The Real Me

Chapter 14. Beneath The Surface

Third-Person Pov

After Anastasia dashed off to the dormitory, Gilbert stood frozen, uncertainty swirling in his mind like a vortex.

The campus buzzed around him, laughter and chatter filling the air, but he felt isolated, a lone island amidst the crowd.

With a sigh, he decided to call his parents, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed their number.

He needed to hear their voices, to feel connected to a world that seemed so far away.

Gilbert's life had been painted in shades of privilege, his existence cushioned by wealth.

Yet, stubbornness had woven itself into his character like a stubborn weed.

As the only child of busy parents who frequently jetted off for work, he had forged a path of defiance.

When they could no longer manage his unruly spirit, they made the fateful decision to send him to his maternal grandparents in a small town far removed from the city's gleaming skyscrapers.

The memories of that day still haunted him.

He thought back to the day his parents dropped him off at his grandparents; the smile on their faces a stark contrast to the abandonment he felt.

They had arrived under the guise of a brief visit, smiles plastered on their faces as they assured him they would be spending just a few days with his grandparents.

Gilbert, unaware of the truth, had clung to their hands in the dim light of the towns night, his heart racing with excitement.

But they left him there, and the weight of abandonment crashed down on him like a physical force.

Tears streamed down his cheeks when he discovered the next day, a small figure lost in the shadows.

Days turned into a blur of loneliness, and the town, which seemed so peaceful, morphed into a prison of unfamiliar faces—faces he had dubbed wicked in his mind.

Week after week, he waited for his parents to return, clinging to the hope that their love would rescue him.

When they finally called, their words cut deeper than any knife.

"You'll come home after you've learned to be a good boy," they told him, as if the transformation of his spirit could be dictated by their expectations.

Determined to prove himself, Gilbert tried to be the obedient child they wanted.

But even as he changed, their absence loomed larger.

Desperation drove him to leave the town on his own, a misguided quest for freedom that ended in disaster.

Kidnapped and held for two agonizing days, he was eventually rescued by his grandparents, but the experience left scars that would never fully heal.

Years passed, and with them, a reluctant acceptance of his new life.

His parents continued to check in, their voices distant through the phone, always urging him to stay and keep being a good boy.

Each conversation chipped away at his spirit, the realization dawning that he was not merely a visitor in the town; he was rooted there.

Now, standing in the midst of a bustling campus, Gilbert's hand hovered over his phone screen, but the call never connected.

After several attempts with no response, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes dropped.

Despite the pang of abandonment, he felt no bitterness towards his parents; their decision to leave him behind had ultimately shaped him into who he was today.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his footsteps slowing as he turned away from the thrumming life around him.

A hollow sensation echoed within his chest, a reminder that some distances could never be bridged.

Within the week, he found joy in Anastasia’s company.

Among all his friendships, his bond with her stood out—a connection both effortless and profound.

He cherished their moments together, where laughter mingled with sincerity, and he found solace in knowing he could bring a smile to her face, even when her words were few.

In her presence, the weight of his past faded, replaced by a flicker of hope that life could be brighter, even when shadows loomed nearby.

As he made his way to the boys' dormitory, anticipation quickened his pace.

He wondered if his friends had returned from the house party outside the school compound.

The absence of their housemaster for the weekend had sparked a sense of freedom, but in his excitement, he had completely forgotten about Bridget's rehearsal—a detail that nagged at the back of his mind.

Dating Bridget felt like earning a trophy; she was the school belle, captivating and elusive.

Through Beatrice, a mutual friend, he had finally garnered Bridget's attention, and their relationship blossomed during their first semester break.

What began as a game had evolved into something deeper, entwining his heart in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

As he approached the boys' dormitory, the sounds of laughter spilled into the hallway.

He paused, spotting Bridget chatting animatedly with Felix right at the entrance.

A familiar mix of irritation and resignation welled up within him.

Bridget had always pushed the boundaries; she knew the school rules forbidding girls from venturing within five meters of the boys' dorm, yet here she was again, unabashedly breaking them.

It was a common occurrence, one that he had come to accept, especially when the housemaster was away.

He winced slightly as she threw herself into his arms when he got there, her laughter ringing out like a challenge against the surrounding silence.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length, his eyes searching hers.

"Hey, babe," she said, her face lighting up. "I was just asking about you."

Gilbert's gaze lingered on hers before he asked, "Aren't you supposed to be rehearsing?"

Bridget's smile faltered for a moment, and she glanced away, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "I was waiting for you. We’re supposed to go together, right?"

He studied her carefully, confusion knitting his brow. "You canceled our plans this morning, citing a rehearsal."

Bridget's eyes flashed with defensiveness, but she quickly masked it with a smile.

"I know and that's why I want you there. Besides, I couldn't focus without you."

His expression softened slightly, but he remained cautious. "I need to sleep, Bridget. I've had a long day."

Her grip on his arms tightened, her voice taking on a persuasive tone. "Just a little while longer? Please?"

He hesitated, as her gaze drifted toward the hallway, her eyes lingering on something behind him. Her expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing her face.

He turned to follow her gaze, but there was no one there.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low.

Bridget's smile returned, but it seemed forced. "Nothing. Let's just go, okay?"

His instincts telling him something was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He shook his head, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Bridget, I told you I'm tired. Can't this wait?"

Her eyes flashed with hurt, but she quickly regained composure. "Fine. I'll see you later, then."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone outside the dormitory.

He watched her go, feeling a mix of relief and guilt.

As he entered the dorm, he couldn't shake the feeling that their conversation was far from over.