Page 3 of Wraith

Thorne chuckled, leaning casually against a bench. “She’s like a stray dog,” he said with a smirk. “Keeps coming back no matter how many times you kick her.”

My throat tightened as the others laughed, their amusement a cruel chorus that left me frozen in place.

“Let’s go,” Ciaran said, already turning his back on me. His tone was dismissive, like the conversation—and I—were nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

The group moved on, their laughter fading into the distance. I stood there for a moment, trembling from the effort of holding back tears. My heart ached, not just from their words but from the way Ciaran’s brief intervention had ignited a hope I knew better than to entertain.

I knew I should stop reaching for crumbs of kindness from Ciaran. But the bond pulled at me, relentless and undeniable. I couldn't stop myself from clinging to those brief moments when Ciaran almost seemed to care. It was pathetic, I knew. Childish, to keep wishing for fairy tale endings.

Maybe one day, I’d find the strength to walk away. But today wasn’t that day. The yearning in my soul drowned out all reason,tethering me to the people who despised me the most. I was trapped—bound by a cruel twist of fate. My only option was to endure, clinging to the fragile hope that someday, somehow, things would change.

My legs felt like lead as I pushed through the crowd toward my psychology class. Every step carried the weight of exhaustion and determination, the encounter earlier leaving me drained but unwilling to let them win. Normalcy was the only anchor I had left, and sticking to my routine felt like a lifeline in the chaos.

Sliding into a seat near the back of the crowded lecture hall, I barely registered the professor’s voice as she launched into a discussion about trauma and its effects on adolescent development.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

My mind drifted, unbidden, to my own wounds—the sting of rejection that seemed to follow me like a shadow, never healing, always aching. A familiar nausea churned in my stomach, the kind that came when emotions overwhelmed reason.

The faces around me blurred. The professor’s words became muffled static. My chest tightened, and I knew I couldn’t sit there a second longer.

Grabbing my things, I slipped out quietly, ignoring the curious glances from my classmates. The crisp air outside hit my face, sharp and cooling, easing the flush of humiliation that lingered like a brand on my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the cold bite at my cheeks as I tried to gather what was left of myself.

I found an empty bench near the edge of the quad and sank onto it, my bag slumping to the ground beside me. My hands twisted together in my lap as tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill. I felt so utterly alone, trapped in a life that offered no solace, no escape.

It was my fault really. For even being here. For letting my parents believe my scholarship here was some golden ticket. The scholarship covered tuition, that was all. And that was where the kindness stopped.

Most of the students living in the dorms were from wealthy families, and it showed. Designer clothes, casual mentions of trips to Aspen, vacations planned with carefree abandon. My own clothes were from red discount stores, and my meals consisted of whatever cheap food could be found at the student cafeteria.

But that was fine. Or it should have been. But the constant reminders were difficult to not let crush me. The crunch of shoes on gravel made me look up. Jenna, her auburn hair pulled into a loose braid, was walking toward me with a concerned expression.

“Hey,” she said, plopping down next to me without waiting for an invitation. “What happened?”

I hesitated, biting my lip. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she said firmly. “I saw Lucian grab your arm earlier. Assholes. All of them.”

A hollow laugh escaped me. “I don’t think they even see me as a person.”

“Well, that’s their problem,” Jenna snapped. “Not yours. Seriously, Lily, why do you even let them get to you? They’re not worth it.”

I shrugged, unable to find the words to explain the pull they had on me without spilling the truth. It wasn’t something I could ignore, no matter how much I wanted to.

Jenna sighed, her irritation softening into something gentler. “Look, I get it. They’re...intense. But you’re better than this. Better than them.”

I gave her a weak smile, appreciating the sentiment even if I didn’t entirely believe it.

“So, about that group project,” she said, clearly eager to change the subject. “We need to set up a meeting soon. I don’t want to leave it until the last minute.”

“Yeah,” I said, grateful for the distraction. “You’re right. We should probably email everyone tonight.”

“Good.” Jenna nodded decisively. “We’ll tackle this thing like pros. Show them what we’re made of.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and for a moment, I almost forgot about the earlier encounter. Almost. But when Lucian and his girlfriend strolled past the bench, their laughter ringing out, the ache in my chest returned with a vengeance.

Jenna followed my gaze, her expression hardening. “Ignore them,” she said, her voice firm. “They don’t matter.”

I nodded, trying to absorb some of her confidence. “Thanks, Jenna. For everything.”

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