"Under their eyes"

It's almost quiet enough to disappear. 

The hum of the streetlamp outside my window is the only thing keeping me here. That, and the soft rattle of the pills I never swallowed. 

I wondered if anyone would notice. If tomorrow came and I didn't. 

My phone buzzes once. Then silence. Probably him. Again. 

I turn over, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they might open up and swallow me whole. I used to pray for something like that- back when I still believed in prayers. 

The truth is, I don't want to die. I just don't want to live like this. 

School in five hours. Pretend in six. Survive in seven. 

My fingers hover over the bottle again. 

I'm tired of being everyone's ghost. 

The dream was the kind that lingered- soft, warm, impossible. A world where Maren laughed without flinching, where no one owned her, hurt her, or forgot she was there. 

Her pillow was damp from last night. She didn't remember crying. 

"Maren!"

The voice cut through the dream like glass shattering. 

"Maren!" Louder this time. "Get up! You're late for school!"

Silence. 

Then- footsteps. A pause. 

Splash. 

Ice-cold water hit her back like a slap. 

"Mom!" she screamed, bolting upright, soaked and shivering. 

"Get up," her mother snapped, already turning toward the door. "You're practically late. Let's hope you don't get caught again."

"I don't want to go to school." Maren muttered, dragging the covers back over her shoulders. "I just want to sleep all day."

"Yeah, well, every student wants that. It's not happening. Get up, get dressed, come downstairs for breakfast. I'll drive you."

“No,” Maren said, sharper than she meant to. “I’ll walk.”

Her mom paused at the door, sighing like she’d been through this a hundred times.

“Not happening. I’m not risking you skipping again and getting expelled.”

Maren didn’t answer. Just stared at the wall, willing the day not to happen. But it did. Like it always did.

School meant another day pretending not to hate the boy who called her his everything while treating her like property. Another day avoiding the kids who laughed behind her back, or worse—straight to her face. Another day being invisible in the ways that mattered and far too visible in the ways that didn’t.

Getting dressed was mechanical. She didn’t care what she wore—why bother? It never made a difference. Jeans, hoodie, same as yesterday.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like burned toast.

She sat. Ate silently.

Her mom watched her, coffee in hand, not saying a word.

Maren didn’t look up.

Sometimes silence said more than anything else.

The car ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind of silence—just empty.

No music. No words. Just the sound of tires humming over wet pavement. Maren sat hunched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes on anything but her mother.

She hated being driven to school. Most students her age walked or rode the bus—being dropped off by a parent screamed childish. She knew what would come the moment they pulled up. And she was right.

Girls in matching lip gloss and smug smiles were already watching as the car came to a slow stop. They leaned into each other, whispering behind manicured hands. One made a fake pouty face. Another nudged her friend and snorted.

Maren wanted to disappear.

Her mom glanced at her. “Relax. Just ignore them and focus on your studies. It’s not worth your time.”

Maren rolled her eyes. She didn’t need advice; she needed escape.

Still, her mother walked her all the way to the school doors. Maren crossed her arms tightly, eyes fixed straight ahead as she felt the stares closing in like a spotlight. Some laughter was loud enough to hear.

“Go straight to class,” her mother said, turning to face her. “Don’t leave school until it’s over. I’ll pick you up.”

“Mom,” Maren groaned. “You can drop me off, but let me walk home. I’m not a kid.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” her mom said, voice sharp now. “Unless you want more embarrassment?”

Maren clenched her jaw. “No.”

“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll be back later. Behave. Don’t get into trouble.”

Maren nodded with a sigh, watching her mom finally walk away.

She didn’t get far before the Queen Bees made their entrance.

Hands on hips. Shiny hair. Sharp smiles.

“Well, well,” Sage said with venom-sweet cheer. “Look who still needs Mommy to take her everywhere. What are you now, five?”

The others laughed.

Maren kept walking, silent, willing herself not to react.

The classroom was worse.

Her seat—her seat—was taken. Sage sat in it like a throne, one leg lazily stretched across the desk. Maren stopped.

The teacher hadn’t arrived yet.

“Sage,” she said, holding her ground. “Give me back my seat.”

Sage smirked. “You really think this is yours? You think you own anything here?”

“You know I’ve sat there since the start of the year.”

“And I don’t care.” Sage leaned back, flicking her ponytail. “Go sit in the back. On the floor. Where you belong. This seat is for girls who matter—rich, pretty, famous. Not you.”

