It’s great fun when a short story you write ends up becoming a huge behemoth of a story. Given I’m still uploading Toymaker on my FictionPress and Wattpad (those being scattered.wind and kyndaris, respectively), though, it does seem appropriate to provide some relief through completely different stakes and characters.

That said, I’ve been writing up a whole new fantasy story (rather than the continuation of Lacet and Idana’s adventures – even though I do have the beginning chapter in my head). Of course, whether this new fantasy story will grace FictionPress or Wattpad is something I’m still tossing up.

After all, isn’t it everyone’s dream to seek publication?

Time will tell if my writing abilities will get to that stage. In the meantime, enjoy the conclusion of Whole Again. Even as I try to finish Tears of the Kingdom within a reasonable timeframe.

---

Staring at my blank Word document, I tried once more to conjure up the words I needed to put down in order to start the essay I would need to hand in for my social studies class. Try as I might, though, I was unable to summon an iota of creativity for my literature review on Consent Culture on College Campus.

What made it worse was the fact the paper was due tomorrow.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was wrong with me?

By now I’d usually be going through my fifth edit focusing on any misspellings or issues with tense.

Yet, somehow, time had slipped through my grasp.

And the pressure to be the excellent student I was only made my writing block worse.

Unable to face the white document in front of me, I closed my eyes and tried to reorder my thoughts into something cohesive. My fingers reached out on the keyboard, typing out word after word until I finished my first sentence. There, I stopped, pondering my next sentence even as I fought the urge to open my eyes to read what I had put down.

I knew rereading it now would only send me plummeting down into despair and I’d delete all the progress I made so far.

As the minutes ticked by, I continued in this fashion and slowly cobbled together a Frankenstein-like version of what my essay ought to be like. The only time I glanced at what I’d written was to insert references but I’d managed to tamp down on the impulse to immediately rewrite what I’d put down because it didn’t read perfect.

Sonia found me just before dinner, tapping away at my computer. It was only when the door closed behind her and when she dropped her duffle bag on the ground that I turned around, the hairs on the back of my head standing to attention at being caught unawares.

“Hey, Patsy. How you doing?” she asked, taking out her earbuds and pausing her Spotify playlist.

“Fine,” I replied, a little too tersely.

Sonia seemed to reel back from an invisible blow before heading to her side of the room. She sat down on her bed. “What are you up to?”

“Just trying to finish this essay.”

“And, how are you doing?” she asked before hastily adding, “I don’t mean to pry, of course, and you don’t have to say anything if it makes you uncomfortable. You’ve just looked stressed these last few weeks. Is it Professor Langley again?”

I debated for a moment whether or not to tell her.

Sonia had always been there for me ever since we had first met as roommates.

But whereas others couldn’t have cared less about the person they were sharing a room with, Sonia and I had become friends. Some might even say ‘good’ friends.

Didn’t she deserve the truth? Or, at least, some version of it?

After all, what if I had another blackout?

And, if I was being completely honest with myself, I found it easier to talk to Sonia than with Evie or Naomi. We had only ever met during that first fateful day of college. She didn’t know I was the purported Queen Bee of my high school or the nerdy girl back in elementary and middle school.

In the end, I told Sonia everything. The words spilled forth with minimal prompting. As if I needed the outlet she offered.

By the time I finished, Sonia looked me dead in the eye. “I think you might need help,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “My mom’s a psychiatrist. If you don’t want to go to her, I’m sure she’ll know someone who’ll be a better fit. But, if I’m being completely honest, it sounds like there’s a lot of stuff you need to unpack. Especially if you want answers.”

There was a moment’s pause as I tried to digest what Sonia was trying to say.

“What if I’m scared?”

Sonia grabbed my right hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be there with you, Patricia. Every step of the way.”

My name on her lips shouldn’t have sent a thrill down my spine. But it did.

What’s more, her offer was so tantalising, I couldn’t help but reach out and grab it.

I had thought, before, that only Amelia held all the answers. But maybe, just maybe, I could find it elsewhere. And not damn my soul any further by trying to make a deal with the devil on their terms.

~

My first talk with the psychiatrist Sonia’s mom picked out for me went well.

