Behind the Mask

CHAPTER 3: RENDEZVOUS (PART 1)

My spine has been screaming all day. Every time I carry those water buckets, something in my lower back snaps like an old machine begging for retirement. Maybe I’m aging faster than I should. Or maybe stress eats bones the same way it eats the mind — quietly, efficiently, like termites in the dark.

Nothing interesting happened today. Nothing ever does.

And that’s the terrifying part.

Campus was its usual circus of people pretending they’re the protagonists of a story no one is reading. Especially him — the guy who brags about everything like the world is his personal audience. He walks like he’s bulletproof, talks like the universe owes him subtitles. My classmates roast him behind his back, calling him “main character syndrome with legs,” but I don’t even waste that energy. He’s annoying, yeah. But he replies when I need something — as long as it benefits him. Conditional friendship. Transactional. Whatever.

My friend told me earlier he saw me walking down the hallway with my head down, shoulders stiff, like a CEO who just watched his empire crumble.

But I don’t remember walking like that.

I don’t remember… a lot of things lately.

Selective amnesia is a terrible storyteller.

It skips crucial scenes then pretends it never did.

But I brushed it off. What’s the point of asking questions when the answers feel heavier than your own body?

On my way to class, I passed by a couple making out near the lockers. They were loud, sloppy, almost animal-like. Disgusting. Their moans echoed in the hall like someone stepping on wet leaves. I never understood why people parade their affection like a performance. Maybe that’s why romance makes me… uncomfortable. Or maybe I’m just projecting again.

At the water dispenser, I saw my reflection — distorted by the droplets and the cheap metal.

I froze.

Gosh, I looked terrible.

Pale. Tired. Eyes like I hadn't slept in years.

The kind of face only a mother could love — and even then, she’d hesitate.

But girls have confessed to me before. Some got obsessed. I never understood why. Maybe I’m charming in a way people don’t notice until it’s too late.

Maybe manipulation really is a talent you’re born with.

And yeah, I did all that to my crush too — not Shinrah, that walking migraine, but the other girl. The one who made my heart malfunction for months. Pathetic.

I got home after school and knocked out for a nap. But when I woke up, something felt wrong. Heavy. Like someone had rearranged the furniture inside my chest while I slept.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

“Meet me. Tonight. Don’t tell anyone.”

No name. No address. No context.

Just coordinates.

And a time.

A rendezvous.

Normally, I’d block that s**t instantly. But curiosity is a dangerous drug, and today I must’ve overdosed. My fingers accepted before my brain could reject it.

I changed my clothes with hands that felt colder than they should’ve been.

Maybe excitement. Maybe fear. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

Before leaving, I saw my bracelet on the table — the one I should’ve given to her.

My chest tightened with something sharp and hollow.

Regret?

Guilt?

Longing?

It didn’t matter. I wore the bracelet anyway.

Like armor.

Like a reminder.

Like a mistake I’m not ready to let go of.

And then… I left the house.

Not knowing who was waiting.

Not knowing why they chose me.

Not knowing that tonight, something inside me would finally crack open.

And something else — something colder — would crawl out.