My Toxin

Chapter 6: The Competition

The following week, the university was abuzz with the news of an upcoming debate competition. Posters announcing the event appeared in every corner of campus, and the Debate Society's group chat was flooded with excitement. The week leading up to the competition was intense—Marjorie and I spent countless hours buried in research, practicing arguments, and honing our delivery. The pressure was palpable, and as the day of the competition drew nearer, I could sense Marjorie's anxiety growing.

Unbeknownst to Marjorie, I had taken the liberty of approaching the president of the debate team, urging her to select Marjorie as the first speaker for our team. It was a bold move—this would be Marjorie's first time speaking in a formal debate, and I knew it would challenge her. But I also knew that her passion for human rights, particularly on the topic of asylum seekers, would shine through. This was her chance to boost her confidence and prove to herself what I already knew: she was brilliant.

"Marjorie, you're going to be amazing," I said, handing her a stack of meticulously organised notes.

She offered me a nervous smile, her fingers trembling slightly as she accepted the notes. "Thanks, Alex. I just hope I don't mess up."

"You won't," I assured her, my voice firm and reassuring. "You know this topic inside and out. You've got this."

The day of the competition arrived, and the atmosphere in the auditorium was charged with anticipation. Marjorie stood with our team, flanked by the second and third speakers, their faces a mixture of determination and nerves. The air was thick with the scent of fresh ink from hastily printed notes, and the low hum of murmured conversations filled the room. As we walked into the grand hall, its high ceilings and rows of wooden benches reminding me of how significant this moment was, the team president gave Marjorie a reassuring pat on the back.

"You're going to do great," she said, her tone encouraging. "Just remember everything you've practised."

Marjorie nodded, though I could see the tension in her eyes. Her usually steady hands fidgeted with the edge of her notebook. I wanted to tell her that I had been the one to push for her to be the first speaker, but I didn't want to add to her already mounting pressure.

The debate topic was announced: *"Should countries be obligated to accept asylum seekers?"* It was a subject close to Marjorie's heart, one she had poured countless hours into studying. I knew she could speak passionately about it, her arguments woven with both moral conviction and academic rigor.

As we took our seats, my heart sank at the sight of someone I hadn't expected—Elanor, my ex-girlfriend. She was standing with her team, her posture confident and self-assured. Elanor had always been fiercely competitive, and she had never hidden her disdain for Marjorie, knowing full well how I felt about her. The moment Marjorie noticed Elanor, a flicker of insecurity crossed her face, and I cursed under my breath.

"Hey, don't worry about her," I whispered, leaning closer to Marjorie. "She's just another competitor."

Marjorie shrugged, attempting to appear indifferent. "I don't care, Alex. Let's just focus on the debate."

But as the day wore on, Elanor's presence became an increasing distraction. During the breaks, she made a point of approaching me, her manner flirtatious and unmistakably provocative. I kept our interactions brief and polite, but I could feel Marjorie's growing coldness, a wall slowly building between us.

"Alex, I need you to go over these points with me," Marjorie said during one of the breaks, her tone clipped and distant.

"Of course," I said, following her to a quieter corner of the bustling auditorium. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," she replied curtly, not meeting my eyes. "Let's just focus on the debate."

The tension between us was thick, but when the competition resumed, Marjorie's performance was flawless. She spoke with a fervour and conviction that left the audience spellbound, her arguments clear and compelling. Her voice, usually soft, rang out with a confidence that surprised even me. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride watching her, knowing that despite everything, she was shining.

Marjorie opened the debate with a powerful speech on the moral and legal obligations of countries to accept asylum seekers. She cited international laws, human rights treaties, and heart-wrenching stories of refugees who had fled persecution. Her voice was steady, her passion unmistakable, and with each passing moment, her confidence grew. The judges nodded in approval, clearly impressed by her eloquence and depth of knowledge.

When it was our turn to face Elanor's team, the atmosphere became even more charged. Elanor's smirk as she took her position grated on my nerves, but I kept my focus on Marjorie. Her shoulders were tense, but she stood tall, ready to face whatever was thrown at her.

"Remember, you've got this," I whispered, my hand brushing hers as she prepared to take the podium.

Marjorie's opening speech was nothing short of brilliant. She spoke with the kind of clarity and passion that could move mountains, her arguments meticulously crafted and delivered with precision. The judges were clearly impressed, their pens moving rapidly across their score sheets. But every time Marjorie glanced in my direction, her eyes flickered with hurt and confusion, and I knew Elanor's presence was still bothering her.

During her rebuttal, Marjorie deftly countered the opposition's arguments, highlighting the humanitarian crises that necessitated asylum and the benefits of diversity and inclusivity. Her points were sharp and well-supported, and I could see the admiration in the eyes of our teammates and even some of the audience members.

But Elanor wasn't done. During her cross-examination, she directed several pointed comments at me, clearly trying to unsettle both Marjorie and me.

"Alex, it's been a while," Elanor said with a sly smile, her voice dripping with insinuation. "I didn't expect to see you here."

I kept my response neutral, my jaw clenched. "We're here to compete, Elanor, nothing more."

But I could feel Marjorie's eyes on me, her expression hardening with each word Elanor uttered. It was as if she could see right through the thin veneer of politeness I was trying to maintain, sensing the history that lingered between Elanor and me.

As the debate drew to a close, our team gathered to hear the results. Despite the personal tensions, we won by a narrow margin. The judges commended Marjorie's outstanding performance, praising her ability to present a compelling and compassionate case. Our team celebrated, but Marjorie remained distant, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.

"Marjorie, can we talk?" I asked, pulling her aside as the rest of the team congratulated each other.

"What's there to talk about, Alex?" she replied, her voice cold and detached. "You did great. We won."

"It's not about the debate," I said, frustration lacing my words. "I know Elanor was trying to mess with us, but you have to believe me—there's nothing between us."

"I told you, I don't care," she snapped, her tone sharp and cutting. "I'm just... tired."

"Marjorie, please," I pleaded, trying to keep my voice steady. "I pushed for you to be the first speaker because I believe in you. You were incredible out there."

Her expression softened for a brief moment, but then she shook her head, her eyes clouded with emotion. "You didn't have to do that, Alex, but thank you... I've just been distracted lately, and I think I need some time to myself."

I felt a pang in my chest at her words, but I nodded, knowing better than to push her. "Take all the time you need," I said quietly, stepping back to give her space. "But don't let this set us back."

She nodded, her gaze distant as she turned to leave. "I'll see you later, Alex."

I watched her walk away, the distance between us growing with each step she took. Once again, it felt like we were taking one step forward and two steps back. The victory that should have brought us closer only seemed to widen the chasm between us.