Winona ✔

Eight

Eight

Dad was on the phone, pacing back and forth along the expanse of the hallway. I stood at the opening and watched him, one hand in his hair and his mouth moving rapidly as words flew out of them. The call ended and my dad walked over, stopping in front of me. He gave me a tight smile.

"The school's doing what they can," dad said. "But they're advising us to go to the police."

"The police?" I choked out. "Is that not a little extreme?"

"No," dad said firmly. "No, it's not. You're being bullied, Winona. You're being harassed by some kid who thinks they're being funny."

"Well what's going to happen if the police find who it is?" I asked.

Dad lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know. The police will decide that."

"But everyone will know that I went to the police!" I panicked.

My dad frowned and put his hands on my shoulders. "Hey," he said. "You know you were brave to tell me what happened, right?"

"I'd hardly say I was brave," I scoffed.

"Well I'd say you were. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you're being bullied. Whether you're admitting it to yourself or someone else. It wasn't easy. But you did it anyway."

"Doesn't that just make me weak? That I couldn't deal with it by myself?" I said.

"No." Dad shook his head. "There's nothing weak about it. You proved you're stronger than the one sending those messages, that's for sure."

"How?"

"You stood and looked at your problem head-on and decided that you weren't going to let it continue. Meanwhile, whoever's bullying you is still hiding behind a screen."

"And that makes them weak," I finished.

Dad gave me a soft smile and pulled me into a side hug, kissing the top of my head briefly. "You're a strong kid. Don't ever forget that."

I nodded against his shoulder and we pulled away.

"So," dad sighed. "We will continue to work with the school and talk to the police."

I wrung my hands together and let out a long sigh. "Okay," I nodded. "Okay, we'll  continue to work with the school and talk to the police."

***

We met with the police and I gave them everything they needed. I thought the police going through my things would make me feel violated – as if they were tampering with something I didn't want them to. But I realized after a few moments that there was nothing to be scared of. My initial panic and worrying seemed pointless. They did everything. They didn't judge or make me feel like I was wasting their time. They validated that going to the police was the right choice. Instead of wanting to purge the house of any evidence of the police being there, I felt safe knowing they had been. I felt safe knowing they were now in control of what happened next.

I felt safe knowing that I did something.

My phone started ringing and I walked over.

"Hello?"

"Winona?"

I frowned at the speaker's voice, not entirely sure who it was but I knew it was familiar.

"Uh, yeah. It's me," I said.

"It's Drew," the other person said.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, hi."

"Yeah, hi," Drew said. "It's good to hear from you. Listen, I know you weren't really keen on it earlier, but I thought I'd still give it another try anyway," Drew said.

I closed my eyes softly. "Drew, if this is about hanging out..."

"Give me a reason why not," Drew countered.

I wanted to, I realized. I think I'd always wanted to.

"Ask me again in a couple days," I said.

"What?"

"Ask me again," I repeated. "In a few days, come back and ask me this again."

"Will the answer be different?"

"Maybe," I smiled.

"Good enough for me," Drew said. "A few days then."

I nodded to myself. "A few days."

***

The police were back sooner than we thought. The police were back sooner than they thought. Two of them – one man, one woman – the same officers as before, walked inside and took a seat on the couch. I sat opposite them beside my dad. I clenched my hands together, sliding the ring on my thumb up and down as tension seized me.

"Did you find anything?" my dad asked.

"Yes," the female officer said. "We've managed to trace the accounts they used to target you and we've found IP addresses. Winona," she turned to me, "are you familiar with a woman called Sarah Wilson?"

"That's her mom," I said.

"Whose mom?"

"Becca's."

The breath was knocked out of me.

I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. I sat there, nails digging into the palms of my hands and tried to get my head to focus.

"Are you also familiar with young woman called Jamie Myers?" the male officer spoke up.

I nodded my answer.

"And how do you know them?" the female officer asked softly.

"Becca." I whispered. "Becca, she's my friend – was my friend."

"And Jamie?"

I nodded. "Also my friend."

I felt numb.

The officers asked some more questions and my dad took over, speaking on my behalf. I remained on the couch, staring at the wall opposite me, my eyes watering. No tears fell, but they were still there, welling up. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.

Jamie had been angry - hostile even - about the video. But I never thought she would go to the lengths of bullying me because of it. To think that someone I had once called my friend could do that. But they had been constantly sending anonymous messages behind my back.

Becca was the one that hurt the most.

Naively, I thought we were becoming friends again. I thought we were repairing a forgotten relationship. My mind skimmed through all the moments she comforted me about the things she did. When I cried in the bathroom, when I felt alone at the track field, when I came to her time and time again to support me only for her to be the one with her finger hovering over the 'send' button.

I didn't remember when I started to cry. It was silent and emotionless. Just a tear, one at a time, falling down my cheeks until they dripped off my chin. The police eventually left but the numb, lonely feeling wasn't gone.

I felt my dad put his arm around my shoulder and I sagged into his side, the tears coming faster and harsher until sobs were yanked out of my throat. We must have sat there for an hour. My dad didn't move or complain, he just held me, providing the comfort he knew his words couldn't.

We finally parted and my dad left me on the couch to make dinner, but his eyes would always glance over. Against my better judgement, I reached out and picked up my phone the police had given back to me. I opened my texts and went to Becca's personal number.

Why did you do it?

I pressed send without reading over the words. Then I waited, and waited and waited.

No reply.

___________________

Hope you enjoyed the reveal! Next chapter will be the last!

- Tahlie x