me.

My chest tightened. I couldn't catch my breath. I was going to die right here. I looked into Ginger's eyes, and she was enjoying it. She made a subtle hand gesture, and suddenly the crowd around her erupted, throwing water balloons. The water reeked.

"Do we want a shameless person like this here?" Ginger yelled to the crowd.

"NOOOO!" the students screamed back.

"As you can clearly see from that picture, she slept with a homeless person last night!"

Ginger continued her sermon of hate. "And a few days ago, my dad saw her with Mr. Rana, the well-known businessman. And here's the picture of him touching her!"

She held up a new image. It was the night my dad had rented me out. The old guy next to me was getting too close, his hand resting between my legs, his eyes glazed with predatory hunger.

"So, Ariana," Ginger sneered, stepping closer. "I tried to befriend you. I told you everything about my life, but you never said a single word about yours. Now I get it. I wasn't a guy. So what was the use, right?" She came closer still. "I even shared my lunch, my money, you b***h!"

Then she slapped me hard across the face.

I started laughing. A strangled, breathless, hysterical sound. I don't know why. My emotions had shattered, leaving only this frantic, manic release.

Ginger recoiled, a look of pure disgust on her face. "Yuck! You lunatic."

She snatched a black plastic bag from a girl next to her and poured the contents—a thick, black powder that looked like black flour—all over me. She came closer and started wiping the sticky, disgusting mess onto my face and arms, her expression showing utter disgust, as if she were touching trash.

A deep numbness settled in my heart. I stared at her, utterly emotionless. I couldn't react. The bitter reality struck me again with the force of a blow. Every time a sliver of peace dares to enter my life, reality smacks me across the face and screams, BUMP! Who allowed you to enjoy!

Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I am a bad luck charm, destined to bring darkness wherever I go. Look at me now, ruining the name of this "reputed school."

While Ginger was still busy with her performance, someone grabbed her arm fiercely and shoved her aside.

"Have you lost your mind?! What are you doing?" The voice was a shout.

Noah.

He finally recognized me. I thought he would ignore me for the rest of his life.

"Al—Ale—Alex! When did you get here?" Ginger stammered, instantly flustered.

Alex? But he isn't Alex. Or did he lie to me about his identity?

"I asked you a question!" Noah/Alex/whoever he was roared.

The crowd of students scattered immediately. Noah and Ginger were arguing, or maybe talking about what they'd planned. I couldn't focus; I couldn't understand what was happening. A sudden, piercing BEEEEEP! rang in my ears, drowning out everything else.

My eyes felt heavy, dragging downward. I started walking backward, staring at the scene: Ginger frantically trying to explain something, Noah looking furious and unconvinced. Maybe he was supposed to be here with her. Maybe they were supposed to bully me together, and she had jumped the gun. You never know.

As I retreated, I backed into something hard as rock. I looked up.

“Noah,” I whispered.

How did he get here. That was fast! Wasn't he shouting Ginger just a moment ago? I looked back toward the main hall—and saw him there, too. I stared back and forth, between the two identical figures.

I think I am finally going crazy. I can see two Noahs. My heart couldn't take the trauma anymore. My eyes grew impossibly heavy, and then darkness took over. I became lifeless and collapsed directly into the arms of Noah number two.