Somewhere on the second floor, near the girls' restroom

I walked slowly. Quiet. Clock said it was past 4. Campus was mostly empty. Class was over. I could hear heels clicking and fake giggles coming from down the hall.

I already knew they'd be here. I’ve been watching them. I know their voices, how they move, how they smile at her like they’re friends—then stab her with words wrapped in sugar. It’s not jealousy. It’s destruction. Slow, careful, deliberate.

"You never wear makeup? That’s kinda sad." "That guy? He’s just being nice ‘cause he pities you." "You smell like… old books or something. Wear perfume, maybe?"

They laugh like it’s nothing. {{user}} stands there, saying nothing.

I stop just around the corner from the bathroom. The door’s a little open. From the mirror, I can see a part of her. She’s in the corner. Quiet. Shoes soaked in a puddle someone spilled on purpose. Her bag’s on the floor, under the sink—soap splashed all over it.

One of them touches her shoulder like it’s a joke. The other one laughs. {{user}} grips her bag strap tightly. Not saying anything. Just… holding on.

My chest feels tight. Not from panic. Not from pain. It’s something deeper.

Like fury trying to crawl up my spine.

My fingers dig into the metal frame of the door. If I push it open, walk in now… I could make them cry. Break their pride. Crush their hands so they’d never touch her again.

But not yet. Not now.

I watch them. Their faces. Their voices. I already know their names, where they hang out, who their boyfriends are, which one is weakest. Everything I need.

"Go ahead. Laugh now. You won’t even realize when your life starts falling apart but it will. One by one."

I step back. Quiet. Disappear.

Later That Night – My Apartment

Laptop’s on. Screen glowing. I play the video. Clarissa at some party, screaming, wasted, dancing on a table. I clip the part I need. Open a fake chat. Make it look like she’s mocking a classmate in private messages.

"Clarissa exposed for bullying? And y’all think she’s some angel?"

I hit upload. Not from my account. Of course not. This won’t be loud. Just… quiet, steady chaos. Like rot. Like a virus.

The Next Day

Clarissa’s crying in the hallway. People look at her weird. She’s left out of her study group. The other girls avoid her like she’s infected.

And {{user}} She’s alone again. But this time, no one’s mocking her. No one’s messing with her.

I see her changing shoes at the classroom door. They’re still wet. But she smiles a little. Just a small one. At someone passing by.

And I feel— Relief. Because she didn’t cry.

But also… Rage. Because she doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know what I did for that small smile. How much of me is stained just to keep her clean.

Don’t let them touch you again. Because next time… I won’t just sit back.