Get Hurt, Cieny

Chapter 3: The Uneasy Encounter

The morning fog still clung to the streets as I trudged through the school gate. It had rained the night before, and everything smelled of wet earth, a scent that seemed to reach into the depths of my chest, stirring something deep and unspoken. I had tried to push the thoughts of yesterday out of my mind. After all, what did Westley’s words really mean? A simple offer of help? Or was there something more?

I had been brushing off thoughts of him since that awkward interaction beneath the oak tree. I told myself it didn’t matter, that he was just another rich kid trying to stir up some drama or make himself feel important. It was nothing. Nothing I couldn’t ignore. I had bigger things to worry about.

But the truth is, his words had kept me up. I couldn’t help but replay that moment in my mind. It felt... different. He hadn’t looked at me the way everyone else did—like I was some invisible girl who only existed to serve, to smile, to endure. There was something in his eyes. A flicker of recognition? Or maybe just curiosity. I couldn’t tell.

Either way, I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

I tried to focus on my classes as I entered the building, but it was like my mind was a cloud that refused to clear. The murmurs of students around me, the rustle of papers, the sounds of laughter—it all seemed so distant, as though I was floating just above it all, disconnected from everything. I found my way to homeroom and sat at my usual spot in the back, hoping to remain unnoticed.

The teacher, Mrs. Garcia, walked in, her heels clicking against the floor. “Good morning, class,” she greeted, her voice full of the usual enthusiasm, as if she hadn’t already lost half of us before the bell rang.

I didn’t mind the monotony, the quiet hum of the classroom as I gazed out the window. What was going on with me?

The bell rang to signal the end of the first period, and I gathered my things, heading toward the door. But just as I reached the threshold, I heard it.

“Cieny.”

I froze. The voice was smooth and clear, cutting through the noise of the hallway like a sharp blade. It was unmistakable. Westley.

I turned slowly, unsure of whether I should even acknowledge him. Was he still going to continue this?

He was standing by the lockers, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. There was no smile, no hint of humor—just that look that seemed to cut right through everything. For a moment, we just stood there, each of us waiting for the other to say something.

“Are you busy?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

The question threw me off. “What?” I replied, blinking in surprise.

“Are you busy?” he repeated, the same question, though this time it felt more like an invitation than a demand.

“I... I guess not.” I couldn’t explain the confusion twisting in my stomach. Why was he asking me?

He glanced around for a moment, as if checking to see if anyone was watching. “Walk with me,” he said, pushing off the lockers and gesturing for me to follow him.

I hesitated. This was the last thing I needed right now—a confrontation, especially with someone like Westley. The guy who never had to lift a finger, who never had to worry about anything in his life except which party to attend. Why would he want to talk to someone like me?

But there was something in his voice, something in his presence that made it hard to say no.

I followed him, my steps slower than his, trying to ignore the feeling of being out of place beside him.

We walked in silence for a few minutes. The quiet between us felt strange, but there was a certain weight to it—like we were both carrying something unspoken. I couldn’t figure out if it was tension or just curiosity.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words were blunt, unguarded, and it took me by surprise. “I don’t usually talk to people like you.”

I wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or flattered. “People like me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, the kind who... blend in,” he said, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second before looking away. “You don’t seem to want attention, don’t try to be something you’re not.”

I almost laughed at the irony of it all. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” he said quickly, then paused, as if rethinking his words. “I mean, you’re... different. It’s not a bad thing. Just... unusual.”

Unusual. That word made me want to shrink into myself. I was unusual because I wasn’t loud or outspoken, because I didn’t fight for attention? Was that something to be proud of?

We stopped walking as we reached the courtyard. A few other students were scattered around, but the space still felt strangely empty, as though it was just the two of us in the world.

“So, why the sudden interest in me?” I asked, my voice a little sharper than I intended.

Westley shrugged, his usual arrogance creeping back into his posture. “I told you. I don’t usually talk to people like you. But I wanted to know what’s going on inside that head of yours. I don’t get you.”

I didn’t know whether I should be flattered or insulted. “I’m just a regular girl, Westley. I’m not some mystery you can solve.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, a challenge in his gaze. “Maybe not. But you’re more interesting than you seem. You hide behind that mask, pretending everything’s okay, but I can see it. You’re not fine.”

I stiffened, suddenly defensive. “What are you talking about?”

“You think you’re fooling everyone, but you’re not fooling me. You’ve got something heavy on your shoulders, and you’re trying so hard to keep it all together. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

I swallowed hard, the tightness in my throat threatening to break. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not with him. Not with anyone.

“Don’t,” I said quietly, almost pleading. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just stared at me, his gaze softening, and for the briefest moment, I almost believed him. Almost believed that maybe, just maybe, he could help me carry this burden.

But then he turned away, breaking the moment. “I’ll see you around, Cieny,” he said, his voice back to its usual cool indifference.

I watched him walk away, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. He had come so close to something I didn’t want to face.

I wanted to believe he could help. But I couldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

I wasn’t ready.

And deep down, I knew that even if I were, Westley wasn’t the one who would save me. No one could.