The Way She Is | ✓

07 | behind the smile

𝐁etween my fingers is a picture with that stranger last night.

And to make it even worse, below it's written: Country Players Strip Club.

The color drains from my face. The picture is taken from such a position that it makes the viewer think the girl is all over the man.

And the girl is me.

Certain hoots from the corridor make me look up. The corridor is full of students, laughing and enjoying themselves at my state.

I even find some recording me.

So, this is what I became finally––an open object to provide entertainment to everyone. They can record, and capture my moments any time they want.

I stand up, my eyes frantically roaming each and everyone's face. My face feels in flames, all I can hear is their laughs and terrible gestures in my way.

"Is this you?" someone speaks to me, peeking into my hand.

I shift my welled-up eyes to the asker. My heart nearly stops its beat at the sight of Alisha.

Her face breaks into a mischievous smile at my reaction. She raises her pointy-nailed fingers and snatches the picture from my grasp and takes a long glance at it. "Hmmm."

My eyes turn red at her presence and I clench my jaw in anger. So this is her revenge. The dirty revenge for her brother.

Following her, like bees around a beehive, are her so-called friends, each one chewing a bubblegum. They share smirks and high-fives as Alisha passes them the picture.

She looks up at me and fakes a frown. "I am so sorry, Katherine. God knows who did it but the one who did must be really wicked."

"And smart," someone from the crowd joins, possibly a girl having fun watching another getting humiliated.

The bell rings as everyone leaves disappointedly and as they go, my eyes enlarge even more.

The picture is nothing before the huge banners, posters, and flyers covering the wall. All of them have pictures of me from different angles, before the stage.

My hands cover my mouth as I hold back a sob. I never thought humiliation can have this extent.

I drag my feet towards my locker and almost collapse at the red sprayed letters: SLUT OWNS THIS.

"You shouldn't have messed with Harts, Katherine," a voice laughs following others.

My eyes close as I hold the sides of the locker to maintain my balance.

This is a dream. I wish this was a dream.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I try not to look at the pictures of me with the stranger's hand on my hip, and my breast.

I never knew I was simply being a puppet to their show. To this day, I am proving nothing but a complete idiot to myself.

Hiccuping, my quivering hands find the lock broken while I dread to check inside.

"Kate!"

My eyes snap open as I check my sides. "A-Ashlyn..."

She gives me a calm look as if nothing affected her. By now I have understood that I am the one who reacts the most while everyone acts maturely. "I called you so many times in the morn––"

I sprint down the corridor in shame, blanking out the rest of her sentence.

I can't take this anymore. I still remember she was the one who warned me, and I was the one who ignored her.