My Toxin

Chapter 6

The following week, the university buzzed with excitement over the upcoming debate competition. Posters plastered across every noticeboard announced the event, and the Debate Society's group chat was alive with chatter. The energy was contagious, but the pressure was immense. Marjorie and I spent hours pouring over research, rehearsing arguments, and fine-tuning delivery. With every passing day, I could feel her anxiety creeping in, her usually calm exterior starting to crack under the weight of expectations.

Without telling her, I approached the president of the debate team and made a suggestion: Marjorie should be our team's first speaker. It was a bold move. She had never spoken in a formal competition before, and I knew it would push her out of her comfort zone. But I believed in her. Her passion for human rights—especially on the subject of asylum seekers—was unmatched. I was certain this was her chance to shine and prove to herself what I already knew: she was brilliant.

"Marjorie, you're going to be amazing," I told her the night before, handing her a stack of neatly organised notes.

She gave me a small, nervous smile, her hands trembling slightly as she took the papers. "Thanks, Alex. I just hope I don't mess it all up."

"You won't," I said firmly. "You know this topic better than anyone. Trust yourself."

The day of the competition arrived, and the auditorium buzzed with nervous energy. Students hurriedly reviewed their notes, whispered strategies to their teammates, and exchanged anxious glances. The grand hall, with its high ceilings and rows of polished wooden benches, felt almost intimidating.

Marjorie stood with our team, flanked by the second and third speakers, looking composed but tense. Her usually steady hands fiddled with the edge of her notebook. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her I had pushed for her to take the lead, but I didn't want to add to the pressure already weighing her down.

"You're going to do great," the team president said, patting Marjorie on the back.

She nodded, though her tight smile betrayed her nerves.

The debate topic was announced: "Should countries be obligated to accept asylum seekers?" A spark lit in Marjorie's eyes. This was her subject, one she cared about deeply. I knew she could speak on it with passion and conviction, blending academic rigor with heartfelt compassion.

As we took our seats, my confidence wavered for the first time. Across the room stood Elanor—my ex-girlfriend. She was part of the opposing team, her posture exuding confidence. Elanor had always been competitive, but she also had a cruel streak, especially when it came to Marjorie. She knew exactly how I felt about Marjorie, and I could see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes when she noticed us together.

Marjorie's gaze landed on Elanor, and for a moment, insecurity flashed across her face. I leaned closer to her.

"Don't worry about her," I whispered. "She's just another competitor."

Marjorie shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'm not bothered, Alex. Let's focus on the debate."

But her tight tone and clipped words told me otherwise.

The debate began, and the tension in the room was palpable. When Marjorie stood to deliver her opening speech, I held my breath.

She started slowly, her voice soft but steady. Then, as she warmed to her subject, her confidence blossomed. She spoke about the moral and legal obligations of nations to accept asylum seekers, weaving in international laws, treaties, and real-life stories of those who had fled persecution. Her arguments were clear and compelling, her delivery filled with emotion.

The audience was captivated, and the judges nodded in approval, clearly impressed. I watched her with pride, knowing this was the Marjorie I had believed in all along.

But then came the next round, and Elanor's team took the stage. Her smirk as she stepped forward grated on my nerves. Elanor was sharp and persuasive, expertly dismantling points with a mix of wit and arrogance. Her confidence was unnerving, and I could feel Marjorie's shoulders tense beside me.

During a break, Elanor approached me, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Alex, it's been a while. I didn't expect to see you here."

I kept my tone neutral, my jaw clenched. "We're just here to compete, Elanor."

She leaned in slightly, her smile smug. "Still looking out for Marjorie, I see. How sweet."

I brushed her off quickly, but I could feel Marjorie's gaze on me from across the room.

When the competition resumed, Marjorie gave one of the strongest rebuttals I'd ever seen. She countered every argument with precision, highlighting the humanitarian crises that necessitate asylum and the benefits of inclusivity. Her passion was infectious, and even the audience seemed moved.

But I noticed the flicker of hurt in her eyes whenever she glanced my way. Elanor's presence was still bothering her, and I cursed myself for not doing more to shut it down.

In the final round, Elanor couldn't resist taking a jab at me. "Alex," she said with a sly smile during her cross-examination, "how long has it been since we last worked together? Oh, wait, never mind—this isn't about us, is it?"

The insinuation hung in the air, and though I remained composed, I could feel Marjorie's coldness growing.

When the competition ended, our team was announced as the winner. The judges praised Marjorie's performance, calling it the highlight of the debate. Our teammates celebrated, but Marjorie's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Marjorie, can we talk?" I asked, pulling her aside as the others cheered.

"What's there to talk about?" she replied, her tone distant. "We won. That's all that matters."

"It's not just about the debate," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "I know Elanor was trying to get under your skin, but you need to believe me—there's nothing between us."

"I don't care, Alex," she snapped, her voice sharp. "I'm just... tired."

"Marjorie, please," I said, my voice softening. "I pushed for you to be the first speaker because I knew you'd be amazing. And you were. Don't let her get to you."

Her expression softened for a moment before she looked away, her voice quieter now. "You didn't have to do that, but... thank you. I just need some space to clear my head."

I nodded, my chest tightening as I stepped back. "Take all the time you need," I said, even though the words hurt.

She turned and walked away, the distance between us feeling far greater than just the physical space. What should have been a moment of triumph felt like another step backwards. And as I watched her leave, I wondered if I'd ever truly bridge the growing gap between us.