Resentment

Chapter 4-Pushed

Ariah Eden

Monday came like a storm she couldn’t outrun.

School loomed like a battlefield. Ariah dressed slowly, deliberately, choosing armor in the form of casual comfort. Black ripped jeans. A gray oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. White sneakers scuffed from years of running down these halls.

Her wild red curls—so often the target of whispers—she tamed into submission, twisted into a low bun and tucked beneath her hood, secured by a worn-out hoodie. A feeble attempt at invisibility.

Maybe if I disappear, they’ll forget I exist.

But the moment she stepped onto campus, the lie shattered.

Eyes followed her like knives. Whispers slid through the corridors like poison. When she reached her locker, her stomach clenched. Notes—folded, crumpled, stuffed through the vents. She opened one with shaking hands.

Evil witch. Go die.

We don’t want your curse here.

You’ll burn in hell before you burn us.

Her throat tightened, breath shallow. She shoved the notes deep into her pocket, slamming the locker shut so hard the metal screamed.

Just make it through the day.

The morning crawled. Each class was a cage of stares and laughter muffled behind hands. No one sat beside her. Even the teachers avoided her gaze, as if silence could erase her existence.

And then came lunch.

The cafeteria was a sea of voices, clinking trays, and simmering malice. Ariah walked in slow, head down, hoodie shielding her like paper armor. She grabbed an apple and bottled water, ignoring the prickle of gazes burning holes through her back.

Then the voice came—smooth, venom-laced.

“Well, well. Look who crawled out of her cave.”

Leila. Dressed in a silk top that clung to her like a second skin, green eyes glittering with cruelty. She leaned against the table like a queen surveying her prey, her pack of followers snickering.

Ariah kept walking. Don’t bite. Don’t break.

But Leila’s words cut through the noise:

“What’s the matter, Ariah? Afraid you’ll hex someone if you open your mouth?”

Laughter erupted.

Ariah froze, fists trembling at her sides. Then she felt it—fingers gripping her hood, yanking hard.

Her curls tumbled free, a fiery waterfall catching the harsh cafeteria lights. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Thought you could hide?” Tobias’s voice, low and razor-sharp, brushed against her ear like a threat.

Ariah spun, her heart slamming against her ribs—and collided with his gray eyes, storming with rage.

He stood close, too close, towering over her. His grip clamped on her wrist like iron, his breath hot against her cheek. And then—his lips curled back, revealing elongated fangs that gleamed under fluorescent light.

The room erupted in cheers, laughter sharp as broken glass. Phones rose, recording, capturing her humiliation for eternity.

Ariah’s voice broke. “Let me go.”

Tobias didn’t move. His fangs inched closer, his eyes burning with something between hatred and hunger. “You should’ve stayed away.”

Something inside her cracked. The walls she’d built—the fear, the shame, the endless biting down of rage—splintered.

Her pulse roared. Heat surged through her veins like molten fire. And then—BOOM.

A shockwave burst from her body, a violent ripple that slammed into the room. Trays clattered to the floor. Lights shattered overhead, raining sparks. The laughter died in strangled gasps.

Tobias’s body lifted clean off the ground, suspended in midair like a rag doll, his fingers clawing at his throat as invisible force crushed the air from his lungs. His gray eyes bulged, panic flickering where arrogance once burned.

Leila screamed as she hit the floor, her manicured nails scraping against tile. Her heels kicked helplessly, pinned by the same unseen power.

Silence fell like a blade.

Ariah stood at the center, hoodie half-off, hair blazing like a crown of fire, eyes glowing with violet light. Her voice—when it came—was soft, deadly.

“I warned you.”

“Tobias!” Talia’s voice cracked through the hush, raw and desperate. She stumbled forward, tears streaking her cheeks. “Ariah, please—please let him go. He’s my brother.”

For one heartbeat, Ariah’s resolve wavered. Memories clawed through—three kids laughing by the waterfall, daring each other to jump, the bond that once felt unbreakable.

Her jaw tightened. With a flick of her hand, Tobias crashed to the floor in a coughing heap. Leila scrambled back, sobbing, her perfect gloss smeared across her chin.

Ariah’s chest heaved, her power simmering just beneath her skin. She scanned the sea of stunned faces, memorizing the fear, the awe.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she whispered.

And then Aiden was there, her brother’s arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her from the wreckage of whispers and shattered glass.

As they stepped into the cold air, Ariah didn’t look back.

The car hummed softly as Aiden steered them away from the school, his jaw tight, his knuckles white on the wheel. The late afternoon sun streaked through the windshield, casting long bars of gold across Ariah’s lap, but she barely noticed. Her hoodie clung damp against her skin, smelling faintly of fear and smoke.

Neither of them spoke for the first ten minutes. The silence was heavy, filled with everything unsaid—gasps from the cafeteria, Tobias’s choking breaths, Leila’s sobbing curses.

Finally, Aiden broke it.

“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” His voice was soft but strained, like a thread stretched too thin.

Ariah stared out the window at the blur of trees. “No,” she said flatly.

“Ariah—”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked like a whip, but her hands trembled in her lap. She clenched them tight, willing the magic not to slip again.

Aiden sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I just… I need to know you’re okay. Because what I saw back there—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “You scared them. You scared me.”

Ariah turned to him then, her eyes burning, violet sparks still flickering at the edges like dying embers. “Good,” she whispered. “Let them be scared.”

Aiden’s chest constricted. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that this wasn’t her, that she wasn’t the monster they painted her as. But the image of Tobias dangling midair, gasping for breath, clawed at him. He tightened his grip on the wheel until his fingers ached.

“I’m not going back,” Ariah said suddenly, her voice quiet but laced with steel.

Aiden shot her a glance. “Ariah—”

“No.” She shook her head, curls spilling from the loosened goodie like crimson flames. “I’m done. I’m done letting them rip me apart. I’m done pretending I belong here .” Her voice cracked. “And I’m sure as hell done letting Tobias Moon put his hands on me.”

Something inside Aiden shattered at the rawness in her tone. He reached over, covering her trembling hand with his. Warm, solid, steady. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve got you.”

She stared at their hands, tears blurring her vision. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise you won’t tell Mom and Dad. Not yet.”

Aiden hesitated, torn between loyalty to his sister and the crushing weight of the secret she carried. Finally, he nodded. “I promise.”

For a moment, silence returned. Softer this time. Almost fragile.

Ariah leaned her head against the window, the fading sunlight painting her face in hues of gold and sorrow. In the glass, her reflection looked like someone else entirely—eyes too bright, too wild, too broken.

She knew then, as the road stretched endless ahead, that this was the last time she’d ever see that school. That version of her life.

Whatever came next—it wouldn’t be lockers and notes and whispered hate.

It would be war.

Because she knew—

She couldn't coming back.