Backstabbed
The whispers were knives.
By the time Brielle stepped into school that morning, the walls already knew.
The video was everywhere.
A dimly lit clip, poorly angled but damning. Her fingers brushing Elijah's cheek. His hand on her back. That almost-kiss. That almost-everything.
Someone had captured it. Someone had shared it. Someone wanted her ruined.
And the school delivered.
Whispers chased her down the hallway like shadows.
"She seduced him..."
"She's always been too pretty to be real."
"Didn't she just transfer here?"
"She ruined Elijah."
Brielle kept walking.
Head high. Eyes ahead. Heart in shambles.
When she reached her locker, a folded piece of paper fluttered out. One word, scrawled in red ink:
SLUT.
Her hands trembled as she crumpled it. Her chest was burning, but no tears came. Not yet.
Ariana passed her in the hallway with the same practiced smirk she always wore in front of Elijah.
Only this time, she didn't bother hiding it.
Ariana had seen. Had filmed. Had leaked it.
Brielle knew it now.
And Elijah…?
He hadn't shown up for class.
He hadn't defended her.
Not yet.
At lunch, she sat alone.
No friends. No allies.
Grace wasn't here, she didn't even know what had happened yet.
Elijah hadn't texted. Hadn't called.
He wasn't there.
And the silence felt louder than the whispers.
That was the worst part.
Not the humiliation.
Not even the betrayal.
It was the absence. His absence.
After the final bell, she was called to the office.
The principal's voice was stiff. The counselor refused to meet her eyes. Words like "inappropriate conduct," "disruption to the academic environment," and "temporary suspension" spilled from their mouths.
Brielle nodded through it all.
But inside, something shattered.
And as she walked home, face blank, knuckles white around the straps of her bag, the only thought that echoed louder than her shame was:
Why didn't he fight for her?