CHAPTER 2- THE BITTER TRUTH

After the breakup, I stumbled into my room, shut the door, and reached for the bottle of vodka I had hidden in my closet. One shot turned into two, then three, until I lost count. I drank myself into oblivion, hoping to numb the ache in my chest, but the pain lingered, sharp and unyielding.

The next day was Monday, but I didn't care. I skipped school, burying myself under my blankets, ignoring the sunlight that crept through the curtains. Days turned into a blur, and by the second week, my best friend, Maryjane (but I call her MJ) showed up at my door.

"You can't keep running away from your problems, sarah," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "Face them. You're stronger than this."

Her words struck a chord, and reluctantly, I agreed to go back to school.

When I walked into the schoolyard, my chest felt heavy, my steps hesitant. I hadn't seen Matthew since the breakup. The thought of running into him made my stomach twist, but I tried to push it aside.

Then, it happened.

He was there, standing by the hall entrance, his presence as magnetic as ever. My heart stopped for a moment, then started pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. I froze in my tracks, unsure whether to turn back or keep moving. My thoughts raced, and my vision blurred as tears threatened to spill.

And then he turned.

For a fleeting second, our eyes met, and I held my breath, waiting—for what, I didn't know. But instead of stopping, Matthew walked past me, his face expressionless. He didn't glance back, didn't acknowledge me, didn't even flinch.

It was as if I didn't exist.

My chest tightened, the pain worse than I could have imagined. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. I stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to gather what was left of me.

He walked away like I was nothing. Like I had never been anything

When Michael walked past me, it felt like the floor beneath me gave way. My heart sank, a sharp, throbbing pain settling in my chest. I stood there, frozen, unsure whether to cry or scream. The weight of his indifference crushed me, and I couldn't let go of the ache it left behind.

"Sarah" MJ said softly, her hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "Let's go to class."

I nodded, though my mind was elsewhere. All through the day, I was a mess—shaking, distracted, unable to focus. The memory of Matthew's cold dismissal replayed in my head like a cruel loop.

The next day, as I walked into class, I saw him again. This time, he wasn't alone. He was with her. They strolled in, hand in hand, laughing and joking as if they had been soulmates since the beginning of time. She was beautiful, radiant in a way that made me feel like a shadow.

And I felt so foolish

I was in her position last week, I thought as the sting of that moment lingered. I had never felt so small, so insignificant. I started to look down on myself, picking apart every flaw. I hid my body beneath oversized clothes, hoping no one would notice how big I was. Matthew used to make me feel confident—beautiful, even. Now, I just felt like a shell of a person, someone I didn't recognize.

I didn't want to feel this way, but I didn't know how else to cope.

As I struggled to keep up with classes and nurse my heartbreak, the whispers began. Gossip spread like wildfire, laughter trailing behind me wherever I went. They mocked me, reducing my pain to a joke.

"She's gone back to what she's supposed to be," someone snickered. "The class fat clown."

The words stung, but what hurt more were the comments about my theory—my cherished belief that roses and sunflowers both held their beauty in different ways.

"Sunflowers will never be as pretty as roses," a girl sneered as she passed me, her voice dripping with malice. "No matter how hard you try to hide it."

It was then that I realized—I had become nothing but an amusement to the entire faculty. The laughingstock. The girl who once dared to shine now reduced to a source of mockery.

For the past two and a half months since returning to school after the breakup, I had been trying to make sense of it all. Matthew and his girlfriend were always together, walking hand in hand, laughing as though their world was perfect. It gnawed at me, the way they looked so happy while I was drowning in pain.

I wanted answers. No, I needed answers. Why did he do it? Why did he destroy me like that? I thought if I could just get him alone, I could ask him—force him to tell me the truth.

One day, the opportunity came.

I was walking past the school's backyard when I saw him. Michael. Alone. He was heading toward the shaded corner of the yard, a spot notorious for the smokers and slackers. My heart raced. This was it, my chance. Without thinking, I followed him, my steps light and deliberate, careful not to make a sound.

But then, I stopped.

He wasn't alone.

There were others with him—three, maybe four guys, all lounging against the wall with cigarettes in hand. I hesitated, my courage wavering. Maybe this wasn't the right time.

And then I heard him.

"That fat fool actually thought I loved her," Michael said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Laughter erupted from the group, sharp and cruel.

"You all owe me," he continued, grinning as he pulled out his phone. "Five hundred bucks each. Pay up. A bet's a bet."

My breath caught in my throat. My chest tightened as his words sank in.

A bet.

It was all a bet.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to storm over and demand an explanation. But I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead, my body frozen in place. My ears rang, drowning out their laughter as tears blurred my vision.

How could he? How could someone be so cruel?

I turned and stumbled away, my heart shattering all over again, this time into pieces so small I feared they could never be put back together.

I ran. I didn't care where I was going, I just needed to get away. Away from him, away from them, away from the laughter that echoed in my ears like a cruel symphony. My chest felt tight, my breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. My emotions spilled over, no longer contained.

Tears streamed down my face as I sprinted across the courtyard, blinded by the overwhelming pain clawing at my insides. Then, out of nowhere, I slammed into something—or someone.

It felt like hitting a wall of flesh, solid and unyielding.

The impact sent me stumbling back, but before I could fall, steady hands reached out to steady me. Panic surged through me. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me like this—raw, vulnerable, broken.

I ducked my head, refusing to meet their gaze. "I'm sorry," I mumbled hastily, my voice barely audible.

Before they could respond, I pulled away, bolting down the nearest path. My legs moved faster, desperate to outrun the shame, the heartbreak, and the humiliation.

By the time I stopped, I was close to my dorm