Chapter 2 — The Breaking Point
1173 Words
The hot spray of the shower should’ve been comforting.
Instead, it felt like needles, stinging the rawness in my chest.
I slid down against the tiled wall, knees pulled to my chest, sobs mixing with the water until I
couldn’t tell the difference between the two. My breath came in ragged gulps. The image
wouldn’t leave — Luke’s lips on Jade, the smug tilt of her smile when she saw me standing
there.
I pressed my fists against my eyes. “Stop it. Just stop.”
But the memories kept looping, cruel and merciless.
When the water finally ran cold, I dragged myself out, wrapping a towel around my shivering
body. My phone buzzed on the sink.
Dad.
My chest lifted for a second. Maybe—
I answered. “Dad?”
His voice was brisk, clipped. “How are your grades this semester? I was told you got a B in your
last midterm.”
I blinked. “I—hello to you too?”
Silence. Then: “Don’t play games, Briella. You know how this reflects on me. I’ve worked too
hard to have my daughter slip into mediocrity.”
Mediocrity.
The word punched harder than any slap could.
“I’m trying,” I whispered, voice breaking. “I am—”
“Then try harder. Call me when you’ve fixed it.”
Click.
The line went dead.
The sob that ripped out of me was ugly, violent. I crumpled to the bathroom floor, cheek pressed
to the cold tile, shaking as if my body couldn’t hold the weight anymore.
Invisible. Unwanted. Even to my father.
I dressed like nothing was wrong clean sweater, jeans, the necklace my mother gave me but my
face betrayed me in the mirror. Pale, bruised beneath the eyes, my lips chapped from chewing
them raw.
I thought I could hide it. Pretend. Bury the humiliation.
I was wrong.
Whispers swirled the second I stepped into the lecture hall.
“She stayed with him after that?”
“Pathetic.”
“Guess she’s desperate.”
My stomach clenched. Stayed with him? Who said I—
Jade.
She was already sitting near the front, notebook open, pen tapping like she didn’t have a care in
the world. Her glossy hair framed her face, her lip gloss catching the light as she leaned toward
another girl and whispered something that made them both laugh.
And Luke? He sat two rows behind her, looking rumpled but still managing that easy smile that
had once been only mine. When his eyes flicked to me, guilt shadowed them, but he quickly
looked away.
I lowered myself into my seat, fingers trembling around my pen.
Heat prickled at the back of my neck. Anger. Humiliation. Shame. It pressed so hard against my
ribs, I thought I might burst.
The professor droned on about economic theory, his voice a blur. My gaze locked on Jade’s
perfect posture, the way she twirled her pen idly. She looked… smug. Victorious.
Something snapped inside me.
My hand shot out. Without thinking, I flicked my pen. It sailed across the room and clattered
against Jade’s notebook, splattering ink across the corner of her pristine white sleeve.
Her sharp gasp sliced through the silence. Heads turned. The professor stopped mid-sentence.
Jade whipped around, eyes narrowing into slits.
“Oops,” I said, my voice cool, casual. “Guess I slipped.”
The class snickered. A few outright laughed. Jade’s jaw clenched as she dabbed furiously at her
sleeve, cheeks pink with fury.
And me?
I smiled. A small, dangerous curl of satisfaction that tasted nothing like the Briella I used to be.
By evening I was done with lectures, and I just wanted to go to my room and disappear forever.
Life didn’t stop just because I wanted to curl up and disappear.
Whispers trailed behind me like smoke. I told myself to keep walking, chin high. buzzed again, and when I glanced down, my breath caught in my throat.
My phone
A photo.
Me.
Standing in front of my mirror, hair damp and messy from the shower, nothing but a matching
bra and panties clinging to my skin. My cheeks had been flushed that night, my smile small and
nervous, sent only because Luke had begged, “Just for me, Bri. No one else will ever see.”
I’d believed him. I’d trusted him. I’d even been proud, for once, that I could be wanted, that I
could be brave enough to bare myself to someone I loved.
Now it wasn’t private. It wasn’t safe.
It was blasted into a group chat with half the campus.
The caption, Jade’s poison pressed into words:
Desperate enough to strip for him. No wonder he got bored.
Laughter rippled down the hall. Gasps. Whispers.
And my world collapsed.
My stomach flipped. My vision blurred. A wave of laughter rose behind me.
“Pathetic.”
“Guess she wasn’t enough.”
“Slut.”
The hallway spun. My chest locked. I couldn’t breathe.
My knees buckled, and I hit the floor, books spilling from my arms, pages scattering. My
shaking hands reached blindly, but I couldn’t hold on to anything.
And then, a shadow fell over me.
Strong fingers plucked my phone from the ground. A slow whistle.
“Cute,” Malik murmured. His voice cut through the chaos, smooth as glass and twice as sharp.
“But I can do a hell of a lot worse than ink stains.”
I looked up through a haze of tears. He stood above me, unreadable, the faintest curl of a smirk
on his lips.
“Get up, Briella,” he said softly. Almost kind. Almost. “Don’t let them see you crawl.”
My legs trembled too much to obey. My body refused.
So Malik crouched, close enough that his cologne wrapped around me, dark and heady. His eyes
burned into mine. “This is what they do. They tear you apart, piece by piece. And you let them.
You hand them the knife.”
His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek before I could flinch away. The touch was gentle. Too
gentle.
Then his voice dropped, low and lethal. “Or you can hand me the knife instead.”
The air between us crackled. For one dizzying moment, I wanted to. God help me, I wanted to.
But the terror of what that meant sent me scrambling, gathering my books with trembling hands.
I staggered to my feet, head bowed, and stumbled away.
Laughter followed me down the hall, ringing in my ears, clawing into my chest.
That night, alone in my dorm, I stared at my phone. My reflection in the black screen was
hollow-eyed, broken.
Malik’s words echoed.
“Or you can hand me the knife instead.”
My thumbs shook as I typed.
Me: What would it take?
I didn’t mean to hit send. I swear I didn’t.
But the message flew. Delivered.
My pulse stuttered. My throat closed.
And then — the screen lit up.
Unknown: Finally.
- Writer
