Elinor POV:

I was walking down the deserted hallway, heading towards the library, when I heard their voices. Astrid and Bryan. I paused at the corner, hidden by the lockers, my heart sinking.

"You really expect me to just hang out with you, Bryan, when your little mute is always hovering?" Astrid's voice was laced with annoyance, a sharp, grating sound. "She's like a shadow, a constant reminder of… everything."

"She's not hovering," Bryan mumbled, his voice tight. "She just... needs me."

"Oh, she needs you," Astrid scoffed. "She's a burden, Bryan. A dead weight. Always has been. Everyone knows it."

My blood ran cold. A burden. A dead weight. The words, whispered so casually, were like ice water poured directly onto my soul. I pushed away from the lockers, stepping into the open.

Before I could take another step, something coarse and rough was thrown over my head. A thick canvas bag, smelling of dust and mildew, enveloped me, plunging me into instant darkness. Panic flared, hot and sharp, but I clamped down on it. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

I was yanked forward, dragged roughly across the floor, my feet scraping against the tiles. The sound of a heavy door creaking open, then slamming shut, echoed around me. The air grew damp and heavy, smelling faintly of stale water and disinfectant. I was in a bathroom, probably the abandoned one in the school's old wing.

"Look at her," Astrid's voice, now clearer, sharper, filled the small space. She clearly thought I couldn't hear her. "Just standing there, pathetic as always. Doesn't she ever get tired of being a victim?"

She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "You know, Bryan thinks you're such a saint. So pure. But he hates that blank face of yours, Elinor. He told me. He hates that you never react, never cry. It' s boring, he said."

The words were a physical blow, a punch to the gut. Bryan. My Bryan. He hated my face? He hated my silence? The world tilted on its axis.

"You know what I think?" Astrid continued, her voice filled with a chilling venom. "I think you deserve everything bad that happens to you. You hogged Bryan for so long, made him feel guilty. I hope you burn, just like your parents did."

My eyes stung, a sharp, sudden pain. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, welled up and spilled down my face, wetting the inside of the rough bag. The memory of the fire, a gaping wound in my soul, ripped open anew. My parents. Their sacrifice. And Bryan, who had shared that secret, that trauma, had weaponized it. He had told Astrid. He had shared my deepest, most painful vulnerability with my tormentor.

A sharp crack. A jolt of agonizing pain shot up my leg. I tasted blood, metallic and acrid. A bone. It felt like a bone had just snapped. A choked whimper escaped my sealed lips.

Then, a sudden, shocking cold. Water, icy and foul-smelling, was poured over my head, soaking my clothes, plastering the canvas bag to my face. I gasped, choking on the stench.

My head was forced down, down into something wet and disgusting. The cold, putrid water of a toilet bowl filled my nose, my mouth. I thrashed, my broken leg screaming in protest, my lungs burning. My mind screamed Bryan! A desperate, primal cry for the protector who wasn't there.

Then, faint at first, I heard footsteps. Rapid, heavy footsteps outside the door. And then, Bryan' s voice, clear and loud through the thin door. "Astrid! What are you doing?"

A wave of hope, foolish and fleeting, surged through me. He was here. He would save me.

"Oh, nothing much, Benny-boo," Astrid cooed, her voice sickeningly sweet, as if she hadn't just tried to drown me. "Just having some fun."

"I told you to leave her alone!" Bryan's voice was sharp, a clear note of anger. But then he added, "I'll hang out with you tonight. I promise. Just don't make a scene now."

My hope evaporated, replaced by a crushing wave of despair. He was still playing her game. Still prioritizing her.

"Just don't make a scene, Astrid," Bryan repeated, his voice lower, more a warning than a command. "Don't take it too far."

Astrid laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. "Oh, Bryan, you're such a hypocrite. You know you love it when I push her buttons." Her voice was teasing, playful.

I felt, rather than saw, Bryan's gaze on me, a cold, indifferent weight. He looked at my struggling form, hidden by the bag, and did nothing. Just watched.

"Seriously, Astrid, don't get us into trouble," he said, his voice curt. "Her uncle is a high-ranking military officer. If this gets out, it's not going to be pretty for any of us." His concern wasn't for my well-being, but for the consequences, for his own skin.

Then, I heard a sickening thud, a soft wet sound, followed by Astrid' s giggle. My ears, still overwhelmed by the new sounds, registered the distinct sound of a kiss. A long, drawn-out kiss. And then, Astrid' s triumphant squeal.

"See?" she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "He always comes back to me."

Bryan pulled away, his footsteps heavy as he walked out, the door swinging shut with a soft click. He left me. He just left.

Astrid's voice floated back in through the door. "Make sure she's cleaned up before anyone finds her. Don't want to mess up Bryan's perfect image, now do we?" She laughed again, a chilling sound. "He's so torn, isn't he? Thinks he owes her, but he's so much happier with me."

"Yeah, whatever," a gruff voice replied. "The mute is a pain anyway. Always making Bryan look like her hero."

