Ten minutes. I lay there for ten full minutes before I could even think about moving. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up and managed to sit on the bench. My body screamed in protest. My face throbbed. My stomach felt like one solid bruise.
I stayed there another half hour.
I skipped history class. Not like I could have gone looking like this anyway. And honestly? I didn't want to. If I saw any of those pieces of shit again today, I might actually do something stupid. Something that would get me killed, or expelled, or both.
I looked down at my hands. Clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, drawing little crescents of blood.
I wanted to kill them. I wanted to—
Stop.
I grabbed a bottle of water from my bag, drank several long gulps, then splashed the rest on my face. Gasped at the cold, let it shock me back to something resembling calm.
It's fine. It's fine. Just breathe.
I repeated it to myself like a mantra until I could stand without shaking.
Bag over my shoulder, I limped toward the nurse's office.
The nurse—a tired-looking man with kind eyes—grimaced the moment I walked in. "You look in a very poor state, young man. A fight, I suppose?"
"Something like that," I grunted.
"Here, take a seat. Let me see."
I sat. He worked. Disinfectant stung, ointment cooled, bandages wrapped. He moved efficiently, clicking his tongue at the worst of it.
"They didn't miss you, did they?" He paused, looking at me seriously. "Do you want me to file a report?"
"No. It's fine."
"I have to, young man. They hit you in the face. Multiple times."
"I'm fine." I met his eyes, held them. "Please."
He sighed. Finished his work. Stood up. "Just get home and get some rest." He handed me a small bag with painkillers and instructions I barely heard.
"Thank you."
I dragged myself out of school, clutching my stomach with every step. It hurt worse than anything I'd felt before. Not just the pain—though that was bad enough—but the knowledge that someone had done this to me. That they'd kicked me there, hard, like I was nothing. Like my existence was an inconvenience they could just beat out of me.
I walked. Or hobbled. However you want to describe it.
I should go home. That was the logical thing. Rest, recover, figure out what to tell Visenya and Rhaenys about my face.
But going home like this... looking so pathetic... I couldn't. Not yet. The shame was too fresh, too raw. I needed time to compose myself before facing them.
I found a park a few blocks from school. Quiet, mostly empty. A bench under a tree, slightly hidden from the main path. Perfect.
I collapsed onto it, used my bag as a lumpy pillow, and closed my eyes.
Just for a while. Just until the pain faded enough to think straight.
The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves above me, dappling my face with warmth. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped. Kids laughed in the distance. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.
I lay there and tried to pretend I was anywhere else.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was already low in the sky.
"Fuck..." I groaned, pain lancing through my body as I pushed myself up.
I looked around in panic, but thankfully nobody had tried to rob me while I was out cold. I checked my phone.
6 PM.
What the actual fuck? I'd wanted to take a nap, not fall into a coma. My body ached everywhere—my stomach, my face, my head. I grabbed my water bottle and took several long gulps, then pressed my palm to my forehead. Throbbing headache. The kind that wasn't going away anytime soon.
Whatever. I needed to get home. Anxiety twisted in my gut thinking about Visenya and Rhaenys alone all this time. What had they done? Had they listened? Had they stayed put?
I caught the bus, got off at my stop, and hurried toward my apartment building as fast as my battered body could manage. The elevator groaned its way to my floor, and I walked down the hallway, keys already in hand.
I stopped in front of my door.
"What...?"
The door was slightly ajar. Broken pieces of wood lay on the floor around it—splintered frame, shattered lock. Like someone had kicked it in with force.
I pushed it open slowly, stepping over the debris. Inside, Visenya and Rhaenys stood there, looking down at something. Someone.
John.
On the ground. Motionless. Blood—some fresh, some dried—pooled beneath his head and stained the floor around him.
"Oh, you're here." Visenya glanced at me like nothing was wrong.
"What... what happened?" My voice came out hollow.
"He tried to enter. So I killed him." Visenya's arms were crossed, her expression utterly calm.
Rhaenys nodded, looking down at John with disdain. "A truly disgusting man. He deserved much worse, honestly."
I stared at John. At the blood. At the way his head was twisted at an unnatural angle.
Dead. He was dead.
"Why?" The word came out weak.
Visenya shot me a sharp look. "Why? He broke in. He was a threat."
"I told you..." My voice cracked. "I told you—you can't just kill people!"
"He came for you." Rhaenys's tone was softer but still matter-of-fact. "He was dangerous. You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" I laughed—a broken, hysterical sound. "You just killed someone! How am I supposed to explain this? How am I supposed to—"
I looked around the room. Signs of a struggle. Furniture knocked over. Blood spatter. And John's head—it looked like it had been slammed into the ground multiple times. This wasn't a clean kill. This was Visenya beating a man to death with her bare hands.
Legitimate self-defense? Maybe. But how would I explain any of this? The police would ask questions I couldn't answer. They'd find evidence of two other people living here. They'd dig into my life and find things I couldn't explain.
"I... I can't." My voice broke completely. "I really... can't..."
I covered my mouth, feeling like I might be sick. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
I'd been so stupid. So arrogant. Thinking I could handle this, handle them, out of some fanboy excitement. This was real. Death was real. And I was in way over my head.
"You are a spineless man." Visenya's voice dripped with contempt. Then she turned and walked out the door.
"Hey, sister!" Rhaenys glanced at me—something flickered in her eyes, pity maybe, or disappointment—and then she followed.
They left.
I didn't move. Didn't call after them. Just stood there, staring at John's body on my floor, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on me.
I don't want this. I can't handle this.
No one saw. No one knows. Maybe... maybe I can just... get rid of it.
The thought came from somewhere dark and desperate. I grabbed gloves from the kitchen—trembling hands fumbling with the box—and pulled them on. Knelt beside the body. Reached out.
I can do this. I just have to...
My hand hovered over John's shoulder.
Maybe I should just call the police. Say we got into a fight. Say I accidentally killed him. Self-defense. They might believe—
No. They'd ask questions. They'd investigate. They'd find evidence of Visenya and Rhaenys—hair, fibers, prints. They'd ask who else was here. I couldn't explain any of it.
Getting rid of the body was the only way. Bury it somewhere. John had no family, no friends from what I'd seen. No one would notice he was gone. Things could go back to normal. I could pretend this never happened.
My hand moved closer.
"Ughnnnn..."
I froze.
John's lips parted. A weak, rattling groan escaped them.
His eyes opened. Blurry, unfocused at first—then they found me. Narrowed in recognition. In rage.
"Y... you..." He tried to move. Tried to lift his head.
I moved before I could think.
My hand clamped over his mouth. Hard. His eyes went wide, panic replacing rage as he realized what was happening.
"Hmmmmmhh!!!"
He struggled. Weakly, but he struggled. His legs thrashed against the floor. His hands clawed weakly at my arm.
I grabbed him, pulled him up, wrapped my arm around his neck. Cut off his airway. Pressed my hand tighter over his mouth and nose.
He squirmed and trashed stronger.
I held on.
My whole body turned to stone—rigid, unfeeling. I stared at nothing, focused on nothing except the pressure of my arm around his throat and the muffled sounds of his dying struggles.
Slowly, the thrashing weakened. Slowed. Stopped.
I watched his legs. When they stopped moving entirely, I waited. Counted to thirty. Then I brought my trembling ear to his nose.
Nothing.
Pressed my fingers to his chest.
Nothing.
"….!!!!"
I let go immediately.
Crawled backward until my back hit the side of my bed.
I sat there, shaking from head to toe, and looked down at my hands. My gloved hands.
Red with blood.