Gloria
An epic tale holds no significance in a world without a soul. Maybe I was out of my mind when I wrote that line, sleepy, hollow, tired. The sky growled above as gray clouds roared down like beasts, putting out the fire before me, but not the one inside me.
A car sped past, splashing muddy rainwater across my legs. I wiped my face, sighing. The last ashes of my notebook were scattered into the wind. A breath escaped me, and maybe part of my soul went with it.
"I do not understand why you would stop yourself from posting these incredible works. What are you afraid of, Gloria?"
My teacher's voice echoed from this morning, still too fresh.
To him, it was simple, just a story. But he didn't live inside my misery. He wasn't the one being cussed out behind her back, or worse, to her face. I bit my lips, pushing away the sting of the memory.
I stepped over the ashes and began walking home. Pointless. Wandering around like a lunatic after someone had set fire to years' worth of my stories. I wasn't brilliant, but writing had always been my escape.
In my stories, I had control. No judgment, no hate. Just me and my characters. And now, ash.
I straightened my face. If my mother saw me like this, I'd be drowned in questions and worry. She cared too much about my "social standing," which, to be honest, was nonexistent.
I was bullied. Ignored during lunch. Avoided during presentations. I didn't mind being invisible, but hated? That wasn't on my list this year.
Thanks to Luca Merreti, it was now tattooed across my reputation.
Luca transferred mid-year, and in no time, he became some god-like figure in our school. With his Russian accent, smug smile, and impossible charm, everyone bowed. His words shifted events, opinions, and my status. I hated him for it.
A sharp gust of wind made me shiver. The rain got heavier. I didn't have an umbrella. Figures.
I ducked into an alley, the shortcut home. I braced myself for questions I knew I'd lie about. The problem was, I could never lie to my mother properly.
The front door creaked — loud enough to scream I'm home.
I winced and tiptoed toward the stairs. Silence. Maybe I'd dodged them—
"Gloria."
My mother's voice stopped me cold.
I turned and stepped into the dining room. My family was all there. My mother. Father. Nico, my older brother. The atmosphere was suffocating.
The curtains were drawn halfway. The tea on the table had gone cold. Shadows curled in every corner. My dad sat forward, fists clenched. Mum was pale, hands twisting. Nico stared out the window.
"Where were you?" Dad's voice cut through the silence.
I blinked. "Is everyone okay?"
They all looked at me. No one answered.
"Are you okay, Gloria?" Mum's voice trembled. "Where have you been?"
"Just outside... for ten minutes," I said, frowning. "Why?"
She turned away, lips pressed. My mother's face grew more anxious each second.
"Who were you with?" Nico asked, arms crossed, looking at me with suspicion and pure concern.
"I was alone."
"With Luca Merreti?" His voice rose, sharp.
I flinched. They found out.
Dad was the first to speak. "She should've told us," He muttered, not meeting my eyes.
"I didn't want to make it worse," I said softly.
Mum looked at me, eyes misty. "You should've come to us when it started." Her face was drawn and pale.
"It's just school stuff," I whispered. "I thought I could handle it."
Nico let out a bitter laugh. "You're not supposed to handle that kind of crap alone."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I didn't want to seem weak."
Dad stood up, his gaze firm. "You're not weak. But it's not your job to carry this alone."
Mum wiped her tears. "This place isn't safe anymore. We can't pretend it is."
The room held a silence that hurt more than shouting.
Then Dad spoke again.
"Pack your things, Gloria. We're moving to England."