I Lied, Grandma

I always used to tell my Grandma that I fell.

Off my bike, in gym class, tripped on the stairs, or simply slipped in the rain.

Never once did I say, "They pushed me." Never once did I tell her about Amy shoving me into the lockers, or Darren snapping my school ID and calling me "whale pass." I just didn't want her to worry. She was already worrying about meds and bills and my studies as she was my only family.

So I lied. A lot.

Even when the bruises looked like fingerprints, even when the cuts needed stitches and I told the nurse I slipped on the playground gravel.

The scar's still there on the left side of my ribs, just under the bra line. It's turned white now. Mostly healed, but it stings when I press it sometimes.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

I used to say falling felt like flying.

Like when you miss the last stair and your stomach flips for half a second. That half-second where you're weightless. Unstoppable. Untouchable.

Turns out, real falling just feels cold. Wet. And slow like the universe wants you to think about every single bad decision you've ever made before you hit the bottom.

So that's what I'm doing. Sinking and Thinking.

Thinking about my Grandma. I'll be joining her soon in heaven and we can have our little tea party and picnics there. And now that I will see her, I wish I had the guts to confess some things that I never had the heart to say them aloud to her.

I never told her. Never showed her the bruises. I always smiled in front of her. Kept my head down. Stayed small, stayed quiet, and tried to stay out of trouble.

"I'm fine," I used to say that word alot, even when I was really not fine.

And she always said, "You're stronger than they'll ever be. One day, you'll remember that."

Well… wanna know what happened when I finally did?

I signed up for boxing lessons after grandma died last year. Used my lunch money, skipped school to train. I didn't care if I got caught. I was just tired of pretending I didn't feel anything.

And the day I paid them back?

Glorious.

One punch. Then another. One of them cried. One actually peed himself. I shouldn't laugh, but… gods, it felt good.

"You'd probably scold me, grandma. But I think, secretly you'd be proud."

"I fought, Grandma."

I finally fought.

But they didn't stop there.

They came back harder. Smarter. They waited for me to let my guard down.

"You weren't there anymore to teach me to always be careful."

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

It was Mia, actually. The one who always asked me for help with maths homework, the one I really thought wasn't like the others.

She invited me to a yacht party during summer break in second year. Said it was just a small group, something fun. I didn't have anything better to do, and honestly, I wanted to believe maybe people changed. Maybe I'd finally get to feel like I belonged.

I should've known better.

Everything looked normal at first. We met at the harbour near the city. There it was, a massive white coloured yacht gleaming under the sunlight. The sea air was fresh, and I was genuinely excited. We even spotted dolphins out in the distance.

For a while, it felt like the world had opened up.

But as we went deeper into the ocean, the smiles faded.

Their masks slipped.

They started pushing me toward the edge of the deck, talking about how I had "humiliated" them last year. How I'd made them look weak. I tried to defend myself and told them I had no one to protect me. That I only fought back because I had to.

They didn't care. They laughed at my face. And then they shoved me.

Right into the ocean.

I tried to scream that I couldn't swim, but the words never made it out. The cold hit me like a wall. My lungs refused to breathe and my body sank like a stone.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

If only I'd brought that idiot with me. Or at least told him where I was going.

But none of it mattered anymore.

I was going to die, and he wouldn't even know.

Dravion had always seen through my fake smiles. Through every "I'm fine" I texted. He was always there with an extra hoodie when mine got soaked, chips from the vending machine when I skipped lunch, or just... being there. His presence filled the emptiness I never admitted I felt.

I hoped he'd find happiness. I really did.

I'd miss him in heaven, but he didn't need to miss me.

He just had to live. For both of us.

And gods, why was I trying to be sarcastic while dying?

Typical of me.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

Dravion knew something was off the moment she left.

She hadn't told him where she was going—she never did—but he knew her patterns. The fake texts. The long gaps between replies. The dry "lol"s.

He wasn't stalking her. Just… looking out.

So he rented the oldest kayak he could find, paddled past the harbor, and waited. Binoculars in hand. Hood pulled low.

He didn't trust them. Not when it came to Elara.

When the yacht drifted far out into open water, he spotted her. Standing near the edge, surrounded by the same people who'd tormented her for years.

She was yelling one minute, then the other she was gone.

Shoved. Right over the railing.

"ELARA!"

The binoculars hit the floor of the kayak as he jumped.

Cold hit him like a slap. His lungs seized. But he didn't care. He swam hard, recklessly, faster than he ever had.

He spotted her through the bubbles. She was sinking, not fighting or moving at all.

Just falling like she didn't care anymore about what happened to her.

He kicked even harder to reach her. Their hands touched for half a second.

Then — nothing.

She vanished. Right in front of him. Like the sea had swallowed her whole.

He froze.

No body or trail of her. Just empty blue sea and his own panicked heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He looked up but the surface was too far and he wouldn't make it in time but a sharp current caught him next. Dragged him down. He fought it, thrashed against it but the sea didn't care.

It wasn't rage and it wasn't even mercy.

It simply claimed her.

And him?

Just the soul.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