- May's Broken World

The worn pages of a tattered fantasy novel, their edges softened by years of being held close, offered May Bornilla a momentary escape from the harsh reality of Zamora High. In this world woven from ink and imagination, she could be anyone, anything. A fearless warrior, a cunning sorceress, even a queen ruling a kingdom of her own design. The spell broke as the final bell clanged, jolting May back to the stark reality of Zamora High.

But here, within the concrete walls of her real-life prison, she was just May: the quiet girl with oversized glasses, a long, starched skirt that grazed her ankles, and a heart that ached with a secret yearning for something more—a yearning reflected in the way she traced patterns on her worn copy of The Chronicles of Eldoria, her fingers lingering on the embossed cover.

She sought refuge in the quiet corners of the school, tucked away from the cacophony of teenage laughter and the clang of lockers. Her sanctuary was the window seat in the library, overlooking the bustling courtyard. It was her haven from the relentless torment that had become her daily reality.

The bullying had begun subtly, a prickling on the back of her neck that blossomed into a tangible fear. Whispers, covert glances, stolen snacks—these morphed into careless bumps in the hallway, snide remarks about her clothes, and cruel laughter echoing in empty classrooms. The whispers escalated into screams, the careless bumps into intentional assaults.

Then Victoria arrived, a transfer student with the allure of a porcelain doll, her presence a radiant storm sweeping through Zamora High. Her laughter was like tinkling bells, her smile a breathtaking sunrise. Boys swooned, girls envied, and teachers adored her. She was everything May longed to be: beautiful, confident, effortlessly admired. Her long, curly hair, often adorned with a headband, and her shorter-than-regulation skirt, highlighted her long legs.

The whispers began anew, fueled by Victoria's magnetic presence. "Victoria's here. I hope she befriends Julian Vance." "I wonder if she'll join the cheer squad." "She's so pretty. A real-life Barbie." "Damn, she's hot!"

Victoria, with her halo of golden curls and perfectly sculpted features, was the sun around which the world revolved. May was the forgotten moon, shrouded in shadows, her own light dimmed by the new girl's brilliance.

But Victoria's beauty masked a cunning mind. A deep-seated intuition told May that Victoria was playing a part, a chilling thought that surfaced whenever she witnessed Victoria's interactions with others—the nerdy, the poorly dressed, the invisible. Victoria's subtle power extended beyond her charm; she possessed an unspoken command that resonated in the hearts of those around her. She'd befriended the popular clique, girls who exuded a calculated cruelty that made May's skin crawl. As Victoria wove her web of influence, casting her shadow over May's already fragile world, the bullying intensified.

The canteen, once a haven, transformed into a battlefield. The usual clatter was replaced by an unnerving silence, broken only by the rhythmic click-click-click of Victoria's heels on the polished tile floor, each sound a tiny hammer blow against May's already fragile composure. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their harsh glare reflecting off the shiny surfaces of the tables, amplifying the feeling of exposure. May sat hunched over her untouched lunch, the lukewarm, overcooked vegetables emitting a faint, vegetal odor that mingled unpleasantly with the pervasive smell of disinfectant. Her fingers, cold and clammy, traced the worn cover of her book, the rough texture a small comfort against the rising tide of anxiety. The pages, dog-eared and creased from countless rereadings, offered a fleeting escape, but the weight of unseen eyes pressed down on her, a palpable pressure that stole her breath.

Victoria approached, her presence a subtle shift in the atmosphere, like a sudden drop in temperature. The air around her seemed to shimmer, charged with an almost palpable energy, a silent command that silenced the low hum of conversation. May could feel the heat radiating from Victoria's perfectly applied makeup, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in her own bones.

The honeyed sweetness of Victoria's voice, a calculated weapon, sliced through the silence. May could almost taste the saccharine coating on the words, a sickeningly sweet counterpoint to the bitter taste of fear rising in her throat. The laughter of Victoria's friends, high-pitched and brittle, sounded like the shattering of glass, each peal a sharp shard piercing May's already wounded heart.

Then came the swift movement, the sudden jarring sound of metal on tile, and the sickening splash of gravy. The pungent aroma of the spilled food, rich and savory yet strangely acrid, filled May's nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood rushing to her ears. The cold, sticky liquid seeped into her clothes, a physical manifestation of the humiliation that washed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. The silence that followed was even more terrifying than the laughter, a heavy blanket of judgment suffocating her.

She looked around desperately for help, but the world seemed to have crumbled around her. Everyone stared at Victoria, as if she were some kind of deity, always right, always perfect. Don't they see? I know she's faking it! May thought, despair gnawing at her insides.

And then she saw it—a wicked glint in Victoria's eyes, hidden behind her hand, as she feigned a sorrowful expression. "Please, stop it," Victoria pleaded, her voice dripping with false innocence. "It's not May's fault. I was careless. I should have been more careful with my dress."

Her friends, eager to support their queen, jumped to her defense. "Geez, you're too nice, Victoria. That's why people take advantage of you." "Yeah, she's just a loser. Don't be so nice to her." "You're an angel, Victoria."

The cruel words pierced May's ears, each syllable a sharp, stinging blow. She couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her book and ran, the spilled gravy staining her uniform like a badge of shame. She bumped into someone, sending her sprawling to the floor, the impact driving the air from her lungs. The world spun for a dizzying moment, the scent of spilled gravy mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of blood in her nostrils. A wave of giggles erupted from the onlookers, their laughter like sharp knives cutting through her already wounded heart.

"Shit, look…"

"It's Julian!"

"OMG! He's so hot."

"Wow, he's so handsome, Victoria and Julian would make a perfect couple!"

"You're right!"

May lifted her head, her vision swimming. Julian Vance stood over her, his imposing figure casting a shadow that seemed to amplify her own insignificance. He was even more striking up close: tall and lean, with a handsome face sculpted like a Greek god. His hair, perfectly styled, framed features that were both sharp and alluring. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue, held a disconcerting stillness, a mask of impassivity that made her heart sink. He didn't register surprise or concern, just a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it hardened again.

His friend, however, leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whoa… You just got bumped by a nerdy girl…" The words were laced with amusement, a casual cruelty that mirrored the atmosphere of the canteen.

May scrambled to her feet, her hands instinctively brushing at the sticky, stained fabric of her uniform. She felt a wave of shame wash over her, a hot flush rising in her cheeks. She mumbled a hasty apology, her voice barely a whisper lost in the surrounding chatter.

Julian didn't respond, didn't offer a hand, didn't even meet her eyes. He simply stepped aside, his gaze drifting past her, seemingly unmoved by the scene unfolding before him. His friend chuckled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to mock her humiliation. "Dude, you made her cry." The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to Julian's silence, highlighting his detachment.

Julian remained unmoved, his gaze following May as she retreated. He heard the laughter, the whispers about Victoria and May. He saw Victoria's calculated glances, but he didn't react. He simply continued walking, his thoughts distant, his expression unreadable. May was a fleeting image, a momentary blip on his radar.

After fleeing the canteen, May found herself outside, the crisp autumn air doing little to soothe the burning shame and humiliation. Each footstep echoed the cruel laughter, the sticky gravy clinging to her clothes a constant reminder of her powerlessness. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, each sob a testament to the crushing weight of her despair. The fantasy world she'd sought refuge in felt impossibly distant, a cruel mockery of her current reality. She felt utterly alone, a small, insignificant figure lost in a world of calculated cruelty.