While they didn’t immediately present me with a diagnosis of a mental health disorder, they’d been sympathetic of my plight and had identified several behaviours they wanted to explore in further sessions such as my penchant for loneliness and the overwhelming feeling I had of being out of touch with others. Especially when it came to all the different personas I’d adopted when interacting with friends, family and other students.

Of my blackouts, Dr Nora – for that was how she liked to be called – had said little. Though she understood it was a concern wanted desperately to fix, she had wanted to tease out any underlying issues that might be triggering the dissociative episodes.

When I pressed her, she had posited the cause might have been stress.

It was an answer I didn’t much like, though I accepted it.

The second session, though, was rough. I’d come away from it feeling sad and miserable and worthless.

Dr Nora had dug deep. Questioning my feelings of insecurity and why I felt the need to prove myself during my time at Seven Oaks. And as she sought to plumb the depths of my psyche, she touched upon the fourth persona resting deep within.

Against my better judgement, I lashed out at her.

Like a sleeping dragon rudely prodded awake, my raw fury came bursting to the surface. And while I did not blackout, I did say a few things I deeply regretted when I returned to my shared dormitory room with Sonia.

“Hey, Patricia. How are you feeling?” asked Sonia, coming in late after her dinner date with a Logan Davis – a frat boy who shared one of her classes. According to Sonia, they had ‘grown close-ish’ after a group project and he had asked her out.

Logan Davis, of course, was a good-looking athletic boy with a way with women. And he knew it too. Especially in the way he tossed around his long golden locks as he carried his basketball around with him all through campus.

Back at Seven Oaks High, Trish would have set her eyes on him too. But Patsy was a different creature altogether.

And it had sat uncomfortably with me to know Sonia was out with Mr Playboy Logan Davis instead of hanging out with me in our shared lodgings.

“Crummy,” I replied, barely looking up from my game of Honkai: Star Rail. I went in to pull on a banner with one of my favourite characters, only to get Topaz – a character I cared little for and who I had plenty of. “Damnit!”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know…pulled another useless Topaz when I wanted Seele or Ruan Mei instead. Hate how busted the gacha system is.”

Sonia chuckled. “You said it. So, I take it you’ve finished the last few assignments then for class?”

“What? Oh. Yes,” I said, checking the daily mission for today. “It wasn’t my best work but I’ve decided I no longer care what Professor Langley’s opinions.”

“Not afraid it’ll pull down your grade average?” teased Sonia.

I huffed. “Not one bit. I’ll make it up with something else.”

“And how’d the session with Dr Nora go? Any closer to figuring out why you’re having blackouts? Or, as they would say, ‘dissociative episodes?’”

“It was fine. And no. We didn’t go into that kind of stuff,” I said.

“Well, do you think Dr Nora is a good fit for you?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” I closed the game, not feeling very compelled to continue gaming. “Look, I’m tired. If it’s all right with you, I’ll turn in for bed?”

“What? Oh. Sure.”

“Thanks, Sonia. I hope the date with Logan went okay.”

Sonia looked askance, rubbing her upper left arm. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“That’s great!” I said, trying to infuse my voice with excitement even as my gut churned with disappointment. “Well, good night.”

~

The end of the semester saw me return home.

Although I continued with my sessions with Dr Nora, it felt like any progress I had made had stalled. Despite my attempts to figure out ways to stop the blackouts, Dr Nora wanted to focus on my middle school years and the bullying I’d gone through.

“I know it’s a touchy subject, Patricia, but if you work with me instead of against me, this wouldn’t be so hard,” she would say as I lay on her couch, staring up at the patterned ceiling.

But middle school was something I never wanted to relive.

There had been so many moments when I’d stood on the precipice of a yawning chasm of darkness, wishing to end it all because I couldn’t deal with the relentless teasing about my appearance and the hobbies I’d loved.

I’d vowed, after graduation, that I would no longer be the victim, hating the person I saw in the mirror.

And so, during the summer, I’d focused on losing weight and scoured the internet for tips on how best to apply make-up to hide away any blemishes. I read up on how to be the ‘It’ girl at school because I saw it as my only way to escape the Hell of being the social outcast. Heck, I even created multiple social media accounts to curate the image I wanted to project.