Of course. That was always the message.

Maren’s throat burned, but she kept her voice steady. “Just give me back my seat.”

Laughter erupted. Sage stood and turned to the room.

“Hey, everyone! She’s begging! Begging for her little seat back like a good girl!”

More laughter. Eyes turned. Attention focused—for once—but not in the way Maren ever wanted.

One of the girls grinned. “Get on your knees and beg like the dog you are! Go ahead, Maren! Lick the floor!”

The classroom roared.

Maren’s hands clenched into fists.

Her chest felt tight.

Tears threatened to fall, but she refused.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t kneel. Didn’t cry.

She stood still—just breathing.

The moment stretched.

Everyone was waiting.

Waiting to see if the girl they always tore down would break again.

But Maren didn’t move.

The bell rang, slicing through the tension like a knife. Students shuffled to their seats, their chatter dying down as the teacher stepped inside. But Maren didn’t move. She stood frozen, arms crossed, gaze locked on Sage—who sat smugly in her seat like she owned it.

“Maren,” the teacher said, looking around the room. “Please take a seat.”

She sighed loudly. “Well, Sage is in my seat, and I have nowhere else to sit.”

A few snickers rose from the class. The teacher scanned the room and pointed toward the front. “There’s a seat open next to Kade. Sit there.”

The teasing began immediately.

“Oooh, Maren and Kade!”

“Lovebirds!”

Maren’s face flushed, but she didn’t say a word. She marched down the aisle, ignoring the smirks and whispers. Kade didn’t even glance up as she slid into the seat beside him. He just kept his eyes glued to the pages of his textbook, silent and still like a statue. She looked at him for a second—just a second—but he gave no reaction.

Class continued, dragging on like it always did. Boring lectures, empty answers. But at least, with the teacher present, no one dared to mess with her.

It was the only peace she got.

But peace never lasted.

When the lunch bell rang, Maren stayed seated until everyone else had left. She knew what would happen the moment she walked out the door. She knew who’d be waiting.

Still, her stomach ached with hunger, and she couldn’t avoid the cafeteria forever.

She stepped into the hallway and barely made it halfway down before she saw him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that same crooked smile on his face.

Carter.

Black hair. Green eyes. The boy who claimed her like property. Her “boyfriend”—though nothing about him felt safe or sweet.

“There you are,” he said, straightening up.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want now?”

He stepped closer. “Just wanted to talk. Our spot?”

Maren clenched her fists but didn’t resist as he led her to the back hallway behind the gym—where no one ever came. Their secret place. His stage.

“You hurt me yesterday,” she said, her voice sharp. “On purpose.”

Carter shrugged, smirk never leaving his lips. “Oh, Maren… you love it when I do this. Don’t act like you don’t.”

She crossed her arms. “Yeah, right.”

“This will never end,” he said casually. “And when we’re not at school, I can do so much more. You haven’t seen the other side of me yet. But you will.”

She stepped back slightly. “What side is that?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear. “Can’t tell you. Maybe after school today. Or maybe not. Could be weeks. Months. I decide when you get to see it… Maybe never.”

“Just let me go,” she said through gritted teeth.

He laughed louder now. “Let you go? Like that’s ever gonna happen. You’re mine, Maren. Forever. Until the day you die.”

She blinked slowly. “Well… what if today is the day I die?”

The grin vanished from his face.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, quieter now. “You wouldn’t want to die before seeing the real me. The one no one else gets to see.”

“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I want to die before that happens.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re not serious… are you?”

“Maybe I am,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m not. Just like you. It could be now. Could be later. But if I did, I bet you’d move on real quick—straight to one of the ‘mighty’ girls here. That’s what you want, right?”

“Oh, don’t talk like that,” he said, trying to soften his voice. “You’re the only one for me. Always have been.”

She stared at him, eyes dry but burning. “You made me miss lunch again.”

He shrugged. “Maybe that was the point.”

Her stomach grumbled. “Now I’ll starve through class.”

“Well,” he said, turning back toward the main building, “at least you’ll be thinking of me.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Maren didn’t speak. Her arms stayed folded tightly across her chest.

When they returned to the classroom, she took her seat next to Kade again. The redness in her eyes was back—not sadness this time.

Madness.

She stared ahead, fists clenched under the desk, breath shallow. Kade turned his head just slightly, watching her from the corner of his eye.

He noticed.

But he said nothing.

Then he looked away, before she could catch him staring.