The footsteps faded. Silence fell, broken only by the steady drip of a leaky faucet somewhere nearby.

I slid down onto the cold, damp floor, my body aching, my broken leg throbbing. My hands, still trembling, fumbled for my phone. A new message. From Bryan. Sorry. See you at home.

Each word was a splinter, piercing my already shattered heart. My vision blurred. My eyelids grew heavy. The darkness, once a terror, now seemed like a welcoming embrace. My body gave out. I plunged into unconsciousness, the sounds of the world fading, replaced by the familiar, comforting void.

I was back in the fire. The heat, the smoke, the screams. My parents' faces, contorted with fear, but their eyes, fixed on Bryan, filled with a desperate resolve. Protect her, Bryan! The words echoed in my mind, a silent plea.

I promise, Elinor. I'll always protect you. Always. His voice, from a decade ago, was clear in my memory, a ghost of a vow.

He had promised. But promises, I realized, were just words, easily broken, easily discarded. He had broken his. And in doing so, he had broken me.

Elinor POV:

A cacophony of voices, sharp and angry, slowly pulled me back to consciousness. The world was a blur of sound, harsh and unwelcome. My head throbbed, my body ached, every muscle protesting. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was too bright. I could hear them, though. Bryan. His parents.

"I'm so sick of this, Mom!" Bryan's voice was tight, laced with a bitterness I' d never heard before. "Ten years! Ten years of playing the dutiful hero! Ten years of being tied to her, to her silence, to that guilt."

My heart squeezed, a painful vise. Guilt. That was it, wasn't it? Not love. Not care. Just guilt.

"I just want to live my own life, for once!" His voice cracked, filled with a raw, desperate yearning. "I wish... I wish I had died in that fire instead of her parents."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My heart stopped. My hands, hidden beneath the hospital sheets, clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, a desperate attempt to feel something, anything, other than the excruciating pain of his words.

"Bryan Knox! How could you say such a thing?" His mother' s voice was choked with tears, filled with a profound shock and sorrow. "After everything they did for you, after everything she's been through?"

"She can't even hear me anyway, Mom!" Bryan snapped, his voice laced with a cruel defiance. "It doesn't matter what I say! She's a burden! Always has been!"

A sharp crack. The unmistakable sound of a slap. "You ungrateful brat!" Bryan's father's voice, usually calm and composed, was now shaking with rage. "Don't you dare speak of Elinor like that! And what is this nonsense about Astrid Nolan? I told you to stay away from that troublemaker!"

"Astrid understands me!" Bryan snarled, a defiant edge to his voice. "She doesn't pity me, she doesn't treat me like some fragile porcelain doll. She's alive, she's exciting! She makes me feel something other than suffocated!"

This was their family. This was his home. A place I thought was safe, a place I had belonged for a decade. And I was hearing it all, every raw, brutal word. This was the first time I' d ever heard him argue with his parents, the first time I' d heard his true feelings, unfiltered and vicious.

He resented me. He hated me. He wished I had died.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. The cold, empty ache in my chest spread, consuming me. My heart, once a vibrant, beating thing, had shriveled and died. There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

The room fell silent, heavy with unspoken words, suffocating.

The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. Bryan' s parents were there, their faces drawn and tired. They talked about the investigation, about getting justice for me, but they didn' t mention Bryan. I didn' t mention him either. The silence between us was loud, a chasm that had opened up.

"We have to do something about Astrid," Bryan's mother insisted, her voice trembling. "We'll go to the school, the police. No one gets to hurt our Elinor like this." His father nodded grimly, his jaw clenched.

I shook my head, signing No. I took out my phone and typed: I'll handle it. My resolve was cold, hard, unyielding. I wouldn' t let them fight my battles, not when their son was the one who had started the war.

Astrid Nolan will pay. I vowed it in my heart, a searing promise.

A week passed. Bryan didn't come home. His bed remained unmade, his room silent, a stark contrast to the lively boy who usually filled the house with his presence. His parents grew increasingly worried, their faces etched with lines of sleepless nights.

"Elinor," Bryan's mother said one evening, her voice hesitant, almost pleading. "Could you... could you go find him? Please? He won't listen to us, but he'll listen to you." She looked at me with desperate, tear-filled eyes.

I stared at Bryan's name, etched on a framed photo on the mantelpiece, a picture of us as children, laughing, carefree. It felt like looking at a stranger.

I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. I nodded, a soft, deliberate agreement. I would go. But not for her. Not for him. For myself.

That Friday, after school, armed with an address his mother had reluctantly given me, I found him. He was in a grimy alley behind a bar, surrounded by a group of rough-looking kids, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging heavy in the air. Bryan, dressed in a crisp white shirt, stood out like a beacon amidst the darkness, a lost lamb among wolves. He looked out of place, uncomfortably cool, trying to fit in.

Our eyes met across the dim alley. His face, usually so composed, flushed a bright red. He quickly dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his heel. He started walking towards me, his steps hesitant, uncertain.