All of this, I told Dr Nora as I kept my voice neutral and detached.

She didn’t need to know of the day I’d tried to overdose, only to be interrupted by mom and dad coming back early because the event they had been going to had been cancelled because of heavy rain. Nor did she need to know how I’d taken to self-harming when I’d confessed to a boy in my maths class.

I still remembered the look of disgust he wore as he studied me from head to toe – from my limp brown hair to the round glasses I wore on my already moon-shaped face, down to the unappealing braces and finally over my overweight form because of the sedentary lifestyle I led. But what had made it infinitely worse had been what he had called me after class, when he asked to meet underneath the bleachers.

No. There was no point in dredging up the pains of the past. Not when I was looking forward to the future.

And if Dr Nora couldn’t help explain the blackouts I was having, then I’d have to find it elsewhere.

Except, Amelia had refused to see me too.

I’d gone to visit her at the prison and had waited for half an hour in the visitor’s section before a guard informed me there had been an incident and Amelia had to cancel.

Two hours, wasted.

My phone pinged, pulling me from my thoughts. I grabbed it from where it was sitting on my desk and glanced at the screen, eager for a distraction.

Mom: Dinner’s ready. Head down when you’re hungry. While your dad is eying the beef casserole like a starving tiger, we won’t start without you.

It pinged again even as I was reading.

Mom: If there’s anything on your mind, I’m all ears. Just know that we love you Pat.

Reading her message, I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes.  Ever since I’d been briefly hospitalised following my ‘episode’, mom and dad had been worried sick. They’d even asked if I wouldn’t prefer living at home and commute to campus instead of staying at the dormitory.

I refused, of course.

After all, I was an adult and could make my own decisions. Not to mention all the responsibilities I’d picked up for volunteering for several student organisations campaigning against climate change and other social political movements.

If I lived at home, I wouldn’t be able to pour my all into those projects. Especially with mom watching over me like a hawk.

Besides, I was seeing Dr Nora, wasn’t I?

It was a step in the right direction and surely, it had to count for something.

I glanced again at my phone and the message mom had sent me.

With a sigh, I uncurled from my beanie bag, pocketed my phone and opened the door to my room. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, I headed down the stairs.

Dinner wouldn’t be so bad. Mom would offer up the latest community gossip. But dad would probably dominate the conversation about his day at work.

As I turned the corner into the dining room, dad beamed at me. “There she is!” he said. “It’s your second day into summer vacation, Pat, but all we’ve seen you do is loaf around at home. What’s been going on?”

“I’ve just been busy,” I said with a shrug. “You know how it is. Study, study, study.”

Dad exchanged a glance with mom before he turned back at me. “Oh, come now Pat. We all know that’s not true. I’m sure Naomi and Evangeline would have invited you out. The three of you were as thick as thieves in school. Especially after that nasty business with the crazy girl. What’s her name again?”

“Amelia?”

“Yes. Her! And they’ve been calling in on us after what happened last month, asking how you’ve been.”

“They have?”

Dad nodded, thumping the table. “Well, they’re your friends, sweetie. Especially the brunette with the blonde highlights. Naomi, I think? She’s always looked very concerned when she’s come over. Talks to your mom more than she does me.”

“Such a sweet girl,” said mom as she plopped down the beef casserole into the centre of the table. “But enough talk. I’ve slaved over this for almost the entire afternoon. So, I hope you appreciate what I’ve made.”

“Always,” answered dad as he dug in.

Dinner passed without further intrusive questions from dad. Instead, he complained long and loud about the commute to and from work. Mom nodded along as she added another spoonful of mash potatoes to his plate.

I, on the other hand, played with the peas and poked at the carrots.

My appetite had fled from me after my last session with Dr Nora and I was dreading the next one.

I was starting to think she might not be the psychiatrist for me and I would need to start looking elsewhere. We had already gone through four sessions and I still remained an anxious mess without a formal diagnosis. Nor had I been prescribed the one thing I wanted: a cure for all my troubles.

And now she was wasting my time by trying to delve into my past.

