Bella
Air left my lungs, my face whipped by strong, cold wind… the silence in my chest. The feeling of hopelessness. Tears fell; I didn't even have time to accept my fate. The ground felt far, yet so close.
This was the end of my chapter…
A chapter still in the draft. Unpublished. Forgotten.
Or so I thought.
Air filled my lungs again, not in panic, but with a heavy jolt that made my ribs ache, as my back slammed against something hard. Concrete. Not the ground far below. The rooftop.
For a moment, I didn't move.
Just lay there, blinking into the starry skies above. The clouds had parted, letting the night spill through, like nothing had happened.
Everything felt calm, cruelly calm, in contrast to the storm still howling in my chest.
A minute passed. Then another. And then another, before my mind caught up with reality again.
I sat up slowly, breath uneven.
My arms were trembling. My chest tight.
Don't blame me for being slow; it's not every day I attempt suicide against my will.
I rubbed my eyes, blinking harder, expecting to wake up. But the rooftop was real. The cold under me was real. The bruised ache in my spine was real.
Then, a shift in the wind. A presence.
My head turned instinctively, sluggishly, like the air was thick honey. I wasn't alone.
He sat right there, right on the same ledge where I had fallen. Where I should have died. Legs casually crossed, one hand balancing a half-lit cigarette, the other resting carelessly on his thigh.
Smoke curled around him like a veil, and the night bent slightly around his silhouette, like even the stars gave him space.
But I didn't need clarity to know. I knew before the fog even cleared.
My stomach twisted in dread.
Stefan V. Lancaster.
That jerk saved me…
As much as I wanted to run away, to disappear, to hide and never face him again, my body refused. My grateful heart, traitorous and stubborn, wouldn't let me walk away without saying something.
Every step toward him felt like walking underwater. My legs were heavy, like dragging chains behind me. My fists clenched so tightly at my sides that my knuckles turned pale. Bone white.
What do I even say?
Sorry? For what?
Thank you? For saving me from something I wasn't even awake enough to stop?
I felt pathetic. Small.
But I knew it had to be done.
"Thank you," I whispered, head bowed, voice barely louder than the wind.
I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. What if he gloated? Smirked? Mocked me?
But he didn't.
He did something worse.
"Idiot human," he said, two words, clear as day, rude as hell, laced with cold smoke and condescension.
That's when I looked up, slowly, with shaking limbs and fire in my chest. My eyes finally met his.
There was no gloating in his expression. No satisfaction. He always wore that same unreadable look, like he was constantly bored, constantly judging, and constantly seeing something I didn't.
And for one brief second… I swore his eyes weren't human at all
"What…?" I stuttered, confused by his sudden annoyance with me.
"Pest," he muttered, his voice low but sharp. My mouth fell open, stunned. But before I could form a response, he stood up, turned his back on me, and walked away, slow, casual, like nothing had happened.
I just stood there, dumbfounded. The silence around me sank in slowly, then curled into something bitter. Confusion turned into irritation. Irritation twisted into anger.
"That jerk!" I snapped, yelling at no one, my voice echoing in the dark. I shut my eyes and exhaled sharply. "Don't let that thwart get to you…" I whispered to myself, trying to regain composure. It took a few more breaths before I finally calmed down and forced my feet to leave the rooftop.
When I returned to my room, something felt… off.
The air had changed. I could smell a faint trace of perfume and panic. There were clothes scattered across the floor, like someone had been packing in a rush, but then abruptly stopped. Even the half-zipped bag was left open, clothes spilling out like someone had vanished mid-action.
A chill crept down my spine.
Was my roommate okay?
It was already late, and I should've waited till morning, but the feeling gnawed at me too hard to ignore. So I left immediately to report it to the nearest security officer I could find.
They didn't seem surprised.
Apparently, she had done something similar before, disappearing without warning, so they shrugged it off like nothing. They told me to return to my room and "get some rest."
But it didn't sit right with me. Something about this time felt different. Too sudden. Too messy. Too quiet.
Still, with no evidence, no proof, and no one taking me seriously, I returned to my room. I didn't sleep that night. Not because I didn't try. Part of me was afraid I'd sleepwalk again. Another part hoped I'd wake up to find my roommate back like nothing happened.
Neither of those things happened.
And it was the latter that scared me more.
The next morning, I went to see Professor Namjoon. I didn't need to say much, he immediately noticed the tension in my body, the dark circles under my eyes. After a quick examination, he said I was showing signs of stress-triggered parasomnia, specifically, lucid sleepwalking, and prescribed a mild pill to help stabilize my sleep cycle.
He also recommended I take a few days off. He got the school's approval without me even asking.
I was told to avoid anything that could stress me out, no classes, no lab hours, no intense study sessions. Even textbooks were off-limits for a while. I was stunned they took my health that seriously, but I didn't argue. I needed the break.
The school prince, Stefan, was nowhere to be found, not that I cared. He didn't even show up to group therapy. Not surprising. He always did whatever he wanted and somehow got away with it. Must be nice being a nepo baby. A spoiled, rude, entitled nepo baby.
And strangely enough, during those days of my sick leave, my usual tormentors backed off. It was like they got some sort of memo that I was off-limits. I didn't question it too hard. I just took the peace while it lasted.
But on the second day of my leave, something bizarre happened.
I had just returned from my personal therapy session with Dr. Namjoon, hoping to get some rest before dinner. When I opened the door, my eyes widened.
My roommate's side of the room had been reorganized, cleaned up, decluttered, and color-coded like some kind of hotel check-in. And there, sitting comfortably on her bed, legs crossed and smiling like she had always lived there, was a girl I'd never seen before.
She waved at me with a bright, boxy smile. Her voice was cheerful and airy.
"Hi, Bellarose. I'm Marilynn, your new roommate."
I froze, still holding the doorknob.
"New roommate?!"