Butterflies

Chapter 20

Mid December————>

As I shut the door softly, I leaned against it, closing my eyes. My mom's words echoed in my head, each one hitting like a stone thrown into still water, rippling through the fragile calm I had tried so hard to maintain.

Her disappointment was almost tangible—thicker than the air in my room. The sigh she let out just before walking away clung to me, weighing heavier than the headache pounding in my skull. I could imagine her standing outside my door, probably debating whether to knock again or give me the space I clearly didn't deserve.

My room felt smaller, the walls pressing in as guilt clawed at my chest. I glanced around, looking at the mess I'd been ignoring for weeks: piles of discarded clothes, empty snack wrappers, and my unmade bed. It was a physical reflection of my life—chaotic, unorganized, a far cry from the perfection my mom believed I used to be.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to yank the door open, throw myself into her arms, and spill everything: the parties, Alex, the lies I told her, the distance I had put between myself and Angelica. But the shame held me back. I couldn't face her—not yet.

I turned to the mirror above my dresser, catching sight of my reflection. My skin looked pale, my eyes dull with exhaustion. My hair, usually neat, was a tangled mess. I barely recognized the person staring back at me. Who was this girl lying to her mom, ignoring her best friend, and spiraling further into Alex's toxic orbit?

I shook my head, as if trying to shake off the image in the mirror, and reached for my school uniform. The fabric felt scratchy and foreign against my skin, another reminder of the life I was slipping away from. School used to feel safe—a predictable routine where Angelica and I could laugh at silly jokes and dream about our futures. Now, it felt like a prison, each classroom a reminder of the choices I couldn't take back.

As I fastened the last button, I forced myself to take a deep breath. "You can handle this," I whispered, though my voice wavered. But deep down, I wasn't sure I could.

****

"Hey, sweetheart."

A voice, smooth and familiar, cut through the air behind me. I froze.

I turned slowly, already knowing who it was. "Hey," I said flatly, meeting Alex's piercing gaze.

He tilted his head, taking a step closer as his eyes scanned my face. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You look horrible," he said, the words rolling off his tongue with an almost cruel ease.

The sting of his comment settled in my chest like a thorn. My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to stay composed. "Thanks to someone," I shot back, my voice as cold as I could make it.

His laugh was low and mocking, the sound wrapping around me like chains. Before I could react, his hand clamped around my arm, his grip firm as he started pulling me away.

"Alex, I have class," I said, my voice rising with frustration as I tried to jerk my arm free. But his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Class doesn't matter," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You don't need grades, not when you have me."

His words twisted something deep inside me, a mixture of disbelief and anger bubbling to the surface. I tried again to pull away, my movements more frantic now. "What the hell are you talking about? Let me go! I have chemistry!" My voice cracked, but I didn't care.