Something I didn’t want to do.

But it wasn’t something I could easily break to mom and dad considering they were the ones footing the bill.

Finally, as mom brought out the dessert, dad looked me right in the eye and said, “I’ve been holding off on this for a while, kiddo, but between you and me, I don’t think it’s been good for you to treat you like you’d break apart at any moment. You’ve been plenty resilient considering everything, so I’ll come and say it. What’s been eating you, Pat?”

I blinked up at him, like a deer caught in headlights and struggled for words.

“Don’t look at me like that, Pat. I know you. And you’ve barely touched dinner. Is Dr Nora not working out for you? We can find someone else. My insurance can pay. Or is it something else? Boy trouble? We all know college campuses are cesspools filled with the dregs of the male population. If someone has t—”

“What? No! This isn’t about a boy. God, dad.”

He shrugged. “Well, if you aren’t going to tell me anything, I’m liable to jump to my own conclusions. You do know you can come to us for anything, right Pat? Your mom and I, we aren’t going to judge you. If there’s—”

Before he could finish, mom came back with dessert. A rich tiramisu Swiss roll cake. She gently placed it between me and dad before disappearing into the kitchen again to retrieve a few more plates and cutlery.

“Dig in,” she said after carefully cutting the cake into equal portions.

I accepted my plate, picked up a fresh fork and then stared at the hefty serving I’d been given. It was too much. Especially given how my stomach was still roiling with unease and guilt and shame and a million other overwhelming emotions.

After a moment, I put the fork back down, looked up at mom and then dad. Taking a breath, I plucked up my courage and opened my mouth.

There were so many things I wanted to tell them and to seek the reassurances I so desperately craved.

But try as I might, the words got stuck in my throat and I found I couldn’t get anything out. Mom and dad exchanged another knowing look but they didn’t press me.

Cheeks flushing red, I lowered my gaze back to the Swiss roll cake before me, mumbled something under my breath about not being hungry and fled to the safety of my room where I curled up into a ball and finally let the tears flow.

~

“So, tell me, Patricia, what are you most scared of?”

“Cockroaches,” I answered automatically, staring once again up at the checkered pattern on the ceiling. “And spiders. Oh, and I guess you could say I’m also terrified of flying. We’ve only ever gone on three overseas trips and each time was a nightmare.”

Dr Nora smiled politely. “All very common fears, Patricia. But that wasn’t what I was asking.”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned back into wing tip armchair. “I think you already know.”

Thinking over what we had discussed during our fifth session, I did have an inkling at what she meant. But I was loathe to give Dr Nora what she wanted.

Yes, I knew she was here to help me. But I couldn’t divest myself of the feeling that, in Dr Nora’s eyes, I was nothing but a test specimen. She would try to push one of my buttons and then record my reaction.

It was so clinical, so detached. And I hated it.

All I wanted was to be seen for who I was.

But even here, as I lounged on the therapist couch, I was projecting an image. It was imperfect, true, but I dared not let Dr Nora see the entire truth.

As the thought swirled in my head, I had to wonder why I felt compelled to continue pretending. Why was it that in a supposed ‘safe’ space, I still felt the need to pretend?

Was it because I was frightened of people seeing who I truly was and judging me? It had already happened once back in middle school and I’d been thoroughly rejected by the boy who had held my affections then.

But I had also moved on from the girl I was, ever growing and changing from a wide range of lived experiences.

I couldn’t return to the Patricia Taylor Morez I had been. But I also wasn’t just Pat, Patsy, Trish or Tricia.

So, who was I? Really?

“Patricia?” Dr Nora’s warm hand on my shoulder pulled me back to the room. “Are you okay?”

I blinked up at her dumbly. “What? Oh. I’m fine. Just have a headache.”

Dr Nora pursed her lips. “Although we do have another fifteen minutes, let’s end this session here, yes?”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. I swung my legs down and rose to my feet. As I headed to the door, I stopped and turned to face Dr Nora just as she was straightening her notes. “Um, I don’t mean to push you but this has been our fifth session and you still haven’t told me what’s wrong with me. Or why I’ve been having these ‘dissociative’ episodes.”

