TW:
Violence (Mentioned)
Blood
Luz stirred awake, pain blooming behind her eyes like fire. The cold, hard floor beneath her pressed against her spine. Fluorescent light flickered dimly above, casting long shadows across rows of dusty shelves. The smell of old books mixed with something metallic—blood.
Her blood.
She blinked, trying to make sense of where she was. The library? How did she get here?
Then it came back in flashes—James's raised fist, Jaxx holding her down, the sting of knuckles against her face. The blur of movement as they dragged her through the empty hall. The helplessness. The final blow to her head.
Her nose throbbed with every heartbeat. Her lip was split. She reached up, touched her face gently, and pulled her fingers back slick with red. Great. Just great.
"Damn it," she whimpered, barely louder than a breath. The words tasted like iron in her mouth.
She pushed herself up slowly, every muscle protesting. Her ribs ached, her limbs felt heavy, and her head spun slightly as she found her balance. They hadn't gone easy on her. Not even close. It wasn't just bullying anymore—it was something darker now.
She staggered toward the back corner of the library, where a small staff bathroom was tucked behind the reference section. The hallways would be swarming now—students moving between classes. She couldn't let them see her like this. Not again.
The door creaked as she slipped inside the bathroom. The lights buzzed to life overhead. Empty. Thank god.
She moved to the sink and turned on the faucet, watching the pink water swirl down the drain as she gently dabbed her face with paper towels. Each touch sent fresh pain through her nose and lip. She winced, holding her breath, blinking back tears.
I can't cry right now. Just clean up. Just get through the day.
She finally looked up at the mirror, bracing herself.
Her face was a mess—bruised and bloodied. One eye already darkening. Her lip swollen. But it wasn't just the injuries that made her chest tighten. It was the hollowness in her expression. The haunted look in her eyes. Like part of her had been left behind on that hallway floor.
Then she saw it.
In the mirror, behind her—just for a second—a figure stood motionless.
A girl. Pale. Still. Watching.
Luz froze.
The girl was her age, maybe even the same height. Her skin was almost translucent, her hair a platinum blonde that shimmered faintly in the flickering light. She wore an old-fashioned cheerleader uniform—red and white with a large W across the chest. Her eyes were vacant, distant… cold.
Luz spun around, heart in her throat.
Nothing. No one.
She turned back to the mirror quickly.
Gone.
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps. She rubbed her eyes furiously and stared again. Still gone. The silence pressed in around her.
"Y-you're that..." Luz's voice shook, barely forming the words. She searched her memory, dredging up the headline from years ago—one that everyone in Woodbridge had whispered about in hushed tones, too afraid to say aloud in full.
"Captain of the Cheerleading Team at Woodbridge High Dead After Major Cheerleading Accident."
She remembered the photo. The smiling girl, pom-poms in hand, bright future ahead—until the fall. It was a stunt gone wrong. Top of the pyramid. She had fallen, hit her head. Died instantly. Luz never forgot the name.
Taylor Miller.
That was her. It had to be her.
"I'm just seeing things," Luz muttered shakily, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. "It's the concussion. It's stress. I'm not—" She cut herself off, not daring to finish the thought.
She rinsed the last traces of blood from her face, grabbed a scratchy paper towel, and dried herself off the best she could. It would have to do. She was already late for class—what was one more tardy on top of everything else?
Without looking back, Luz stepped out of the bathroom. Her hands still trembled as she made her way through the library, past the tall, silent shelves, her thoughts racing.
Behind her, the bathroom lights flickered once more. Then steadied.