Chapter 17: IF I Told You The Truth

The days after Ryan’s official statement moved differently.

It wasn’t quiet anymore. It was tense  like everyone was holding their breath.

Some students were starting to side with Ryan openly.

Others… stayed silent.

The bulletin board post had been reposted, reshared, even narrated in a podcast segment by one of the digital media majors.

People were no longer whispering in corners.

They were watching.

Ryan avoided the cafeteria. He packed his meals.

He changed his walking routes between classes. Avoided the media block. Avoided eye contact.

He didn’t feel unsafe.

But he didn’t feel seen either not in the right way.

The email came on a Thursday morning.

From the Dean’s office:

Subject: Disciplinary Review – Formal Complaint

Dear Ryan Calloway,

This is to confirm that your formal statement, alongside supporting testimonies from other students, has led to the university opening a disciplinary review panel regarding Jake Landon and Thomas Heller. You are not required to appear unless you choose to, but your presence is welcome and your voice important.

Date: Monday, 10:30am

Location: Academic Affairs Conference Hall B

Ryan stared at the email for ten minutes.

Then closed his laptop and sat in the quiet, blinking slowly.

Later that night, Daniel showed up again this time, with takeout and a hoodie two sizes too big.

“I brought food,” he said. “And a question.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Daniel held up a flyer. It was for a student-run awareness campaign called Echo Room. They’d planned an event: an open mic night where people could share personal stories anonymously or not.

“They asked me to read something,” Daniel said, setting the flyer down. “But I told them I didn’t think my story mattered.”

Ryan tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because I was complicit,” Daniel said. “I didn’t hurt anyone, but I watched. I knew. And I did nothing for a long time.”

Ryan looked at him for a long time. “That doesn’t mean your voice doesn’t matter.”

Daniel exhaled. “Then you should be there too.”

Ryan didn’t answer right away.

But he didn’t say no.

Sunday Night. Echo Room.

The small auditorium was dark and low lit, fairy lights twisted around old mic stands, folding chairs arranged in imperfect rows.

Someone read a poem about reclaiming their body.

Another read a letter to a father who never came back.

Ryan sat in the third row, his fingers cold.

Then the host walked up.

“We have a volunteer who’s chosen to speak under his real name.”

A pause.

“Ryan Calloway.”

Ryan didn’t move.

Then… he did.

He walked slowly up to the mic, heart drumming in his chest, throat dry.

He looked up  not at the crowd, but at the lights.

Then down at the floor.

Then forward again.

And he spoke.

“I wasn’t planning to come here tonight.

Most of the time, I wish I could unwrite the story I’m about to tell.

But that’s the thing about trauma it doesn’t ask for your permission to stay. It makes a home in you. And it decorates it with doubt.”

He paused.

“My story’s about two boys. One who claimed he loved me. And one who watched it happen.”

A long silence fell.

Ryan continued, voice stronger now.

“The first boy used kindness like a costume. He always made me feel like I was the lucky one even when I was constantly apologizing for things I didn’t do.

He told me I was overreacting.

He told me no one else would want me.

He made me believe him.”

Someone in the crowd wiped their face.

Ryan swallowed.

“The second boy was harder. He was cold, distant. And when I finally started trusting him… I found out he’d been lying too.

But here’s the difference.

When the truth came out he didn’t defend himself. He didn’t twist it. He didn’t hide.

He stayed.”

Ryan took a step closer to the mic.

“I’m not here to make you pick sides. I’m not here to cancel anyone or create drama.

I’m here because I didn’t know my voice was worth something until I used it.

And if you’re sitting here with a story inside you, wondering if it matters…”

He smiled faintly.

“It does.”

He stepped back from the mic.

And the room didn’t cheer. It didn’t erupt.

It stood still. Then softly, slowly it applauded.

Not loud. Not showy.

But real.

After the event, Ryan walked outside, his hands still cold, adrenaline fading.

He saw Daniel leaning against the brick wall near the bike rack.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do that,” Daniel said.

“I didn’t know I was,” Ryan replied. “Until I was already standing up.”

Daniel nodded, his expression unreadable.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Ryan looked at him for a moment.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They didn’t talk much on the walk back.

But right before they reached Ryan’s dorm, Daniel stopped.

“There’s someone you should probably meet,” he said softly.

Ryan turned.

And saw a tall figure step out from behind a tree near the gate.

He looked like he’d been waiting.

His eyes were familiar.

Daniel cleared his throat.

“This is Marcus.”

Ryan blinked. “Your…?”

“My brother,” Daniel said. “Half brother technically. Same dad.”

Marcus stepped forward, his voice quiet.

“You don’t know me, Ryan. But I know about you. I read the post. And I want to thank you.”

Ryan looked confused. “Why?”

Marcus hesitated, then looked down.

“Because Jake used to be my roommate. Before he transferred. And I didn’t speak up either. But you did.”

The wind blew gently between them.

Ryan didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then, finally: “You’re not the first person I’ve met who saw Jake clearly. But you might be the first one I’m not angry at.”

Marcus nodded, a small smile touching his lips.

Daniel looked relieved.

Back in his room, Ryan sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

He felt light. Not free not yet but lighter.

He picked up his phone and typed one final blog post.

*“The first time I told the truth, I was afraid no one would listen.

The second time, I was afraid I’d lose everyone.

But the third time… I told it for myself.

And that made all the difference.”*