A placating smile made its way to Dr Nora’s face. “I understand that it’s been a frustrating experience all around. To be honest, I could give you a diagnosis right now and write up a prescription to make you feel better, but it still won’t address the underlying issues you’re facing.”

“But it’ll stop me from having blackouts?”

“It might,” answered Dr Nora after a moment’s hesitation. “Or it might not. I believe the dissociative episodes are a symptom of something else. Unfortunately, I cannot help you if you don’t cooperate, Patricia.”

“What? By answering your insipid questions?”

Dr Nora shook her head. “I have had patients just like you in the past. And who never got better because they clung to the illusion everything was fine because they hadn’t gone on a murderous rampage. Don’t be like them, Patricia. You have so much more in your life to live. Don’t throw it away.”

Though anger and frustration had fuelled my initial outburst, it had wavered in the face of the sincerity I saw on Dr Nora’s face and the truth in her words.

“I…I’ll think on it. Should I make my follow-up booking with your receptionist?”

“That would be great, Patricia. And, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to think about the questions I asked you today. I know you don’t want to dredge up old wounds from your past, but I truly believe there’s a lot we can unpack. But only if you’re willing. Just remember: this is a safe space. I won’t judge you here. And no-one will know what we’ve discussed.”

I stepped past the threshold. “Thank you.”

~

Sat in front of my laptop, I skimmed the slim selection of movies on Netflix. I wanted something funny or dumb, where I could shut my brain off for an hour or two and not think about my latest session with Dr Nora.

My skin tingled with something horrid. Like ants were crawling all over my skin. And there was a dark nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Something was coming just over the horizon.

I didn’t know what it was but I feared what would happen when it did arrive.

It was easier to distract myself instead with something mindless.

Something like…was that Riverdale? Yes, there it was, sitting amongst a slew of promoted shows right under the selection of movies Netflix was trying to promote to me.

While I’d watched the first season years ago, I’d stopped when the plot lines began to feel flat and ridiculous. So, roughly around the third season. But, Hell, why not go back? Evie had loved the show. It, along with Emily in Paris and Bridgerton were in her top five shows of all time. Naomi, too, had watched all seven seasons though her opinion of the show was less favourable.

Hell, even Sonia had been suckered in. I remembered coming back to our shared dormitory and her mowing through a bucket of popcorn as she watched the series finale. When the credits had rolled, she had howled, throwing popcorn at the screen.

At the time, I hadn’t been sure if she had loved what the writers had done or hated it.

But it didn’t matter if the ending was good or bad. What mattered was that it would distract me for a few good hours. I could focus instead on the lives of Archie, Betty, Veronica and Jughead.

My phone pinged as I was about halfway through the third episode of the fourth season. I grabbed it and glanced down to read the notification.

An unknown number had sent me an attachment.

Without thinking, I clicked it open and was immediately bombarded by loud raised voices. Some that sounded familiar.

I glanced away from the TV to my phone and watched the scene unfold before my eyes. It had been taken in portrait mode on a bystander’s camera. The neon flashing lights told me it was the nightclub Naomi, Evie, Sanchez and I had visited not too long ago.

And standing in the centre, growling like a feral animal was me. My fingers were curled into beastlike claws as I tried to take a swipe at Sanchez, spitting out words of venom I would never have thought to utter.

Sanchez tried to catch hold of my arms but I was too swift, lashing out with a kick that caught him in the chest. He stumbled back, surprised but not winded. It had only been a glancing blow.

To my left, Naomi tried to edge behind me.

The video ended when Naomi grabbed hold of my waist and I was about to elbow her in the head.

My phone pinged again.

                Unknown: like wat u c? plenty where that came from.

Unknown: if u dont want this everywhere on the internet, and ur reputation ruined, u’ll meet me at Tanya’s. 6pm. Friday. C u there, Patricia.

What. In. The. Fucking. Hell?

~

I entered the small diner on the corner of 3^rd and Olive Street, affectionately called Tanya’s at five minutes to 6. Glancing around, I didn’t spot anyone I recognised before choosing to sit in a booth facing the entrance as I waited for the mysterious texter.

