My mornings and afternoons

The sunlight pierced through the thin curtains, dragging me back into a world I wished I could escape. My cheeks felt stiff, crusted with salt, as though the tears from last night hadn't truly stopped.

I splashed cold water onto my face, hoping to scrub away the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. But his voice lingered, soft and unwavering in my mind: "Are you okay?"

The boy on the bridge. He felt like a dream, a fragile creation from my mind yearning for comfort. Yet his words were too real, too raw, to ignore.

I hadn't answered him. My throat had been tight, my thoughts too scattered. But I'd looked at him—through the tears spilling over, through the ache I couldn't hide. And he hadn't looked away.

"It's going to be alright," he'd said, as if he believed it. As if somehow, it could be true. No hesitation in his voice, no pleading. Just a promise. And that's what hurt the most. Promises like that didn't belong here, not in a place where nothing ever turned out alright.

Still, his words had settled in for a moment before slipping away with his footsteps, fading into the night. Now, in the cold light of day, I tried to bury the memory, tucking it beneath all the things I had to do.

I made my way to the kitchen, shaking off any lingering thoughts. If I moved quickly, we could eat before he woke up. If I moved quickly, my mind might not catch up. If I moved quickly... I wouldn't have to hear more whispered questions about the bruise that had bloomed on my skin. It was the last thing I needed.

The pantry offered little hope: stale bread, a few eggs, and the last splash of milk. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. I moved mindlessly—cracking eggs, slicing bread—my hands working faster than my thoughts. A routine: keep them fed, keep them quiet, keep them from noticing how close we were to having nothing.

The sound of Grace's tiny footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by Aaron's heavier tread. Lily should be next, slower and more cautious, the way she always moved when she wasn't sure what to expect. At thirteen, she'd started to mimic me—quiet, guarded, trying to carry more than she should.

I placed the plates on the table just as Grace scrambled into the kitchen, her hair a mess, her smile all sleepy and pure. Aaron followed, yawning as his hands instinctively rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the remnants of sleep. Lily lingered in the doorway, her sharp gaze flickering from the table to me. She always looked at me like she was waiting for me to prove I wasn't weak. At least that's what I thought, whenever she looked at me at all.

"Morning," I said, keeping my voice steady. They murmured their replies, already focused on the food. Grace mumbled something about the eggs being too crispy, and Aaron reached for another piece of bread before I could stop him.

Lily sat down last, her movements deliberate. She glanced at her plate, her expression unreadable, then took a bite of bread. Her shoulders eased just slightly, her walls dropping for a moment. She wasn't as tough as she wanted to seem. Not yet.

I gave them each a small smile, though my hands trembled as I picked up the empty pan. They couldn't see how close I was to unraveling; not today, not ever. They needed to believe things were okay, even if I couldn't.

The classroom buzzed with muted conversations and the soft clatter of books as students settled into their seats. I kept my head low, weaving between desks to claim my usual spot by the window, where I could let my gaze drift if it all became too much.

A shadow fell over my desk just as I reached into my bag. I froze mid-motion, fingers brushing the frayed edge of my notebook.

"Miss Lethia, isn't it?"

The voice was deep but calm, with a hint of peace that felt foreign in this space. I looked up slowly, my stomach tightening as my eyes met a pair of sharp, dark ones framed by metal-rimmed glasses. The man standing before me wasn't anyone I recognized. He looked new—young, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a faint trace of stubble that made him seem slightly out of place.

"Yes," I said quietly, my voice barely carrying over the hum of the room.

"I'm Mr. Nolan," he introduced himself, his tone measured. "I'll be taking over while Mrs. Hayes is on leave."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say much more.

He held my gaze a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then his eyes flicked to my desk, where my notebook lay unopened.

"Everything alright?"

My throat tightened. I gripped the edge of my seat to keep my hands still. "Yes, sir."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Good. Let me know if you need anything." His tone was lighter now, but the way his gaze lingered made me uncomfortable, like he'd seen too much in those brief seconds.

As he moved on, my grip on the chair eased, though my fingers still felt numb. I kept my head down, my focus fixed on the blank page before me.

The lesson began shortly after, and I forced myself to write. The scratch of my pen against the paper became a steady distraction. The words swam in and out of focus, but I kept going, hoping to stay invisible.

Midway through the class, a faint vibration rattled from my pocket. My phone.

I glanced around quickly before slipping it out under my desk. The screen flickered on, revealing a notification: "Hey, can we talk? - Sarah."

My stomach flipped, and my grip on the phone tightened. I glanced toward the front of the room, where Mr. Nolan was busy writing on the board. His back was turned, his focus elsewhere.

I quickly stuffed the phone back into my pocket, my pulse quickening. Whatever Sarah wanted, it couldn't be good.

