Chapter 16: Alone Again
1657 Words
The silence didn’t come all at once.
It crept in.
Quiet.
Subtle.
Like something waiting in the corners of the room.
Molly noticed it first at breakfast.
No one sat beside her.
Not because there were no seats.
But because there were too many choices.
And she wasn’t one of them.
She kept her eyes on her tray—toast untouched, tea growing cold—pretending not to hear the whispers drifting between tables.
“…that’s her…”
“…the one from the article…”
“…and her friend is working with Vic…”
She swallowed.
Hard.
Each word pressed into her chest like a weight.
She told herself not to react.
Not to look up.
Not to care.
But her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
And that was enough to betray her.
Across the hall, Lucy leaned toward Lottie, her voice just loud enough.
“Funny how quiet she is now.”
Lottie smirked. “Maybe she’s run out of stories.”
A small ripple of laughter followed.
Molly heard it.
Of course she did.
She always did.
She stood abruptly.
Too fast.
The chair scraped again—too loud, too sharp—and for a brief moment, the room stilled.
Eyes turned.
Molly grabbed her bag and walked out.
Her limp was more noticeable today.
Not because it had worsened—
But because she could feel every single step.
Every uneven shift.
Every second of awareness.
Like the whole world was watching how she moved.
Judging it.
Measuring it.
She skipped music.
For the first time since arriving at Ashwood.
Mrs. O’Connor noticed immediately.
But Molly didn’t stop when she heard her name being called down the corridor.
She just kept walking.
Faster.
Further.
Anywhere that wasn’t there.
By midday, she found herself in the library.
Not the main one.
Too crowded.
Too open.
She went deeper.
Past the polished tables and tall windows.
Into the older section.
Where the shelves were taller.
The lighting dimmer.
And fewer people came.
She sat in the corner.
A book open in front of her.
Unread.
Her eyes didn’t move across the page.
Her thoughts did.
You chose her.
The words replayed.
Over and over.
No matter how hard she tried to push them away.
She saw the photo again.
Art at the piano.
Vic beside him.
Comfortable.
Close.
Like they belonged in the same world.
A world Molly had never quite been part of.
Her chest tightened.
“I was stupid,” she whispered.
The word tasted bitter.
Because it felt true.
She had believed in something.
In someone.
And now—
It felt like a mistake.
A chair scraped nearby.
Molly stiffened instinctively.
But the voice that followed was familiar.
“Molly.”
She didn’t look up.
“Go away, Chlo.”
“No.”
Molly closed her eyes briefly.
Of course she wouldn’t.
Chlo sat opposite her, arms folded, expression serious.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? Staring at the same page for an hour?”
Molly’s jaw tightened.
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I’m saying you’re not.”
Silence.
Chlo leaned forward slightly.
“Talk to me.”
Molly shook her head.
“I don’t want to.”
“Because you’re hurt? Or because you think shutting everyone out is going to fix it?”
Molly looked up then.
Her eyes were tired.
Red around the edges.
“Because I don’t trust my judgment anymore,” she said quietly.
Chlo’s expression softened.
“That’s not fair,” Chlo said gently.
“It is,” Molly replied. “I trusted him. I told him things I don’t tell anyone.”
Her voice dropped.
“And he still went behind my back.”
Chlo exhaled slowly.
“I’m not defending what he did,” she said. “But don’t you think there might be more to it?”
Molly let out a hollow laugh.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But Art’s not—”
“Not what?” Molly cut in. “Not capable of lying? Not capable of making a choice that hurts someone?”
Chlo didn’t answer immediately.
Because that wasn’t the point.
“Molly,” she said carefully, “people can mess up without meaning to hurt you.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” Chlo admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Silence settled again.
Heavier this time.
“I just… don’t want to feel like this anymore,” Molly said finally.
Her voice was small.
Barely above a whisper.
Chlo reached across the table.
But Molly pulled her hand back.
“Please don’t,” Molly said.
Chlo froze.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to fix it.”
“I’m not trying to fix it.”
