Chapter 11- Breaking Point
410 Words
She didn’t go back to her room after the girl was dragged out. She went to the roof. The city looked better from up there. Smaller. Less cruel. The people in the street were ants with glowing phones, walking in lines, chasing lives that didn’t cost their skin.
The wind stung her eyes. She let it. Behind her, the door stayed open a crack, breathing warm light into the gravel. But she stayed in the cold. Sometimes pain felt cleaner that way.
Faith didn’t cry.
She hadn’t cried in weeks. Maybe months. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let it come out - really come out - not just the pressure in her throat, the tremble in her hands, but the scream that lived behind her ribs. The scream had learned to sit still. But tonight, it clawed.
She sat down with her back to the vent and pulled her knees to her chest, her dress bunching at her thighs. She looked down at her arms - perfect skin, lined with glitter.
No cuts.
No bruises.
But she’d never felt more ruined.
Fatima found her there. Of course she did. She didn’t say anything at first. Just lit a cigarette and sat beside her like they’d planned to meet.
“I told you once,” she said finally, “this place gets inside your bones.”
Faith nodded. “It’s already in mine.”
Fatima looked at her . Not pity. Just knowing. “Wanna know the worst part?” Faith whispered. Fatima waited. “I don’t feel bad anymore. I don’t even know how to feel bad. I gave the nod tonight, and it didn’t rip me apart. It felt like..habit.”
She looked out at the skyline, breath trembling. “I used to be scared I’d die in here. Now I’m scared I’ll live in it.”
Fatima took a drag. Let the smoke fill the silence. “Then change the ending,” she said. Faith laughed once - bitter. “And do what? Start a union? Set the place on fire?”
“No,” Fatima said. “Not yet.” She turned to her.
“First, you survive the fall. Then, you learn who to bury.”
They sat in silence after that. Not healing. Not plotting. Just breaking. Together. And somewhere in the middle of it, Faith realized something terrifying - and thrilling: She hadn’t lost herself. She’d just stopped pretending she was weak.
- Writer