The sound of my footsteps echoed in my head like an annoying song, looping endlessly, gnawing on my nerves. My chest rose and fell with a sharp breath I hadn't realized I was holding, the exhale rattling out as if it could steady the trembling in my hands. Asking the teacher to go to the toilet had always been a problem, but for the first time, that felt like the least of it. My hands trembled as I imagined every possible scenario. What would she say to me? Would her words carve another scar on my heart or offer a bandage—thin and temporary—to cover the ones already there? Either way, the air seemed heavier with every step, my chest tightening as I reached the door. The answers waited inside, whether I was ready for them or not.

Sarah stood by the sinks, her back to the mirror. She looked up as I walked in, her head bowed, her finger fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. For a moment, she looked... sad? Vulnerable, even. It was a sight I never imagined would appear in somewhere other than my own nightmares.

She smiled slightly as I approached, and my heartbeat stuttered in surprise. It was a weak smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. I almost thought I saw a flash of anger there, a slight crease forming in her brow. Like she'd just remembered some unpleasant memory she wished had stayed forgotten.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft.

My head dropped, unable to meet her eyes. I stood there clutching the rim of my wrinkled t-shirt. "You wanted to talk?"

She nodded, pushing off the sink. "Yeah, I... I wanted to say I'm sorry."

The words caught me off guard, freezing me in place. Sarah... apologizing? My chest tightened with suspicion battling an unwelcome flicker of hope. "For what?"

"For everything," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "The way I treated you... it wasn't right. None of it was. And I hate that I hurt you."

I didn't know what to say. Part of me, well, a lot of me, wanted to believe her, to hold onto the fragile possibility that this was real. But the scarred part of me, the rational part, could never forgive her. Not after everything.

I couldn't accept her apology. Not now. Not after everything. Even if regret tore me apart.

Her gaze burned as she continued. "I've been thinking of you more... of how awful I was to you. Of how much you deserved none of it."

The sincerity in her tone made my defenses waver, and I could feel the familiar prickle of tears behind my eyes. I wanted to believe her. I wanted it to be over, all the torment, whispers, and cruel laughs that haunted me even when I was alone.

I raised my chin to look at her. My body betrayed me with a rainfall of tears, my vision blurring around the edges. I bit back a whimper, willing the tears to stop so I could hear what she was saying, but they refused to relent, threatening to break free until all that remained was a ragged sob.

"I missed you... so much," I managed, swallowing the rest of my emotions. Sarah stepped forward, her arms wrapping around me. A hand ran through my hair, and I sank into her embrace, clinging to her for dear life as my heart clenched.

"I... missed you too," she whispered.

But then, the sound of a toilet flushing broke the fragile silence. My head snapped toward the stalls as the door to one of them swung open. Brittany stepped out, her smirk already forming.

"God, Sarah, you're so good," Brittany said, laughing as she crossed the room. "I almost believed you for a second."

My stomach dropped, the earlier hope evaporating in an instant. I looked at Sarah, whose expression shifted entirely. Her face lit up with a grin, the softness replaced by something sharper, almost gleeful.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice trembling, my eyebrows furrowing. Why?

Brittany sauntered over to Sarah, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "You really thought she was serious?" she said, laughing. "God, you're so gullible."

Sarah didn't protest. She laughed along, a cold, mocking sound that shattered everything I'd just believed. Her smile felt hollow, a cruel mask.

My chest tightened as Brittany turned to me, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement.

"Do you know how pathetic you looked just now?" she sneered. "Like, almost crying because Sarah said sorry? Classic."

I took a shaky step back, my throat burning. "I... I thought..."

"What?" Brittany interrupted. "That we actually cared? Please." She pulled out her phone, the flash already on. "Smile for the camera, Lethia."

Sarah grinned beside her, the same wicked glint in her eyes as Brittany. "Don't forget to cry," she added mockingly. "That's always the best part."

She said it with the slightest hint of hesitation... or so I hoped. But my heart shattered once more, realizing the truth of it all. I had been a joke, a cruel game for their entertainment. Tears blurred my vision, and I turned and bolted from the restroom, their laughter chasing me down the hall. Bells rang loudly, chasing me out the building and i rushed away, away from the public, away from this overwhelming nightmare.

I didn't care where my feet took me. They moved on their own, carrying me further from the school, from the regrets that clung to my skin like a second layer. My chest burned, my breaths coming in sharp gasps. Each step felt like I was walking through thick mud, the weight of the day dragging me down.

I didn't know how long I walked, but I found myself at the edge of the bridge. The one place I knew I was safe. The water rushed below, friendly.

My knees buckled, and I sank to the ground, clutching my arms around myself. The tears came again, relentless, spilling down my face in a torrent I couldn't control. I sobbed into my hands, my body shaking with the force of it. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was like the world had torn itself apart, and there was nothing left to hold on to.

But then, a faint sound grasped my ears—footsteps. Light, hesitant, almost too careful to be real. My heart skipped, and I froze.

For a moment, the pain stopped, and all that mattered was the sound of those footsteps.

I looked up, eyes blurry, hoping, praying it was him—the boy from the bridge. The one who had spoken those words that felt like a promise.

A familiar silhouette appeared in the distance, casting a long shadow across the worn planks of the bridge.

Is that...