In the interrogation room, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Later, the court declared me not guilty. With police officers escorting me, I walked out of the courthouse. In a quiet, unnoticed corner, I wiped away the tears at the corners of my eyes and let a faint, triumphant smile spread across my lips. “My name is Emily Stone, a student from Class 6 at Central High School.” “I was… in the same class as the deceased.” I sat up on the hospital bed, the IV drip still in my arm. I weakly took the water from an officer, wearing her police uniform, handed me, offering her a gentle smile. The officer sitting next to me nodded, trying to reassure me. “You don’t have to worry. Just try to recall all the details from that time.”
The one thing I could pride myself on was my looks. Whether it was older men or young boys on the cusp of adolescence, they were all creatures of the eye. It’s not hard to win the attention of a teenage boy. All it takes is a single glance, a casual touch, and a face that looks just innocent enough. With that, you could have him wrapped around your finger. For me, it’s effortless—being able to make others feel protective toward me comes naturally. But I never expected that these very traits I took pride in would one day bring me immense harm. That day, I found half of a torn note in my drawer. “After school, would you like to meet at the equipment room by the stadium? I have something I need to tell you.” When I saw the name at the bottom, I couldn’t help but scoff, tossing the note into the trash. I’d seen this kind of confession at least eight times before. And here came number nine. It was from Jason Lee, the guy everyone in class knew as the ultimate “sister complex” case. He was smart, and he kept his distance from everyone except his little sister. I didn’t expect someone like him—such a model student—to have any interest in early romance. But, no matter how perfect someone might seem, in the end, they were just another 17 or 18-year-old boy. I chuckled to myself. Honestly, I was curious about what he was going to say. “So, he invited you to the equipment room?” The officer paused, his pen hovering above the paper as he looked up at me. I gave him a reassuring smile in return. “Yes, officer.” “Alright, please continue.”
After school, I headed to the equipment room right on time. It was Friday, and by the time classes let out, the sky had already darkened. Most of the students and staff had left the campus, leaving the halls eerily quiet. I pushed open the door to the equipment room. The rusty hinges groaned in protest before the door swung open. Inside, it was dim and empty. I wasn’t in a hurry, though. I knew confessions were nerve-wracking, especially for someone as shy as Adam Blake. Strolling around the room, I noticed a cluttered shelf filled with old, dusty vases, all precariously stacked and out of order. With nothing better to do, I decided to kill some time by rearranging them. One by one, I lined them up, straightening out the mess. Suddenly, the door creaked again behind me, followed by a loud slam. I thought it was just the wind blowing the door shut, so I turned to open it again. Before I could move, a pair of hands grabbed me from behind. I froze, my body stiffening as I felt hot, ragged breaths against the back of my neck. He was panting, his voice shaky as he whispered my name over and over. His hands moved frantically, sliding under my shirt and groping at my bra. I felt my stomach churn with disgust. Humiliated and furious, I began to yell at him, twisting and struggling to get free. But he only held on tighter. His lips brushed against my neck, and his voice, trembling with emotion, murmured words of love into my ear. A cold shiver ran down my spine. My skin crawled. In that moment, I regretted everything—coming here, agreeing to his note, believing for even a second that a teenage boy could have any sense of control. He made me sick. I told him to stop, my voice sharp and firm, but my rejection only seemed to excite him more. To him, my “no” was some kind of game, a twisted form of encouragement. His breathing quickened, and I felt something hard pressing against me, grinding into me. Fear and anger surged through me, mingling into something wild and uncontrollable. You should know, when someone is consumed by rage, they can tap into strength they didn’t even know they had. Blinded by fury, I twisted my body sharply, breaking out of his grasp. With all the force I could muster, I shoved him backward. He stumbled, colliding with the shelf behind him. One of the vases teetered for a moment before crashing down directly onto his head. The sound of shattering ceramic filled the room, and a shard of the broken vase sliced into my shoulder, sending a sharp jolt of pain through me. His grip loosened, and his hands slipped away from my waist as his body crumpled to the floor. Clutching my bleeding shoulder, I stumbled toward the door, still trembling. When I pulled it open, the light from the hallway spilled into the dark room. That’s when I saw him lying there, motionless. Blood pooled beneath his head. He wasn’t breathing. He was dead. “That’s everything that happened,” I said softly, my fingers grazing the bandage on my shoulder as tears welled up in my eyes. Two drops slipped down my cheeks. “If I had known what kind of person he really was, I would’ve never agreed to meet him that day.” The air in the hospital room was heavy, suffocating. The officers standing around me exchanged silent glances, as if communicating through subtle nods and expressions. The lead detective finally stood, offering me a small, polite bow. “Thank you for your time. We’ll let you rest for now.” I gave him a faint smile. “Thank you, officer. Take care.” One by one, they filed out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. The room fell silent. Alone at last, the faint smile on my lips vanished. My eyes darkened, and the corners of my mouth curled into something colder, sharper. My tears were long gone. And in their place, a quiet, satisfied smile lingered.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, the nurse was standing beside me, swapping out my IV bag. “This is the last one for today. Once this is finished, you’ll be free to leave the hospital,” she said with a bright smile, running her hand through my messy hair. “You’re such a strong girl. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself from now on.” I purposely lowered my gaze and blinked slowly. “I will, thank you. You take care too.” I’ve always known how to make people feel sorry for me, no matter who they are. Sure enough, the nurse gave my cheek a gentle pinch, then stuffed all the candy from her pocket into my arms. After she left, I let out a wild, carefree smile. I’m an orphan—never had parents since birth. A few years ago, I gained a family, but they’ve all passed away now. Now, I’m the only one left. I didn’t expect anyone to come help me check out. I followed the nurse through the discharge process. Thankfully, nurses are sharp and took care of most of the paperwork for me. When it was time to leave, she looked at me with teary eyes and said, “Please promise me you’ll live your life to the fullest from now on.” I put on my best performance, crying in her arms, and then wiped away my tears as soon as I turned away. It’s all just for show.