Elinor POV:

Bryan' s face was a mirror of his guilt – embarrassment, shame, and a flicker of defensiveness. He stopped a few feet from me, his hands shoved into his pockets. He couldn't meet my gaze.

I pretended not to notice. I stepped closer, reaching out to brush a speck of ash from his white shirt. My fingers trembled slightly, but I kept my movements steady, my face carefully blank. The touch was mechanical, devoid of any warmth.

I took out my phone and typed: Your mom is worried. She asked me to find you. I held it up for him to read.

His brows furrowed, a silent admission of his mother' s concern. Just then, a shrill voice cut through the air. "Benny-boo! Who's this? Your little mute watchdog again?" Astrid, her red hair wild, emerged from the smoky shadows, her eyes narrowed at me. "Still trying to cling on to him, Elinor? Pathetic."

I felt my hand instinctively reach for Bryan, my fingers closing around his arm. I typed furiously on my phone: Go home, Bryan. Please. Your parents need you. It was a desperate plea, a final test.

He looked from me to Astrid, his face caught between two worlds. His eyes pleaded with me. Elinor, please. Just go home. I'll be there later. His voice was low, filled with a frustration that felt like a punch.

He gently tried to pry my fingers from his arm, his touch still familiar, still capable of sending a shiver down my spine, but this time, it was a shiver of dread.

I pulled back, my hand dropping away from his as if he had burned me. I wouldn't let him offer me comfort he didn't mean. Not anymore.

He sighed, his eyes clouded with a sadness that felt performative. He didn't speak, didn't sign. He just stood there, caught.

My heart hardened. I took out my phone again, my thumbs flying across the screen. I don' t like Astrid. If you stay with her, I' m leaving. For good. It was the first truly harsh thing I had ever said to him, a declaration of war, delivered in stark black and white.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. He blinked, clearly taken aback by my bluntness. Elinor, don't be silly. Don't make a fuss. He signed, his hands moving quickly. You're always so good. Don't start acting out now. He patronized me, dismissed my feelings as childish theatrics.

Astrid's just... she's just a little wild sometimes. It's nothing serious. He was defending her, making excuses for her cruelty. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.

A hollow laugh escaped me, a silent, mocking sound. I pulled my hand from his, the last connection between us severed.

His hand fell, the sudden loss of my touch leaving a cold void in his palm, a hollow ache in his chest. He stood frozen, watching me.

"Bryan! Let's go!" Astrid whined from behind him, her voice demanding, impatient. "She's just trying to cause trouble!"

Bryan let out a roar of frustration, turning to snap at Astrid, the carefully constructed mask of composure finally cracking. "Shut up, Astrid!" he yelled. His outburst was sudden, violent, full of pent-up anger.

I walked to the waiting car, the door already open. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Bryan was still in the alley, Astrid clinging to his arm, her head buried in his shoulder, her body shaking with what looked like sobs. My lips curved into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. I win.

A few minutes later, the passenger door opened. Bryan slid in, the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.

"Take me home," he mumbled, his voice flat, defeated.

In the rearview mirror, Astrid was still standing there, stamping her foot, tears streaming down her face. She looked furious, thwarted.

Astrid's revenge was swift and brutal.

The next morning, my phone buzzed incessantly. The class group chat was exploding. Messages, pictures, videos-a torrent of digital filth. My stomach lurched. It was me. Pictures of me, half-dressed, in the bathroom. Videos of me being tormented. The images, distorted and blurry, still unmistakable, filled my screen. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. My body shook with a cold, desperate fear.

Bryan, sitting beside me in the car, leaned over, curious. What's wrong? he signed, his brow furrowed with concern.

I quickly pressed the lock button, shutting off the screen before he could see. I couldn't let him see. Not yet.

I forced a tight, artificial smile, shaking my head. Nothing. Just a group chat. My hands signed the words, my face a blank mask. We walked into school, side by side, a picture of normalcy, but inside, I was crumbling.

The whispers started immediately, a low, venomous hum. Eyes followed us, darting away when I met them. I pretended not to hear, not to see. I held my head high, my jaw tight, my gaze fixed straight ahead. But every whisper, every glance, was a knife twisting in my gut.

Bryan, oblivious at first, quickly picked up on the shift. He kept turning back, his face growing paler with each passing minute. He saw the looks, heard the hushed tones. His concern, once a performance, now seemed chillingly real.

As soon as we reached our classroom, Bryan stormed over to Astrid, grabbing her arm and pulling her out into the hallway. Their voices, muffled but heated, drifted back into the room.

Astrid was crying, loud, theatrical sobs. "It wasn't me! I swear! I would never!" she wailed, her denials ringing hollow. No one believed her. Not the students, not the teachers, and certainly not Bryan. He knew her too well.

Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, met mine across the room. They were filled with a raw, unadulterated hatred.

Later that day, it happened again. Astrid, along with her gang, cornered me in the girls' restroom. This time, there was no canvas bag, no pretense. Just raw, unbridled malice.