“Yes, you are.”
Molly stood, gathering her bag.
“I just need space.”
Chlo stood too.
“You’ve had space. What you need is support.”
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is right now.”
Chlo searched her face.
Looking for something.
Anything.
But Molly’s expression had closed off.
Like a door quietly locked.
“Fine,” Chlo said softly.
“But I’m not going anywhere.”
Molly didn’t respond.
She just walked away.
By evening, the distance had spread.
Not just between Molly and Art.
Not just between Molly and Chlo.
But between Molly and everything.
She skipped dinner.
Ignored messages.
Avoided eye contact.
Kept her head down in corridors.
And when laughter echoed nearby—
She changed direction.
Music Room 3 remained closed.
She didn’t go near it.
Couldn’t.
Not when every memory inside it felt tangled with him.
Instead, she ended up somewhere else.
The old courtyard behind the chapel.
Bare trees stretched upward.
Branches thin against the fading sky.
The air was colder there.
Quieter.
Molly sat on the low stone wall.
Her breath visible in the evening air.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself.
And for the first time all day—
She let the tears fall.
They came silently.
Slow at first.
Then harder.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she whispered.
The words disappeared into the wind.
She thought about Newcastle.
About home.
About her grandmother’s kitchen.
The warmth.
The safety.
The way music had never felt complicated there.
Here—
Everything felt complicated.
Heavy.
Like every note came with a question.
A doubt.
A judgment.
“What if I stop?” she said out loud.
The idea settled in her mind.
Uncomfortable.
But persistent.
What if she just…
Walked away?
From the competition.
From the pressure.
From the noise.
Her fingers curled into her coat.
Would it be easier?
Yes.
Would it hurt less?
Maybe.
A voice cut through her thoughts.
“You don’t mean that.”
Molly turned sharply.
Finn stood a few steps away.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
“Were you following me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged slightly. “Same reason you are, I guess.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, stepping closer, “running away feels easier than staying.”
Molly looked away.
“I’m not running.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what do you call this?”
He gestured vaguely.
“This whole… shutting everyone out thing.”
Molly’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t get to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“It sounds like it.”
“I’m recognizing it,” Finn said quietly.
She looked back at him.
Something in his tone had shifted.
Less sharp.
More honest.
“I’ve done it too,” he added.
That made her pause.
“After the prank,” he continued, “I avoided everything. People. Music. Responsibility.”
He let out a small breath.
“Didn’t make anything better.”
Molly’s expression softened slightly.
Just slightly.
“You’re not the problem here,” Finn said. “They are.”
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t feel like that.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… real.
“What if they’re right?” Molly asked again.
Finn didn’t hesitate this time.
“They’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
He held her gaze.
“Because I’ve seen people fake things before,” he said. “And you’re not one of them.”
Molly blinked.
The certainty in his voice caught her off guard.
“And for what it’s worth,” Finn added, “Art’s an i***t. But he’s not fake either.”
Her chest tightened slightly.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I’m just saying—”
“I don’t want to hear about him.”
Finn raised his hands slightly. “Okay.”
Another pause.
“But whatever he’s doing,” Finn said more carefully, “I don’t think it’s what it looks like.”
Molly didn’t respond.
Because part of her—
A very small, quiet part—
Didn’t think so either.
And that was what hurt the most.
“I’m tired,” she said finally.
Finn nodded.
“Yeah.”
She stood.
Slowly this time.
More aware.
More grounded.
“Thanks,” she added quietly.
“For what?”
“For not pretending everything’s fine.”
Finn gave a small, genuine smile.
“Anytime.”
Molly turned and walked away.
Not toward the dining hall.
Not toward the dorms.
But somewhere in between.
Not completely alone.
But not ready to go back either.
Behind her—
Finn stayed where he was.
Watching.
Thinking.
Because for the first time—
He realized something.
Vic wasn’t just attacking Molly anymore.
She was breaking people.
Pulling them apart.
One by one.
And if something didn’t change soon—
There might not be anything left to fix.
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