THE FALL, THEN THE FIRE

Monday morning hits harder than I expect. After a weekend of isolation and tension so thick you could choke on it, the idea of facing school — and the fallout waiting for me there — makes my stomach twist.

The bus ride is silent. Bill doesn't even look at me. I know I deserve it, but that doesn't stop the ache in my chest.

The whispers start the second I step through the school doors.

"Did you hear what Nate said?"

"Poor guy, imagine being outed like that."

"Wait — Billie Parker? She's the one he—"

"Is she the one who wrote the post?"

"I heard she's obsessed with him."

My face burns. I walk faster.

But no matter how fast I go, I can't outrun the damage I've done.

The cold shoulder was starting to feel like a punishment I actually deserved.

Bill hadn't said a word to me all morning — not at home, not in the car, not even when we walked into school together and went our separate ways without so much as a glance. It was like I didn't exist. And maybe that was easier for him. Maybe it was easier for everyone.

Because the looks I was getting? The whispers? Yeah. They weren't subtle.

I tried to ignore it. I really did. But when every step down the hall felt like walking through fire, it was hard not to feel the burn.

The worst part? I knew I'd set the match.

By lunchtime, my skin was crawling with the weight of their stares. I just needed to get through the day without falling apart — but of course, life had other plans.

It happened in the cafeteria — because where else would my life implode?

Bill walked in, and I don't even know what came over me. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the silence. Or maybe I was just too tired of feeling like I was suffocating under all this weight.

But before I could stop myself — before I could think — the words were out.

"I said I was sorry, okay?"

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Heads turned. Eyes locked on me like I'd just dropped a bomb in the middle of their lunch.

Bill finally looked at me — really looked at me — and my stomach flipped with panic. Because the anger I saw there? It was ice-cold.

"You're sorry?" he repeated, his voice low and sharp. "About what exactly?"

My mouth opened — but nothing came out. Because how could I even begin to explain the mess I'd made?

"That's what I thought," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You're not sorry, Billie. You're just sorry it blew up in your face."

The words hit harder than I expected. And suddenly, the panic turned to frustration.

"What was I supposed to do, Bill?" I shot back, my voice shaking. "I wasn't even supposed to care that Nate loves you. Maybe I was just as shocked as you were that I meant nothing to him — after everything! Since we were, like, twelve—"

"You know what? Fuck you!" Bill's voice cracked like a whip, and the whole cafeteria flinched. "And thank you — thank you for making this so much worse."

"Bill—"

"But I don't blame you," he went on, his words dripping with venom. "You've always been dramatic about everything. It's just what you do, right?"

I felt the sting of his words like a slap, but before I could defend myself — before I could even breathe — someone else stepped into the fire.

"I hate you as much as I love your brother," Nate said, his voice calm, but his eyes burning.

And then Bill — my brother, my twin, my other half — put a hand on Nate's arm and pulled him away. Right in front of everyone. Right in front of me.

They walked away together without looking back.

And they left me standing in the wreckage I'd created.

Alone.

Because they were right.

I deserved to be hated.

And somehow, I was still making everything worse.

*-*

I stood there, frozen, as their backs disappeared down the hall. The words still echoed in my head — sharp and brutal and deserved.

"I hate you as much as I love your brother."

My throat tightened, but the lump there wouldn't go away. Everyone was still staring, whispering, and the weight of it felt unbearable. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

So I ran.

I didn't know where I was going until I slammed the bathroom stall shut and locked it behind me. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold tile floor, and only then did the tears start falling.

Because they were right. Both of them.

I had made it worse.

I'd been so angry, so humiliated — and instead of dealing with it like a halfway decent human being, I'd turned it into content. I'd used my blog — my stupid, anonymous blog — to throw Nate under the bus.

And now?

Now everyone knew.

The worst part was, I hadn't even thought about what it would mean for him. I'd been too busy protecting myself, too busy trying to save face and defend my name. But that wasn't what I'd done, was it?

No. I'd destroyed his.

My phone buzzed again, and stupidly — so stupidly — I looked.

The comments hadn't stopped. But they'd changed.

@QueenBee99: OMG so Nate's actually gay???

@DramaLama: Wait wait wait… is Billie's blog how this got out?!

@HoopsHottie: Nate being gay wasn't on my 2025 bingo card, but okay then.

@Anonymous87: Guess the Mia girls REALLY never had a chance lmao.

@Nate'sFan: You guys are disgusting. Leave him alone.

I squeezed my eyes shut, because it was my fault. Every word. Every rumor. Every laugh. It was all because I couldn't keep my own heartbreak out of my work.

And the worst one?

@PinkSavageFan: Guess you really are savage.

Savage.

The word tasted bitter now.

I put my phone down like it had burned me, my breath coming in short, shaky bursts. My stomach twisted until I thought I might be sick.

Because they were right. I was savage.

But it didn't feel like power.

It felt like hell.

It felt like karma — coming fast and sharp and merciless.

And I deserved every second of it.

The door to the bathroom opened, and I tensed, holding my breath. Footsteps echoed against the tile, but whoever it was didn't call out my name. Didn't even pause. Just came and went — like I wasn't even there.

Maybe I shouldn't have been.

I stayed there, huddled on the floor, until my breathing slowed. Until the tears dried up. But the guilt? That stayed.

It stayed when I finally forced myself to stand, to fix my makeup, to pretend I wasn't falling apart.

It stayed when I walked out of the bathroom and felt every pair of eyes turn toward me.

And it stayed when my phone buzzed again — this time with a text from Bill.

Bill: You did this. Don't talk to me.

The guilt stayed.

And I knew it wasn't going anywhere.

Not anytime soon. But if there was one thing I knew — one thing I could still hold on to — it was this: I wasn't going to let this be the end.

I'd already done enough damage, but I wasn't about to sit back and let it stay that way.

Bill might hate me right now. Nate definitely did. And maybe I deserved that. But I wasn't going to let my mistakes ruin everything — not for them.

I wiped my eyes one last time and stood a little straighter, the weight of my guilt still heavy — but now there was something else, too. Determination.

I didn't know how yet. I didn't know where to start. But I would fix this.

For Bill. For Nate.

And maybe, if there was anything left after the wreckage I'd caused… for me, too.