Chapter 4: I'm Trying

The corridors throbbed like a hive too packed, too loud, too ready to explode. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed with that maddening, insectile hum that seemed to crawl straight into the bones. Backpacks slammed into locker doors with dull thuds. Voices collided midair—shouts, gossip, half-formed arguments, and nervous laughter. Someone was laughing too loudly, someone else crying too quietly behind a bathroom door just out of sight. The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and adolescent panic, clinging like a second skin that refused to peel off.

"Why does it always have to be like this?" Elowen thought bitterly. "No matter what I do, I’m either invisible… or a target."

She slipped through it all like thread through a needle’s eye—narrow, silent, and overlooked. Her books were clutched tightly to her chest, not out of academic purpose, but for protection—her only barrier between herself and the chaos pressing in from all sides. Every step was intentional, hushed, controlled. She didn’t walk; she navigated. Her head stayed low, her hair falling like a curtain across her face, shielding her from eyes she was certain were watching, judging, dissecting every inch of her existence.

"Maybe if I vanish completely, no one will notice I’m broken. Maybe then the silence won’t sting so much."

And then came the laugh.

Sharp, crystal-clear, and merciless—the kind of laugh that could charm a crowd or destroy someone’s life in the same breath. Reina’s laugh. It floated through the air like chilled champagne fizzing over glass, sweet and poisonous all at once—like knives wrapped in silk. Elowen felt it before she heard it, a tingle creeping up the back of her neck. It sliced through the hallway noise with surgical precision, too personal, too practiced. The laugh of someone who ruled with cruelty masked in lip gloss and smiles so flawless they hurt to look at.

"Why her? Why does she get to be both untouchably perfect and monstrously cruel?" Her chest tightened. "And why am I always the one trying not to fall apart?"

Elowen’s whole body screamed to turn away. To duck down a side hall. To lock herself in a stall and wait for the bell to save her. But she didn’t. Because Reina was waiting. And when Reina waited, you showed up—or you suffered later.

"I’m so tired of being afraid. Maybe disappearing would hurt less than this."

She reached the lockers just as Reina turned, draped in a soft pink cashmere sweater and lip gloss like crushed rose petals. She wasn’t just dressed—she was curated. Assembled like a work of art. Every detail—from the perfect wave in her hair to the delicate, deliberate angle of her jaw—was a silent reminder that everyone else existed beneath her.

"Why can’t I be like that? Why do I always have to be the one who’s broken, forgotten, alone?"

“You’re late,” Reina said, her voice as smooth and low as silk over razors. Her eyes sparkled under thick lashes, but there was nothing warm in them. Just a shimmer of something cold. Something calculating.

“I lost track of time,” Elowen murmured, her voice barely audible over the hallway roar.

Reina tilted her head slightly, like a cat watching a mouse trying to plead its case. “Lost track, or lost your nerve? Because we both know how important this is.” She didn’t have to explain what this meant. It was everything. It was the dance. It was their history project. It was Elowen’s hair, her clothes, her laugh, her worth. It was how she fit—or didn’t—into Reina’s world. And today, apparently, she hadn’t.

Elowen’s chest tightened. “I’m trying, Reina. I really am.”

Reina smiled, but it was a predator’s smile—sharp, small, bloodless. “Trying,” she repeated slowly, like she was testing the word for weakness. “That’s the problem, El. Trying is what you do when you don’t have what it takes.”

Before Elowen could respond, a group of girls materialized nearby, trailing perfume and malice. Amber led them—her lips glossed to a mirror-shine, her expression sharp enough to slit skin. She didn’t even stop walking as she tossed over her shoulder, “Hey, Elowen! Did you forget the ‘How to Be Normal’ manual again? Or is this your villain origin story?”

Laughter. Quick, brutal. The kind that left bruises even when no one touched you.

Reina didn’t say anything. Not a word. Not a glance. She let it happen. And worse—Elowen caught the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. A smirk. A signal. Permission granted.

Elowen’s face flushed, her hands tightening around her books like they might hold her together. She kept her eyes forward. If she looked at them, it would break her. And she’d already spent too much of herself just holding her ground. Then, Reina reached out and looped her arm through Elowen’s with performative sweetness. Like she was saving her.

“Don’t mind them,” she whispered, close to her ear, her breath warm and sickly sweet. “They’re just jealous. Not everyone gets to be... close to me.”

The words should’ve comforted. But they were laced with something bitter. Something that reeked of control. Of ownership. Of warning. Elowen nodded, because that’s what she was supposed to do. But deep down, she felt something hollow crack a little wider.

Later, in the cafeteria, the battlefield.

Tables spread out in clusters like competing territories—cliques, kingdoms, warzones. Noise bounced off every hard surface, chatter layered with plastic tray slams and the scraping of metal chairs. Elowen found the far corner—neutral ground. A place to disappear behind the hum of everything else. She sat, tray untouched, gaze distant.

But of course, peace never lasted. Reina dropped into the seat beside her with the bored elegance of a queen surveying a disappointing court. Her tray clattered down. A salad with precisely three cherry tomatoes.

“Why do you even bother?” Reina asked after a moment, not even bothering to look at her. Her gaze swept the room instead, calculating, gauging how far her influence stretched today. “Sitting here, like this. It’s... sad.”

Elowen blinked. “Because I have to eat.”

Reina gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s debatable. No one’s making you stay. You could always sit with someone else. Oh wait...” Her gaze finally flicked toward Elowen. “If you had any friends.”

The words didn’t slap. They slithered. Elowen swallowed, her fork hovering mid-air. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Reina’s laugh this time was colder and louder. Students starts looking at them. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, voice like honey over broken glass. “You are a burden. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Elowen’s appetite vanished. Her fingers trembled as she set the fork down. Even the blandest cafeteria food would’ve turned to ash in her mouth.

And then Reina softened her tone again, as if she hadn’t just hollowed Elowen out in front of an audience. “You’re lucky I keep you around,” she said, almost affectionate. “Most people wouldn’t. Honestly? I think I’m the only one who gets you.”

Elowen looked up, desperate to believe that maybe there was still something real in those words. That Reina, despite it all, still cared in some twisted way.

“Then why—”

“Because I’m the only one who gets to,” Reina cut in, voice suddenly sharp. She stood, lifting her tray with effortless grace. “Don’t forget that.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. Elowen stayed frozen in her chair, her shoulders tight, her jaw clenched. The cafeteria noise surged back in, but it all felt muted. Like she’d slipped underwater again.

That evening, Elowen lay curled on her bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might blink first. Her room was dim, the fading orange glow from the streetlight outside casting long shadows across her walls. The quiet wasn’t comforting tonight. It felt vast. Empty. Like being trapped in a soundproof box with your own thoughts.

Her phone buzzed. Reina’s name.

The notification preview lit up: “Remember, you need me. Don’t mess this up.”

Elowen’s fingers hovered over the screen. She could feel her pulse in her throat.

She typed back: “I’m trying.”

No response. She set the phone down, screen still glowing faintly beside her, like it was watching. Like it was judging. She closed her eyes, pressing her palms flat against the bed, grounding herself. But even in the silence, that whisper—the one she’d been hearing more and more lately—rose again, soft and merciless in the dark:

Trying isn’t enough.