The Emptiness She Holds

Curse everyone

Chapter 21: curse everyone

Looking back now... the signs were always there.
The side glances.
The eye rolls.
The silent glares from the woman I thought was my mother.

She was jealous. Jealous of so many things—things I didn't even realize I had.
Maybe my resilience. Maybe my bloodline. Maybe just the fact that I was young and still had time to rewrite my story, while she was living a lie.

But she's gone now. And all that matters is truth.
Who I am.
Where I came from.
And what the hell happened to my real mother.

I won't stop until I find the answers. And if anyone stands in my way... I won't bat an eye.
Not anymore.

Currently: 7th period.
My brain's fried from a full day of dull, useless classes. World History. Music. P.E. Physics. Calculus. English. Now: Art.
Every single period filled with the same cliques, the same whispers, the same people pretending to like each other while stabbing one another in the back with every fake smile.

I was over it before the day even started.

The art room was wide and smelled like fresh paint and stress.
The professor swept in with an elegance that made the class actually shut up for once.

"Settle down," she said, placing her leather satchel on the desk.
"Welcome, new students. This year we will explore the magic of art. The beauty a single brushstroke can hold. The power a painting can carry—sometimes, more than words ever could."
Her voice was soft but strong. Magnetic, almost.

For once, I wanted to listen.

"But," she continued, "I do not allow self-chosen seating. You may think I don't notice when you pick your friends. I do. So tonight, I will be arranging your seats for the remainder of the semester. You'll find your name cards on your desks tomorrow morning."

The entire class groaned in unison.

I didn't wait around to hear more.

I snapped my sketchbook closed, grabbed my bag, and walked right out the door—ignoring the professor's half-hearted "Excuse me—Miss—!" as I pushed into the hallway.

I wasn't trying to be rude. I just couldn't sit still anymore. My brain was spiraling.

My feet took me downstairs, back to the history wing.
That name still echoed in my mind.

Adela.

Where had I heard it before?
Why did it make my skin crawl and my chest tighten like a scream was stuck behind my ribs?

Then I saw him.

Professor Fredlock.

He was standing outside his classroom door, his hand resting on his cane, eyes trained on the far wall as if lost in memory.

I hesitated, heart pounding, then stepped closer.

He turned, sensing me.

Our eyes locked.

And something—something inside me shifted.
Like a thread being tugged loose in the back of my skull.

"Who... are you?" I asked, the words falling out before I could stop them.
My voice cracked halfway through, but I didn't care.

He looked at me for a long moment. And then—

"...Just like Adela," he whispered.

The name hit me like ice water. My breath caught.

"What did you say?" I asked, stepping closer.

But he turned his back and entered his classroom, locking the door behind him.