Wearing an oversized hoodie and black jeans, I tried to remain inconspicuous. My hands remained in my pockets, fingering my phone.

For two days, I’d debated whether or not to reveal to mom and dad I’d been contacted out of the blue by someone hoping to blackmail me. But the idea of giving them additional stress dissuaded me from telling them anything. They already knew something was not quite right.

But I also knew I couldn’t face this unknown texter by myself. So, I turned to Naomi.

The two of us had concocted a plan to ensure my safety.

And it was reassuring to know Naomi was nearby and only a call away.

Whoever this mystery texter was, we’d put a stop to them. I didn’t need all the additional stress associated with it all. After all, I’d already paid my dues. I was working hard to make myself better and to build up a good and proper life. Didn’t I deserve happiness?

When the bell atop the door tinkled, I looked up from the shiny black table just as someone slid into the seat opposite me. She looked familiar, although I couldn’t quite place the blonde hair and upturned nose. Her eyes were lined with mascara and there were bags under her eyes. Unlike me, she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse and a green plaid skirt that reached her knees. Her hair was kept in a neat bun.

But it was the scar just behind her ear that drew my attention. Something about it seemed familiar. Like I’d seen something like it not too long ago.

“Patricia, I assume?”

“Whose asking?”

The girl opposite me flashed a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She leaned forward.

“I always found it weird she chose you.”

Anger flared in my chest. “Look, I don’t know who you are and I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re my mystery texter, all I ask is that you delete the video of me in the nightclub. I can pay.”

“See. You’re so focused on maintaining the image you have to others. Amelia taught me that such things are superficial and don’t matter in the long run. But when I showed her the video of you when I visited her, there was an excitement in her eyes. Why do you always get preferential treatment and not me?”

I jolted at the mention of Amelia’s name.

Who the fuck was this woman sitting across from me? And what did she know?

“I was her first, you know,” she continued. “Friend, that is. Before she went to Seven Oaks. If it hadn’t been for that incident, she would have stayed with me. But it was my fault. I angered her out of misplaced envy. Dan says she was always volatile. He’s convinced she’s a menace. Even took me to the parole hearing and everything so I’d testify against her.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The flash of realisation struck me like a bolt of lightning. Of course it was Professor Langley’s bloody cousin!

Something must have flashed across my face because the girl leaned back and reached for something in her purse. “Connected the dots, have you?”

“Maybe,” I answered. “What I don’t understand is why you’re acting like some jilted lover. The way Professor Langley told it, she was a monster who got into your head. And who led you down a dark path. He didn’t go into any exact details but wearing long sleeves in the summer? Doesn’t take too great a leap.”

The girl’s brow furrowed, accompanied by a deep-seated frown. “Dan never understood. He, too, was always beholden to societal expectations. And of how we were perceived by the public.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked up at me, blue eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t pretend, Patricia. It’s below you,” snarled the girl as she fingered her purse.

I glanced around, wondering if there was someone nearby but the sole waitress was at another table and taking their order. Could I perhaps call out? But no. Doing so would only paint a target on my back. And the girl before me seemed volatile. Just like Amelia had been when we had met underneath the bleachers.

One wrong move and there was no telling what Professor Langley’s cousin would do. I couldn’t afford to have her leak the video of me onto the internet. But I also had no means to ascertain if she had it all on her person.

What I needed to do was buy time.

Taking a deep breath, I hid my shaking hands and licked my suddenly dry lips. “If you’re so free from the weight of social judgement, why did you go to the parole hearing? Why not refuse?”

Something flitted across the girl’s face. Had it been doubt? Or was it something else?

Before I could try to figure out, the girl’s eyes hardened into steel flints. “I know what you’re doing, Patricia. It won’t work. Amelia always said you were a wily one, easily slipping on masks as needed to keep your precious image going. Even now. After she revealed the truth to you. That’s why I knew if I threatened to publish the video, you’d come.”

A few eyes turned towards our table at the girl’s raised voice.

“Shh. Keep quiet won’t you?” I said, looking around at the other patrons, wondering if anyone had heard. And fearing what they might say.

