Bloodstained Reflections

chapter 15

Reid said nothing. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself. His entire body ached, every inch of him screaming in agony. His lip throbbed, his head pounded, and his ribs felt like they might be broken. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation, the crushing weight of it pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
He slapped their hands away, refusing their help. Slowly, painfully, Reid pushed himself up, his body trembling as he forced himself to stand. His head spun, the room tilting dangerously, but he gritted his teeth and fought to stay upright.
His eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of every student still watching him. He could see the amusement in their eyes, the judgment, the ridicule. His lip curled in disgust as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting the saltiness of it on his tongue.
The metallic tang of his own blood reminded him of the fragility of it all—the fragile line between control and chaos, between safety and fear. The anger in his chest flared again, but this time it was quieter, colder, more dangerous.
He looked around the room one last time, his gaze settling on Amy, who stood at the back, smirking to herself. Her arms were crossed, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. Reid's hands curled into fists at his sides, but he said nothing. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of seeing him break any further.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Reid stood in the dimly lit restroom, the mirror reflecting the wreck he had become. The bruises on his face seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, a mix of pain and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Water dripped from his wet hair, trailing down his bruised, pale skin. His lip was still bleeding, but the metallic taste didn't bother him anymore. His shirt clung to him, soaked from the water poured over him by the bullies, but it didn't matter. None of it did.
He leaned over the sink, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles turned white, staring into his reflection. The boy who looked back at him was battered, yes, but there was something new behind his eyes. A spark of life. Of defiance. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt *alive*. A dark satisfaction flickered across his face as he thought about the punch he landed on Travis. He didn't regret it. Not one bit.
As he splashed more cold water on his face, trying to rinse away the blood and grime, the sound of the restroom door creaking open reached his ears. He didn't look up right away, assuming it was another student. But when a soft, almost taunting voice spoke, his spine stiffened.
"Well, well... look at you, all roughed up and heroic."
Reid lifted his head, meeting Amy's gaze through the mirror. She stood there, leaning casually against the wall with that same smug smirk on her lips, her eyes glinting with something predatory. His pulse quickened—not out of fear, but from a surge of cold anger that made his blood run like ice through his veins.
Amy, here, in the *men's* restroom. Of course, she'd cross that line too.
Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression cold and unreadable. The bruises on his face looked even worse under the harsh fluorescent lighting, but he didn't care. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him react. He wasn't afraid of her.
With a confident saunter, Amy closed the distance between them, her eyes raking over him. "You know, Reid," she purred, her voice dripping with flirtation. "You're wasted on Skye. She's nothing but a cheap little whore. You? You could have so much more."
She stepped closer, her chest pressing plush against his. Reid felt his skin crawl, but he didn't move. He stayed still, every muscle in his body tensing as she reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him toward her with a forceful yank. His back hit the wall with a dull thud. Amy's face was inches from his, her breath warm against his skin.
There was a strange tension between them, but it wasn't the kind of tension Amy thought it was. There was nothing seductive about this moment for Reid—only revulsion. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he watched her, his body stiffening against the wall as she played her little game. She was trying to flirt, trying to provoke him. But Reid wasn't going to be her plaything.
Amy's hand trailed down his chest, her fingers lingering on the damp fabric of his shirt as she leaned in even closer, her lips almost brushing his. "You're handsome, Reid," she whispered, her voice low and sultry. "You don't need to waste yourself on someone like her. I could show you what it's really like to be with someone who knows what she's doing."
Her eyes glimmered with lust, her breath quickening as her body pressed harder against his. Reid could feel her heartbeat, her chest rising and falling against him, and it made his stomach turn. *How could someone be so shameless?*
But Reid didn't pull away. No. He let her think she was in control, let her think she was winning. His hands slowly moved to her waist, fingers brushing against her hips. Amy's eyes widened in surprise, her breath hitching as his hands traveled downward, his fingers tracing her thighs.
She thought she had him. She thought she'd won.
Then, without warning, Reid's hand shot up, wrapping around her throat.
Amy's eyes widened even more, not in fear but in shock—and something else. Her face flushed red, her breath hitching as her body stiffened. But she didn't fight back. She leaned into his touch, her legs trembling, her thighs clenching together as if she were savoring the feeling of his hand tightening around her neck.
