Evelyn's POV
The sound of my alarm didn’t wake me—it was the light streaming through my window. I groaned, turning over to grab my phone. My heart sank as I saw the time. I’m late.
Panic set in as I scrambled out of bed, my body still heavy with fatigue. My limbs felt weak, but I forced myself into the bathroom, letting the cold water wake me as I took the quickest bath of my life. After drying off, I threw on my uniform, grabbed my bag, and headed downstairs.
The scent of toast lingered in the air as I entered the kitchen. My mom stood by the sink, quietly sipping her coffee. I hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking.
“Mom?” My voice was soft, unsure. She didn’t respond, didn’t even turn to look at me.
I clenched my fists, biting my lip. “Mom…please—”
She walked past me, her eyes avoiding mine. Her silence was louder than any words she could have said. My chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath my skin.
I glanced at my dad, seated at the table with his morning paper. He didn’t acknowledge me either, flipping the page as if I weren’t there.
The air felt stifling. My appetite vanished, replaced by a deep bitterness that sat heavy in my stomach. Grabbing a piece of bread, I left without another word, the door slamming shut behind me.
As I walked to school, a whirlwind of emotions churned inside me—hurt, anger, and a strange sense of detachment. Why am I even trying? They don’t care. They’ll never care.
By the time I reached the school gates, I felt numb. The usual chatter of students around me blurred into background noise as I forced myself into the building.
---
I was halfway through my first class when I spotted Amber, Jasmine, and Maya waiting for me in the hallway. Their faces were etched with concern, and as I approached, Jasmine spoke first.
“Evelyn, what was that yesterday? Why did you say Langston’s name like that?”
My stomach turned. “It was nothing,” I said quickly, brushing past them.
“Come on, Ev,” Amber pressed, grabbing my arm. “You can talk to us.”
“I said it was nothing,” I snapped, pulling away. I couldn’t bear to look at them, couldn’t bear the pity in their eyes.
The tension hung heavy as I walked away, leaving their whispers behind me.
---
Later, I bumped into Luke by the sports field. He was stretching, his shirt clinging to his frame, his usual playful grin lighting up his face.
“Hey, Evelyn,” he said, jogging over to me. “You okay?”
I nodded, forcing a small smile. He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions. Instead, he launched into a story about the latest team drama, his animated gestures pulling a real laugh from me. For a moment, I felt normal, like the old Evelyn.
When the bell rang, he walked me to my next class, giving me a soft pat on the back before leaving.
---
In art class, the blank canvas stared back at me, waiting. My hands moved without thinking, sketching lines and shapes until an image emerged—a dark, shadowy figure looming over a small, fragile girl. The details were raw, jagged, a reflection of the chaos inside me.
The teacher walked by, stopping to examine my work. “That’s powerful, Evelyn,” she said. “What inspired it?”
I didn’t answer, my throat tightening.
She crouched beside me, her voice gentle. “You know, art can be a way to tell the stories we’re too afraid to say out loud. Don’t be afraid to speak through it—or even beyond it.”
Her words lingered with me for the rest of the day.
---
By the time I got home, her advice echoed in my head. Sitting on my bed, I opened my phone and stared at the video I had recorded the night before. My finger hovered over the “post” button, my heart pounding in my chest.
What if no one believes me? What if they think I’m lying?
I thought of Langston, his smug smile, his power. My anger burned hotter than my fear.
With a deep breath, I pressed “post.” The video uploaded silently, and I set my phone down, a strange sense of both relief and dread washing over me.
---
The comments started trickling in slowly.
Some were kind, offering words of sympathy and support:
“I’m so sorry this happened to you. You’re so brave for speaking up.”
“Stay strong, Evelyn. We believe you.”
But others…others were cruel:
“Why would Langston even look at you? Liar.”
“Where’s the proof? This could ruin a man’s life.”
Each word felt like a dagger, reopening wounds I was trying to close.
I turned off my phone, lying back on my bed as the weight of it all pressed down on me. My chest heaved with silent sobs, my hands gripping the bedsheets.
The truth was out there now. There was no turning back.
YOU ARE READING
EVELYN
DiversosEvelyn, a 17-year-old girl from a wealthy family, is raped by her father's business partner during a weekend gathering at their lavish estate. In the aftermath, she confides in her father, believing he will protect her. Instead, he strikes a deal wi...
