I always told Grandma I fell.
Off my bike, in gym class, or tripped on the stairs, or simply slipped in the rain.
Never once did I say, "They pushed me." Never once did I tell her about Amy shoving me into the lockers, or Darren snapping my school ID and calling me "whale pass." I didn't want her to worry. She was already worrying about meds and bills and my studies as she was my only family .
So I lied. A lot.
Even when the bruises looked like fingerprints. Even when the cut needed three stitches and I told the nurse I slipped on the playground gravel.
The scar's still there — on the left side of my ribs, just under the bra line. It's turned white now. Mostly healed, but it stings when I press it sometimes.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
I used to say falling felt like flying.
Like when you miss the last stair and your stomach flips for half a second. That half-second where you're weightless. Unstoppable. Untouchable.
Turns out, real falling just feels cold. Wet. And slow — like the universe wants you to think about every single bad decision you've ever made before you hit the bottom.
So that's what I'm doing. Sinking. Thinking.
Thinking about you, Grandma. I'll be joining you soon in heaven. We can have our little tea party and picnics there. And before I see you, I wanted to say some things — I never had the heart to say them aloud to you.
I never told you. Never showed you the bruises. I always smiled like you taught me. Kept my head down. Stayed small, stayed quiet, stayed out of their way.
"I'm fine," I said.
And you always said, "You're stronger than they'll ever be. One day, you'll remember that."
Well… wanna know what happened when I finally did?
I signed up for boxing lessons behind your back. Used my lunch money, skipped school to train. I didn't care if I got caught. I was tired of pretending I didn't feel anything.
And the day I paid them back?
Glorious.
One punch. Then another. One of them cried. One actually peed himself. I shouldn't laugh, but… gods, it felt good.
You'd probably scold me. But I think — secretly — you'd be proud.
I fought, Grandma.
I finally fought.
But they didn't stop.
They came back harder. Smarter. They waited for me to be alone.
You weren't there anymore.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
It was Mia, actually. The one who always asked me for help with math homework — the one I thought… maybe wasn't like the others.
She invited me to a yacht party.
Said it was just a few friends. Said it would be fun. I had nothing else to do. I'd never been on a yacht before. Never even been out on the sea like that. I thought… maybe they were done with the hate.
Maybe I'd finally… get to have girl friends.
I should've known.
The second the shore disappeared, so did their masks. They came out like villains in a bad teen drama — all perfect smiles and glittery swimsuits and venom in their eyes.
I argued. I screamed.
They laughed at me as they shoved me into the ocean.
I can't swim.
I told them, and I begged them to get me out, but they just turned the damn yacht and left me sinking.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
I wish I would have brought Dravion with me. Or told him where I was going before coming to this stupid party. I'll die soon, and he won't even know.
Dravion… you always saw through every fake smile I gave our teachers, every "I'm fine" I texted you. You were always there — with a hoodie when mine got soaked, or chips from the vending machine when I skipped lunch, or just… were there. Your presence was enough to fill the void of loneliness.
I wish you all the happiness, my best friend. I'll miss you in heaven — but you don't need to miss me much. Just live your life fully, for my sake too.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Dravion knew something was off the moment she boarded that yacht.
She hadn't told him. She never did. But he knew her patterns — the fake laughs, the texts with no emojis, the long silences between replies. He knew because he had been watching. Always.
He wasn't stalking her. Just… making sure.
So he rented the oldest kayak he could find, paddled out past the harbour, and waited — binoculars in hand, hood pulled low, breath tight in his throat.
He didn't trust those kids. Never had.
And when the yacht drifted farther, he saw it. Saw her.
Standing at the edge. Surrounded.
She was yelling.
Then she was gone.
Shoved.
Right over the railing.
"ELARA!"
The binoculars hit the floor. He jumped.
Cold hit him like a slap. His lungs seized. But he didn't care. He swam — hard, reckless, faster than he ever had.
He spotted her through the bubbles. She was sinking. Not fighting. Not moving.
Just falling — like she didn't care anymore.
He kicked harder. Reached.
Their hands touched for half a second.
Then — nothing.
She vanished. Right in front of him. Like the sea had swallowed her whole.
He froze.
No body. No trail. Just empty blue and his own panicked heartbeat thudding in his ears.
He looked up. The surface was too far.
Too late.
A sharp current caught him next. Dragged him down. He fought it, thrashed against it — but the sea didn't care.
It wasn't rage.
It wasn't mercy.
It simply claimed her.
And him?
Just the soul.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