But the girl would not be dissuaded. She spoke, her voice even louder. “It’s disgusting how you grovel and submit to others simply to keep pretending. Do you even know who the true Patricia is anymore?”

Although the girl before me was a passing stranger, her words managed to find their target. I reeled from the blows.

Hadn’t I asked myself that exact same question when I was at Dr Nora’s?

Who was I?

Amelia would have said to cast aside the masks I’d built up and find the core of my very being. But in my session with Dr Nora, the only thing I’d uncovered was a person with an intense fury and hatred of those around her. The fear of being bullied, the resolve to be more than a nerd, and the fixation on past wrongs, had coalesced into something monstrous and unfathomable.

I didn’t want to be that person.

It wasn’t who I was.

And yet, I couldn’t say with certainty I was Patsy or Tricia or PattieNeko either. They were all facets of who I was with certain elements heightened depending on the people I was interacting with, but I had worn each mask for so long, the way I naturally slipped into each role didn’t seem as fake as I might have once thought.

There was no artifice to how I interacted with Naomi and Evie. They were my friends. And I was authentic with them, to an extent. Similarly, I did enjoy studying. Patsy wasn’t just a means to an end. She was a version of me, heightened though it was, who cared about social injustices and who wanted to take a stand against the downtrodden.

None of them were me and yet, all of them were.

I wasn’t just one thing. I was many.

People were multifaceted. No-one was simply a caricature or a trope made flesh.

And yet, everyone had tried to pigeonhole me. Even myself.

Amelia was no different.

Knowing all this, I realised how little power the girl who had terrorised me nine months back truly had. Despite everything, she had simply been a cunning manipulator. To what end, I couldn’t say.

“You’re wrong about me,” I whispered to Professor Langley’s cousin. “I know exactly who I am. The real question is: do you?”

The girl’s cheeks flushed red. She puffed out her chest. “You fucking dare? I—”

“What’ll it be?” interrupted the waitress. She looked at Professor Langley’s cousin and then at me before arching a brow in question.

I hastily snatched up the menu. “Could I get a juice, please? And, um, a beef burger. With fries.” I handed the menu back to the waitress. “Thank you.”

“What about you?” she asked, turning to the girl. “Did you want anything to drink? How about some food?”

Crossing her arms, the girl sullenly gave her order. The waitress jotted it down, repeated our orders to confirm she had it down right and then headed languidly back to the counter to put in our orders.

Professor Langley’s cousin turned back to me but I beat her to the punch. “You said earlier that Amelia told you I was a ‘wily one.’ Considering that wouldn’t have happened if she was still attending school, I’m assuming you’ve visited her ever since her arrest and sentencing.”

“So what if I do? It doesn’t change anything.”

I shrugged, trying to play my comment off as nonchalantly as possible. “Not really. Just an observation. But I do have to wonder if your family knows. How would they react if they knew you only attended the hearing because Amelia asked you to? I don’t think Professor Langley – sorry, Dan – would approve.”

Across from me, the girl’s face paled, eyes widening. Her mouth dropped open, closed, then opened again, making her look like a fish.

I continued to press my attack. “Although, let’s be honest, we both know the real reason you’re here is because you’re jealous. Amelia gives me all the attention and you, the scraps. And look, I don’t know what your relationship with Amelia was before everything that happened at your old school. Nor do I want to know. But Amelia? She’s played us both.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not afraid to admit that I was drawn to her back in Seven Oaks. And even after she tried to kill me, I wanted to understand why. So, I visited her while she was held in detention. Falling into her trap. Just like you.”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

“There was a time I thought Amelia was my salvation. That she held all the answers I needed to finally understand who I was because it was just so hard to keep up the pretence of all the masks I wore in high school just to fit in and be popular. Near the end, before she’d transferred to Seven Oaks High, I’d been running on fumes. But then she appeared and was able to authentically insert herself into any group. It was a freedom I’d only ever dreamed of. So, I did what any petty high schooler would do. I tried to sabotage her.”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore!”

I stared long and hard at Professor Langley’s cousin. Her hands were tightly gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white. But I couldn’t just let it end here. I needed to keep going. Put it all out there even though everything inside me told me I ought to listen to Professor Langley’s cousin.