Reid's face remained cold, unmoved, his grip tightening just enough to make Amy squirm. Her lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping her as her eyes locked onto his. Lust clouded her gaze, her face a mix of excitement and submission. Reid watched her with disgust, his grip tightening further as she gasped for air, her legs pressing together as if she were savoring the control he had over her.
His eyes, however, held nothing but contempt. She was enjoying this. She *wanted* this.
*Disgusting.*
The word slipped from his lips, venomous and low. Amy's eyes flickered with surprise, her lips parting as she tried to speak, but before she could utter a sound, Reid let her go. She stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor in a heap, her breathing ragged as she gasped for air. Her face was still flushed, her chest heaving as she stared up at him, her eyes wide with confusion and something else—something darker.
Reid didn't spare her another glance. He turned on his heel, walking out of the restroom without a word, leaving Amy on the cold tile, breathless and humiliated, her confidence shattered.
As he stepped into the hallway, the noise of the school hit him like a wave, but he felt numb to it all. His mind was elsewhere, his heart still pounding from the confrontation. But underneath the chaos of his thoughts, one thing remained clear.
Amy, Travis, all of them—they didn't matter. All that mattered was Skye.
And he would protect her, no matter the cost.
As Reid walked down the hallway, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and a small smile tugged at his bruised lips when he saw the notification—a picture message from Skye.
It was a selfie.
Skye was in the kitchen, holding up a peace sign with her tongue sticking out playfully. The background showed a chaotic mess: flour scattered across the countertops, bowls stacked haphazardly, and smoke curling up from a waffle maker. Her older brother stood behind her, looking exasperated, his hands on his head as he stared at the smoking waffles. Skye was beaming, a bright contrast to the disarray around her, completely carefree.
Reid couldn't help but smile gently as he tapped the heart icon beneath the picture. For a moment, all the darkness, the anger, and the pain faded into the background. Skye was happy, and that was all that mattered to him.
The brief reprieve didn't last long, though, as he made his way back to class. He could already hear the low murmur of the ongoing English lesson from down the hall. His hand gripped the door handle, and as he opened it, the classroom turned its collective attention toward him.
The teacher, a notoriously hotheaded woman who took pride in punctuality, looked ready to explode. Her mouth opened, clearly prepared to launch into a scolding tirade, but as soon as her eyes landed on Reid, something shifted in her expression.
Reid's appearance was hard to ignore. The bruises darkening his face, the split lip that hadn't fully stopped bleeding, and the lifeless look in his eyes made her uneasy. The usual fire in her lecture-ready stance dimmed, and instead, she blinked, hesitated, then chose to let it slide. Without a word, she continued her lesson, her eyes flickering toward him only once before focusing on her notes.
Reid didn't care. He slipped into his seat without apology, pulling out his notebook and pretending to concentrate on the lecture. In reality, his mind was elsewhere—thinking about the bruises, the laughter, and Skye's carefree smile. The day felt heavy, and the hours dragged on painfully slow.
By the time the final bell rang, the classroom emptied quickly. Students rushed past him, their whispers fading into the noise of the hallways. But Reid stayed seated, unmoving, watching the last of them leave through half-lidded eyes. The room fell into silence, and he was alone.
Looking down at his desk, Reid felt a tight knot form in his chest. The obscene scribbles, the cruel messages—they had left their mark on the desk, a stark reminder of the humiliation he had endured. His eyes traced the crude drawings of him and Skye, the filthy words that dripped with malice. He couldn't let her see this. She didn't deserve to be dragged into this mess.
Standing up, Reid grabbed a cloth and some cleaner from the supply closet in the back of the room. He dropped to his knees in front of his desk, scrubbing furiously at the hateful words etched into the surface. The harder he scrubbed, the more his hands shook, and his breaths became labored.
The words faded, little by little, but they clung to his memory like poison. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a battle, but it was a battle he had to win. He wouldn't let Skye see this. He wouldn't let her feel the same weight that crushed him.
After what felt like an eternity, the desk was clean, the surface smooth and unblemished. Reid stared at it, chest rising and falling with exhaustion. But there was no relief, not really. The hate still lingered, not on the desk, but in the air, in his mind.
Reid wiped the sweat from his brow and slumped back against the chair, staring at the now-clean desk, wondering when the day would come when the ugliness would stop. But for now, at least, he had done what he could.
He had protected her from seeing the worst of it.