No Broken-hearted girl (Crushing Hard Series Book 2)

Dear Diary: 20/08/2013

Tuesday Night

I almost got mugged today. And even now, it doesn’t feel real. The knife pressing into my side wasn’t the sharp, searing pain you’d expect. No, it was worse—cold, steady, and suffocating. The kind of pressure that makes you hyperaware of just how fragile everything is. One wrong move, and I knew my life could’ve been on the line.

I was just walking to campus, minding my own business, when he came out of nowhere. His hand was rough as he grabbed my arm, his voice low and dangerous. “Give me your phone,” he growled. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I couldn’t speak—tears were already spilling down my face as I fumbled with my bag, shaking so badly I thought I might drop it. What if I wasn’t fast enough? Would he stab me?

But then, he saw it—my old, beat-up Nokia. My blackberry had died a few months back and my step mom had given me her old Nokia touchscreen phone. His face twisted in disgust like I was a joke. He didn’t even bother to take it. Instead, he threw it back at me like it was trash.

I should have felt relief, right? But when he grabbed my butt before walking away, my skin crawled with a violation that no words could describe. It was dehumanizing. The kind of thing that makes you want to scrub your skin raw, hoping to erase the memory.

I don’t even remember how I got to campus. When I finally did, I stumbled into the canteen, still crying, my body trembling like a leaf. My friends were there, thank God. They rushed to me as soon as they saw my face. I could barely get the words out, but once I did, their expressions morphed from shock to something else—laughter.

It wasn’t mean laughter, though. It was the kind of helpless, awkward laughter people fall into when they don’t know what else to do. The absurdity of the thief rejecting my phone was too much for them to handle. Azande, ever the jokester, grinned at me. “Girl, it’s time to upgrade. You’re lucky that thing didn’t fall apart when he threw it at you!”

At first, I was angry. I mean, I had just been through something terrifying, and they were laughing? But then, I saw how ridiculous the whole situation was. A guy with a knife didn’t even want my phone. So, I laughed too. It was shaky and weak, but it helped ease the tension.

When I walked into class, still shaken from what had just happened, I could feel Kevin's eyes on me. His gaze was sharp, like he could sense something was off, but he didn’t rush over. He watched me for a few seconds, and I saw the way his brow furrowed, as if he was trying to figure out what was wrong without asking.

Azande, ever the joker, filled him in when she saw him looking my way. “She almost got mugged,” she said, throwing in a half-laugh at the part about the guy rejecting my phone. Kevin didn’t smile. His expression darkened, but he stayed where he was, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed. He didn’t ask me directly if I was okay, not yet. He just watched me, his jaw clenched.

I wiped my eyes, trying to shake off the feeling of violation that still clung to me. It felt like everyone was waiting for my next move. Kevin stood up then, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should, and walked over, stopping a few steps away, keeping a bit of distance between us. “You good?” His voice was low, careful—not too soft, but not cold either. There was concern there, but he wasn’t laying it all out in front of me. It was like he didn’t know how to show it, or maybe he was afraid to.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if he believed me. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes flicking to the door, then back to me. “If you need anything…” He left the sentence hanging, like he wasn’t sure how to finish it. There was a part of me that wished he’d just say it—offer to drive me home or make sure I was okay. But this was Kevin. He didn’t push. He didn’t offer more than he was ready to give.

I swallowed, feeling the lump in my throat. “My dad’s on his way,” I said, almost as much to reassure myself as him.

Kevin nodded, his jaw still tight. “Alright.” He paused, like he wanted to say more, but instead, he glanced at his desk. “You need a lift tomorrow?” The question felt offhand, almost casual, but there was something behind it—something uncertain, like he didn’t want to admit he cared that much.

I hesitated, surprised by the offer. We hadn’t really been speaking since everything that happened between us, so why now? But I just nodded. “Maybe.”

He didn’t ask for my number directly—he just took out his phone and looked at me expectantly, like it was up to me to decide if I wanted to give it to him. I could’ve said no, but I didn’t. I rattled off my number, and he typed it in without another word.

When he went back to his seat, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The whole class had been watching us, but Kevin acted like nothing had happened. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t linger or try to comfort me further. That was just Kevin. Always holding back, always keeping part of himself out of reach.

And somehow, that felt worse than the knife ever did.