BRUISES YOU COULDN'T SEE
School was the only place Elara could breathe.
It wasn't because school was kind—children rarely were—but because it was predictable. Bells rang. Teachers spoke. Desks stayed where they were meant to be. There were rules that applied to everyone, not just her.
At home, rules shifted like shadows.
That morning, Elara woke before the alarm.
Her stomach hurt. It often did now.
She slipped quietly from her bed, washed her face, and dressed in her school uniform—washed too many times, the fabric thinning at the seams. When she reached the dining room, the table was already set.
For three people.
Mr. Kingsley sat reading the paper. Vivian sipped tea. Selena buttered her toast slowly.
Elara stood near the doorway.
"Good morning," she said softly.
No one replied.
She waited.
Vivian glanced at her watch. "You're late."
"I woke up early," Elara said quickly. "I just—"
"Excuses already?" Vivian interrupted. "Children who start the day with lies rarely end it well."
Elara lowered her head. "May I eat before school?"
Vivian didn't even look at her. "You ate last night."
Elara hadn't.
But she nodded anyway.
"Yes, ma'am."
She left the house with an empty stomach and a quiet ache in her chest.
At school, the noise hit her all at once.
Lockers slammed. Laughter echoed. Shoes scuffed against floors.
Elara moved carefully, like she was afraid of taking up too much space.
Her teacher, Mrs. Hale, noticed immediately.
"Elara," she said gently, crouching beside her desk. "You look tired."
Elara forced a smile. "I'm fine."
Mrs. Hale's eyes lingered on her pale face, on the way Elara's hands trembled slightly as she opened her notebook.
"Did you eat this morning?" she asked softly.
Elara hesitated—just a second too long.
Mrs. Hale sighed and pressed a small granola bar into her hand.
"Eat. Quietly."
Elara's eyes filled.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She ate slowly, carefully, like the food might disappear if she moved too fast.
During art class, Elara came alive.
Her pencil moved with confidence, sketching shapes that felt like freedom. Dresses. Lines. Flow. Things that didn't hurt.
A girl beside her leaned over.
"You draw really well," she said.
Elara blinked, surprised. "I do?"
The girl nodded. "Yeah. You should join the art club."
Before Elara could respond, another voice cut in.
"She's weird."
Selena.
She stood at the back of the classroom, her uniform pristine, her expression bored. She had transferred to Elara's school a week earlier.
The teacher frowned. "Selena, sit down."
Selena smiled innocently. "Sorry, ma'am."
Her eyes met Elara's.
Cold. Calculating.
Elara's stomach twisted.
The first attack happened after school.
Elara stayed late to clean brushes for Mrs. Hale. By the time she left, the halls were nearly empty.
She walked toward the gate, her bag heavy on her shoulders.
"Hey."
She stopped.
Selena stepped out from behind a pillar, her arms crossed.
"Why do you always act like you don't know me?" Selena asked.
Elara clutched her bag strap. "I do know you."
"Then stop pretending you're better than me at school," Selena snapped.
"I don't," Elara said quietly. "I just… mind my business."
Selena laughed softly. "You think teachers don't notice you? Playing poor. Acting quiet. Drawing all the time."
Elara shook her head. "I never said anything about you."
Selena stepped closer.
"You don't have to," she whispered. "Your face does."
Before Elara could move, Selena shoved her—not hard, but enough to knock her balance. Elara stumbled, her books spilling onto the ground.
Pain shot through her palm as it scraped the pavement.
Selena looked down at her.
"Oh," she said lightly. "I didn't mean to."
Elara's hands shook as she gathered her books.
"Don't tell anyone," Selena added calmly. "No one will believe you anyway."
Elara looked up. "Why are you doing this?"
Selena's smile faded.
"Because," she said, "this house isn't big enough for both of us."
She walked away, leaving Elara crouched on the ground, her palms stinging, her throat tight.
That night, Elara washed her scraped hand quietly in the bathroom sink.
The water burned.
Vivian glanced at it once.
"Be more careful," she said. "Injuries are inconvenient."
Elara nodded.
"Yes, ma'am."
At dinner, Selena chatted happily about school.
"Elara fell today," she said casually. "She's clumsy."
Mr. Kingsley snorted. "Weakness runs in some bloodlines."
Elara stared at her plate.
She did not cry.
Later, in her room, Elara pressed her bandaged hand against her chest.
"It didn't hurt that much," she whispered to herself. "I'm okay."
But her body said otherwise.
So she opened her sketchbook.
With her uninjured hand, she drew.
A girl standing alone in a schoolyard.
A shadow behind her.
And a light she refused to let die.
"They can push me," Elara whispered into the dark.
"But I won't disappear."
Outside her door, Selena paused, listening.
For the first time, her smile didn't come easily.