The memory crawled out of the dark, dragging its claws across Veronica's mind like broken glass.
It began with laughter.
Laughter echoing through the sterile halls of Cross-light College. The late sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden bars across the dusty floor. Veronica sat between her friends, Eliza and Michelle—the three of them inseparable, a trio with too many secrets and too much influence. They called themselves "The Trinity."
Eliza nudged her. "Psst. Veronica. Look at Mr. Sanders in that brown shirt. Makes him look twice as stupid."
Veronica gave a crooked smile, barely glancing up. "He looks like an expired chocolate bar."
Michelle giggled, a sharp little sound that snapped against the classroom silence.
We laughed like we were untouchable. Like the world had chosen us to be cruel.
"Would you care to share what's so amusing?" Mr. Sanders looked up, his voice cutting the air.
Veronica didn't flinch.
But before she could answer, Kara raised her hand.
"Sir, they were making fun of your outfit," she said, voice trembling.
A pause. Then the air cracked.
Veronica's gaze landed on Kara like a blade.
The betrayal wasn't in what she said. It was in the reminder that someone still believed in rules.
Later that day, under the orange haze of dusk in the parking lot, Kara found herself surrounded.
"Snitch," Cassandra said flatly, arms crossed.
"You think you can report the Trinity and walk away?" Patricia sneered.
Kara's voice was small. "I just... I thought it was wrong."
"Wrong?" Eliza said, stepping forward. "You ungrateful thing. After all we've done for you."
"What have you done for me?" Kara snapped.
Veronica approached last. Calm. Detached.
I could have stopped it. I could have told them to let her go. But I didn't. And maybe that silence was worse than violence.
Kara turned toward her, desperation in her eyes. "Veronica... You know me. You know I—"
But Veronica only looked away.
Three years ago.
The memory bled into another. One even darker.
"Veronica!"
She turned. A girl stood in front of her at the school gates—wide-eyed, breathless.
"It's me. Catarina. From middle school. Remember?"
Veronica blinked. "No."
Catarina laughed, unsure. "The scars on our ankles? We got them jumping the fence. You said we'd be best friends forever."
Kara appeared beside Veronica. "Is she bothering you?"
Veronica hesitated. Then nodded.
"Y-Yes."
Catarina's smile faltered. "Veronica, what are you saying?"
Veronica turned her back. "I don't know you."
There was a time I would have cried with her. Now, I flinched at the memory of weakness.
Catarina stood frozen. Then ran. "I'll bring the pictures tomorrow! You'll remember!"
That night.
Catarina returned home to silence.
"Mom? Dad?" she called.
No reply.
She stepped into the kitchen.
They were there.
Not breathing.
Lying on the floor like discarded mannequins.
Veronica sat beside them, hands folded in her lap.
Catarina dropped to her knees. "No... No! What did you do?!"
Veronica stood, cold and precise. "Ties to the past are weeds, Catarina. I'm starting over."
If pain is a chain, then every familiar face is a lock. I wanted out.
"We were friends!"
Veronica put on a white porcelain mask. "We were. But you're a liability now."
She opened a metal container. Gas hissed.
Catarina rushed to the door—locked. Windows—barred.
Veronica walked out.
The house burned by morning.
"Did you hear?" someone whispered. "Catarina's house burned down. Her and her parents... gone."
Kara went still. "What?"
Veronica turned with a smile. "Well, that's sad. But we're alive, right? Ice cream?"
Survival tasted like sugar, like lies wrapped in sprinkles.
Later, beneath a pale tree, Kara confronted her.
"You did it. You killed her."
Veronica tilted her head. "Who?"
"Don't play dumb. Catarina. You erased her."
"I don't remember anyone by that name."
Kara's voice cracked. "All you want is power. People who don't question you."
Silence.
"You're doing all this because deep down, you feel small."
Veronica's smile broke.
"Kill her," she whispered.
The girls moved as one.
Kara screamed. Veronica watched.
Then she picked up a bat.
There was no sound. Not really. Just the echo of my own heartbeat, louder than anything.
The world turned red.
She fell. The ground tilted. A sound split the air—a high, electric screech. Veronica clutched her ears, screaming.
"Don't you hear it!?"
Eliza knelt beside her. "Hear what? Veronica?!"
Everything broke.
I wasn't in the past. I wasn't in the now. I was caught in a stage rehearsal of who I wasn't.
She woke in tears.
A soft voice greeted her:
"Good evening."
A boy sat across from her. Pale. Calm. Smiling.
"Who... who are you?"
He set down his porcelain cup.
"Alexi," he said.
To be continued...