Page 27 of Unspoken Truths

As I walk slower, I see that there are little signs to help direct me, making it easier for me to find Professor Richardson’s class. It’s a couple minutes before the next period starts, so I walk quickly across the hallway and through his door. It’s too much to expect for me to simply sit down without speaking to him.

I have shit luck today.

“Miss Thomas," he breathes, half standing as I flinch at the sound of my name. “I didn’t expect to see you today. Are you aware the administration is looking for you?”

“I may be hiding,” I rasp, my throat sore as I speak. I haven’t spoken in hours, the tears making me dehydrated, and I haven’t bothered to drink water either.

Self care took a back seat to preservation.

Professor Richardson looks at my rough appearance, nodding. I saw in the mirror how awful I look, but add to it the knowledge in his eyes, I feel shame that he knows about the article.

Does everyone think I wanted Colton, that I’m a homewrecker?It couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“For the record,” he says softly, “anyone with half a brain can see that the article is a manufactured narrative.”

Nodding wildly, I bite my tongue as my eyesight blurs with the threat of tears. I don’t want to cry anymore, not here where it’s viewed as weak, a representation of how I failed to protect myself.

“I know,” I whisper. It’s the only thing I can think of saying, because until this moment, I thought everyone would believe the article. It’s easier than questioning things.

“The administration is worried about you, and they want to find out who printed that article,” the professor continues. “The newspaper gets circulated to the entire school, not simply the high school.”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, remembering the little girl I saw earlier. “That’s just perfect.”

“It may mean that the newspaper gets canceled if we can’t find out who did this,” Professor Richardson explains. “Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

“A lot of people don’t like me,” I say softly. Talking is helping me to push myself through my tears of shame and frustration. “There’s a very long list that could be responsible.”

I refuse to point a finger at someone without proof, because it’s clear that the school is taking this seriously.

“Alright, I’ll harbor you until they find you, Miss Thomas,” Professor Richardson sighs. “Go grab a seat.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, finding a desk in the corner.

Students flood in, making sure they don’t piss off the professor because they spent too long talking outside of the room. He will close and lock the door on a whim if he can see you’re still yapping. The only reason I know this is because I overheard someone talking about it yesterday.

I haven’t been here to know the tea about all of the teachers, or all the important ins and outs of this school. While Liliana did help, there are some things I just have to learn for myself.

Jared walks into the classroom with a grin, his footsteps slowing as he sees me. Lowering my face to busy myself with organizing my iPad and keyboard, I ignore the fact that I don’t have my textbook with me and him. I just want to hide in my bubble for now.

Unfortunately, he can’t read the room, forcing the girl sitting next to me to switch seats with him.

“It’s a shame you prefer older men, little mouse,” he says, not knowing that Professor Richardson is glaring at him. “Did you beg for his cock, cry when he fucked you?”

God, he’s so damn cruel.My hands shake with anger, bile rising as I listen to him. My vision threatens to blacken as I listen to him, forcing me to ground myself the only way I know how. Digging my fingers into the cuts in my thigh, I savor the feeling of pain, forcing me to breathe. As long as I can keep the flow of oxygen moving in and out, I won’t pass out.

Even as panic and anxiety rides me hard, making me want to run and never stop.

“I bet you really like old men’s cock, don’t you?—”

“That will be enough of that!” Professor Richardson screams, picking up a book and slamming it onto his large desk.

Eyes wide, Jared turns to stare in surprise at him. “We were just having a friendly conversation, Professor,” he says. “The newspaper has to do its due diligence before it prints anything. Why wouldn’t I have questions after what they ran in this week’s paper?”

The innocence in his voice belies his words, and I’m slowly seeing a piece of the puzzle. I thought it was possible before, but I thought that Liliana was possibly working with the Kings. Her voice memo shows that not only is she not, but they definitely have it out for me.

Is my very existence that distasteful to them?

Jerking my fingers away from my thigh, I realize that I’ve opened a cut or two on my skin. The slow trickle of blood is sliding into the tops of my tights, which means I’m not yet making a mess.

---