Bets, Beds & Treads ۶ৎ

𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒗.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ xxɪᴠ
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𝐑 𝐄 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀

𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗨𝗥𝗘.

No, scratch that. I loathe failure with every single atom in my body. No one can hate it more than I do. I've got a personal vendetta against it. That little rock-paper-scissors? I need to win it. A stupid banter? I have to win it. A dumbass bet? I HAVE to win it. Every damn thing I do, I need to be perfect. Perfection isn't a choice-it's a rule. Failure pisses me off more than anything. It's who I am-I've to be the best in everything.

But right now? Reality slams into me like a freight train. I'm locked on the test paper, the bold, taunting A- daring me to blink. My eye literally twitches. An A-! A FREAKING A-? It's not the finals or a big exam, just a mock test-and I couldn't even...

I've never seen anything less than an A in my entire life. And now? This? I need a fucking minute. Breathe... just breathe... shit. Don't overthink this.

But honestly, what the hell did I expect?

I should've been studying but oh no-what was I busy doing instead? Burning my life the past few weeks-parties, trying to win a fucking bet, drinking, and more damn parties. Same cycle, same damn loop, straight into nothingness. What the hell am I even doing?

"What's the matter, Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost," Bianca smirks, quoting the line from Scream with a wicked grin while sitting down next to me. She had just come back from grabbing a soda. I catch Marissa shaking her head, silently telling Bianca to keep it shut.

"I'm staring at something worse," I mutter, eyes still locked on that cursed letter. My fingers start picking at my nails-an old habit that won't die whenever I get nervous. She leans in and her expression changes immediately when she sees it.

"Here's your paper, B." Marissa slides Bianca's test paper across the table, shifting the conversation to keep me from losing it.

My gaze drifts to Reign across the room. Haven't said a word to him since his last message-keeping up the suspense, though I'm sure he couldn't care less. His expression right now, is the perfect mask-stone-cold, detached. But I know exactly what that expression means: I just nailed another perfect A+, like always.

Of course he did.

Then my eyes flick to the class president, bouncing around like he just conquered the world. Yeah, he crushed me too. Everything is kind of pissing me off. I think I need therapy.

"No, Reina. Don't spiral," Marissa says, her voice tight with concern. "Don't let them get to you. An A is still an A no matter what sign it has. Another panic isn't worth it."

But it is. I've got a history with this. People love to say I'm being dramatic, they'd say that an A- is still a good score, especially compared to the ones barely passing. But that's bullshit. You don't compare yourself to the bottom of the barrel. You aim for the top. Always higher, never lower.

I ought to overthink it. And when that feeling of failure creeps in, the panic hits hard—because an A-? That's failure to me.

Before I can even say a word, my personal nightmare-the one I never signed up for-decides to grace me with her presence. For fucks sake. Sia. Great. She knows damn well I don't handle failure like some prim and proper little princess. She's seen me fall apart before, back in junior year once, and now I can practically hear her sharpening the knife, ready to twist it deep.

"Surprise," she sneers, that smug smirk practically carved into her face. "Guess what, bitch? You lose."

I can feel the pressure building in my chest like a ticking time bomb. My blood heats, and I know-I know-I'm about to lose my shit. And let me make this one thing clear.