Chapter 4

I was taken to the counselor's office. The door was left slightly open, and a crowd of students gathered outside to watch. They lowered their voices, but not enough that I couldn't hear them.

Mark poured me a cup of water. He set it on the far corner of the desk, well out of my reach. Only after sitting back down did he open his laptop.

"Avery, your mother has sent over your medical records."

A document filled the screen. It read, "Severe depression with schizophrenic tendencies", though I remembered clearly that I had only ever been diagnosed with moderate depression.

I stared at the report as the warmth slowly drained from my fingertips. "I've never been to this hospital."

"Your mother did say that you tend to forget things when you're having an episode," he said gently, though he still kept his distance from me. "She also mentioned that you've refused treatment, which has put a great deal of strain on your family."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

Mom had even rewritten my illness to fit her narrative. When I was depressed, she said I was just idle. When I begged for help, she said I was faking it.

"We've also looked into your part-time job," Mark continued. "Your mother told us your family isn't struggling financially, that you insisted on working because you wanted to embarrass your parents."

I met his eyes. "She gives me nothing for living expenses."

He frowned. "That's a family matter, and we're not in a position to judge. However, right now, you're affecting the other students' sense of safety. We recommend that you take a leave of absence and go home with your parents for treatment."

A leave of absence… Panic seized me, and I started shaking again.

"I can't go back," I said through trembling lips, my teeth chattering so hard I bit my tongue. "They'll beat me."

Mark fell silent for a few seconds before avoiding my eyes. "Let's take a deep breath here. I'm sure your parents wouldn't actually hurt you."

That was what they all said—that my parents would never hurt me. Because of that blind assumption, every wound I carried became proof that I was just a petulant child.

I lowered my head. Suddenly, my phone started vibrating again. First, a message from a stranger. Then, seconds later, a dozen more.

I froze for a moment before logging onto my social media accounts.

There, Mom had uploaded everything—the doctored medical record, videos of me crying as a child, and even my photos. She had posted them all on short-video platforms and local forums.

"College Student Suffers Mental Breakdown, Stabs Father, Then Runs Away From Home."

"How Did These Parents End Up Raising Such an Ingrate?"

"Footage of a Depressed College Student During an Episode. Schools Should Keep Students Like Her Under Strict Supervision."

The comments were multiplying by the second.

"People like her should be locked up."

"She doesn't even look sane."

"Stay away, everyone. She might stab somebody someday."

Someone had identified my high school and even dug up photos from competitions I had entered years ago. Screenshots of my social media posts were being shared everywhere, and my picture turned into reaction memes.

My fingers trembled as I kept scrolling. The longer I scrolled, the colder I felt.

So, it wasn't just the people at college anymore. The entire internet was judging me, and I hadn't even been given the chance to tell my side of the story.

I broke into laughter. It came out wrong—half a laugh, half a sob. Tears spilled down my face. Someone outside the door was filming. A flash went off, then disappeared.

I didn't care about explaining myself anymore. It was too exhausting.

When I stood up, Mark flinched back in alarm and reached for the office phone. "Calm down, Avery."

I looked at him, the final flame of hope inside me dying out. I nodded. "Okay. I get it."

I walked out of the office. In the hallway, the crowd immediately parted, giving me a path. I crossed the field, then passed the convenience store glowing under warm lights.

People were buying chips, talking about tomorrow's basketball game, and calling their families on the phone. Life was continuing everywhere, while only I was left behind.

I walked to the science building, where the rooftop wasn't locked. Wind rushed in the moment I opened it, pressing my jacket tight against my body.

From here, I could see the entire campus spread out below. It was so bright, yet so far away.

I took out my cracked phone and turned it on. Messages poured in. Mom had sent dozens.

"You think running back to college makes people believe you? You're my daughter. You are whatever I say you are! Tomorrow, I'll pick you up. You're dropping out, and you will, for once, stop embarrassing us!"

I opened the chat. The wind was loud, drowning out my own voice. "Mom, I'm going to see Tangy."