𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
To be honest, school is such a joy. I mean, who doesn’t love dragging themselves there every day? The same delightful teachers, the endlessly entertaining classmates—pure bliss. Just one more period of fun and games, then I finally get to go home. Wuhu.
And of course, this last period? It’s the cherry on top. Because what better way to end the day than with a class I totally care about and will definitely use in real life. I'm sitting here, pretending to take notes while internally screaming.
The clock is moving slower than a snail with a limp. Every tick feels like a personal insult. I glance around—everyone looks just as dead inside, which honestly brings me a weird sense of comfort. Misery really does love company.
Almost there. Just a few more minutes of this educational torture and then sweet, glorious freedom. Can’t wait to go home and do it all again tomorrow. Yay.
The final bell rings like freedom’s anthem. I’m out of my seat before the sound even finishes, the backpack swinging wildly, probably knocking something over. Not my problem.
The hallway’s chaos, as usual. People yelling, lockers slamming, that one kid trying to crowd-surf through the freshmen—honestly, respect. I weave through the madness with Olympic-level speed and make it outside like I’m escaping a burning building.
The air hits me, cool and a little damp. Perfect. Then I feel it—tiny raindrops. Barely anything. Just enough to be annoying, not enough to justify an umbrella. Great. Now my hair’s going to frizz like I stuck a fork in an outlet.
Still, it’s not too bad. My jacket handles most of it, and by some miracle, my sneakers avoid every puddle. A small win, but I’ll take it.
By the time I reach my house, something feels... off. And by “off,” I mean there are actual people swarming around my front yard. Not just nosy neighbors either—cops. Real, uniformed, serious-face cops.
Well. What the heck.
For a split second, I genuinely consider turning around and pretending I live three blocks down. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I accidentally walked onto a movie set. Or maybe my house finally gave up and exploded—honestly, I wouldn't be surprised.
I slow down, squinting like that’s going to help me make sense of the chaos. There’s police tape. Flashing lights. A bunch of people talking into radios like they’re auditioning for a crime show.
And me? Standing there, soaked in a light drizzle, holding a half-eaten bag of popcorn, thinking: What did I just walk into?
I creep closer, heart doing that weird thumpy thing it does when something’s wrong but your brain hasn’t caught up yet. One of the officers notices me and walks over, which is never a good sign in any universe.
“Excuse me—do you live here?”
Um. Do I lie? Do I run? Do I spontaneously forget English?
“…Yeah?” I say, more like a question than an answer. “Is something… going on?”
Because that’s the polite way of asking: Why are there cops outside my house and am I secretly in a Netflix documentary?
YOU ARE READING
The Hidden Pain
Teen Fiction"Blood may bind them, but secrets could tear them apart." --- Separated at the age of two. Raised in shadows. Loved by no one. She spent her life behind walls she built to survive-walls no one has ever dared to break. Until the day her stepfather di...