Although the school advised me to take a couple of days off to recover, I decided to go home that same day. I have a lot of friends, or rather, a crowd of people around me who always seem to appear when I get back. As soon as I walked in, they gathered around, bombarding me with a million questions. Though it was annoying, I still put on my best social smile, responding to their insincere sympathy and gossiping curiosity. “Did you really kill that guy?” “Huh? You actually killed him? You sure you’re okay with that?” I lowered my eyes, pressing my lips into a thin line. One of the girls clicked her tongue in displeasure. “Can you not speak like that?” Seeing her reaction, the guy who had spoken quickly shut up, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t be mad, okay?” I shook my head, pretending to be strong. “I’m fine.” Immediately, they all started comforting me. “That guy deserved it, honestly. I’ve never liked him, and he had the nerve to do that to you…” The girl clicked her tongue again, and the guy instantly went silent. While we were surrounded by chatter and noise, there was a stark contrast over by where Nina Young sat. Through the gaps in the crowd, I spotted her in the corner, looking longingly at the scene, her fingers nervously clutching her pencil as it trembled slightly. When our eyes met, she froze for a moment, then quickly looked down, her hands fumbling with the pencil as she scribbled on her notebook. Nina Young—a classic introvert. She never spoke to anyone, had no friends, and was always glued to her brother. Whatever she did, it was always with him, side by side. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I already knew how things would play out.
Our class has a reputation for being a total mess. Everyone here feels like they’ve been eaten alive by termites, with darkness buried deep inside them—an inescapable, root-deep kind of rotten. In this class, we have our own unwritten social hierarchy. There are three groups of people. One group is made up of the so-called “good students,” led by the late Jason. To avoid trouble with the school, anyone looking for conflict will intentionally steer clear of this group. Then there’s my group, the troublemakers—the ones who like to form cliques and cause chaos. The last group consists of the average students—those who aren’t great at studying or making friends. They end up becoming the fertilizer that feeds the termites. Sure enough, it didn’t even take two days before their attention shifted to Nina. Before, they were a bit wary of her because of Jason. Out of respect for him, they kept their distance from her. But now that Jason is gone, Nina is like a lost sheep with no one to protect her. She’s just another toy for them to play with. They’ll wait for her to go to the bathroom during break and steal her seat. When she comes back, she won’t be able to find a place to sit and will have to stand through class. Or they’ll leave empty drink bottles on her desk, throw used tissues in her drawer, then laugh at her, watching her struggle. “Oh, is this your seat? I thought it was the trash can.” And of course, the others will burst into exaggerated laughter, as if they’ve just heard the funniest joke in the world. The teacher knows exactly what’s going on. She’s not blind—she sees Nina standing, sees the trash piled up on her desk. But all she does is glance at it and say nothing. I’ve said it before—everyone in this class is rotten, not just the students. I know the real reason they act with such impunity is not just because Nina lost her brother. Nina’s family situation is similar to mine—she only has her brother left. Now that her brother’s gone, the one person who could protect her is gone too. With no one to back her up, they can do whatever they want. I rest my chin on my hand, watching Nina awkwardly stand at the front of the class. Such a shame. She’s nothing like me. She doesn’t know how to hide her feelings.
I’ve always known how to make people love me. Anyone. I know how to make myself appear fragile and helpless, triggering pity in others. At the same time, I know how to disguise myself with expensive, high-end brands, crafting an image of someone from a wealthy family. A sheltered girl from a rich family—who would dare to mess with her? But Nina doesn’t know how to do that. Her dislike, her fear, her anxiety are all written on her face. The slightest sound or movement makes her jump, and that only excites the bullies even more. Just like now. A paper ball hits Nina in the head, then bounces off and rolls to the floor. I hear quiet snickers from around the room, but Nina just lowers her head, her ears turning red, silent and weak. Then another paper ball. Then another. It isn’t until the teacher finally intervenes, but not for Nina’s sake—just to restore order to the class. Nina’s eyes are red, on the verge of tears, but she doesn’t cry. sigh—poor girl.
The bell rang, and I was ready to leave. A group of people gathered around me, boasting about how they’d protect me while asking endless questions. It was getting annoying, but just as I stepped outside the school gate, a man suddenly stepped in front of me. I looked up, recognizing his familiar face, and gave a slight nod. “Hello, Officer.” He seemed a bit taken aback by my calmness, then nodded back, though still looking slightly surprised. “We have a few questions. Are you available to come with us for a bit?” I glanced at my friends, the ones who had been clamoring to protect me. Now they shrank back, nervously ducking their heads. I looked over at the officer behind him, a young female cop, who was watching me intently. Finally, I nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.” I followed them to the police station and was seated in a chair. The officer handed me a glass of water, and I checked the temperature by feeling the outside of the cup before handing it back. “Could I have it warm, please? Thank you.” The officer blinked for a second, then rushed off to get the warm water. The lead officer cleared his throat, and the younger officer stopped in his tracks. “Get the water after the questioning is done.”The interrogation began. The harsh fluorescent light beamed down on my face. I instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes, then slowly lowered it. The scene in front of me oddly reminded me of something straight out of a movie. My adrenaline spiked just a little. The officer spoke first. “I have to admit, I underestimated you, Miss.” He squinted slightly.
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