The point was made, after all.

But it was almost like a compulsion to keep talking; to keep tightening the screw and show the girl before me the whole ugly truth.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged forward. “In the end, I pushed her over the edge. Well, at least I thought I did. After all, in my attempts to think up ways to sabotage her, I’d befriended her and showed her sides of me I’d kept hidden from everyone else. It was something she’d always encouraged. To show everyone my authentic self instead of hiding behind the personas I’d created. Even in detention, she wanted to see the ‘real’ me.”

“Not another word,” warned the girl.

“But I’ve come to realise now, it’s not the ‘real’ me she wanted.” I licked my lips. “What she wanted was a clone of her. Someone who is damaged, isolated from friends and family. More importantly, though, they need to be blinded by rage and hatred and trauma. It’s not too late to step back, though. I can help—”

I stopped as Professor Langley’s cousin drew out a small pistol and pointed the barrel straight between my eyes. Though her voice shook, her hand remained steady. “I fucking warned you.”

“You don’t want to do this,” I said, trying to remain calm. “We’re in a public space. There are witnesses. Just put the gun down, Langley. We can talk about this.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Well, excuse me for not knowing your name,” I said with false bravado. Surely the gun was fake. Right? Professor Langley’s cousin wasn’t that insane, was she? “Amelia never mentioned you and Professor Langley didn’t exactly disclose it either. Besides all that, I don’t really have the capacity to think because I’m panicking at the fact that I have a gun shoved in my face.”

The girl’s finger twitched on the trigger.  But there was no loud bang. And I didn’t drop to the floor dead.

Seconds bled into minutes as I waited for her to put an end to my life.

Was there a way I could distract her? Maybe I could wrestle the gun away? Would I be able to do that before she let off a shot? The gun was awfully close, aimed directly at my head.

Oh God, I didn’t want to die. There was still so much I wanted to do.

I couldn’t believe in the last three years I’d been threatened with murder twice!

Then, finally, the girl put the gun down and flashed me a cold smile. “Well, you can spout off as much as you want. We both know I have the power here. So, this is how it’s going to be. You—”

Before Professor Langley’s cousin could spell out her terms, the waitress returned to our booth. She placed the Caesar salad down before the girl and then handed me my burger.

Just as she turned to leave, I grabbed her arm.

“Hey, um, I was wondering where the restroom was?”

The waitress shook my hand free before pointing towards the far end of the diner. “Turn right when you get to the end.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I rose to my feet, pulling out my phone as I did so.

As I began to shuffle out of the booth, Professor Langley’s cousin snatched at my left hand. “Where do you think you’re going, Patricia?” she whispered.

“The toilet.”

“No, you’re no,” said the girl. “Lest you forget, I still have that video of you. And if you go, I’ll release it online. I’ve nothing left to lose.”

I grit my teeth, trying to calculate how best to extricate myself. Once again, I was at the mercy of someone about to fall off the deep end.

Not only did she have a compromising video of me, she also had a gun. I still wasn’t certain if it was real but it was something I didn’t want to risk. After what had happened in Seven Oaks, I wasn’t liable to underestimate the capabilities of anyone anymore.

So, I sat back down in the booth and subtly called Naomi on my silent phone.

“Okay, okay. You win. Now tell me what you want,” I said. “All you’ve done is berate me and then threaten me. But the only reason why we’re both here is because I want to make this whole situation go away. And I’m willing to pay anything you ask.”

Professor Langley’s cousin flashed me another cold brittle smile. “Anything?”

The lilt in the girl’s tone sent a cold shiver down my spine. “It has to be within reason,” I added. “The video isn’t something I’d want publicly known, true, but I’m not going to do something else that you can use against me.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” said the girl, grabbing a fork from the shared container of clean cutlery and stabbed at huge piece of chicken. “Fine. We’ll keep this transactional then.”

“How much?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Would a hundred thousand sound reasonable?”

“What?”

“Two hundred thousand then.”

“I don’t have that kind of money,” I retorted. “My family doesn’t have that kind of money!”

“Too bad. I want two hundred thousand by the end of the week.”

I shook my head. “It’s too much.”

“Well, I think you’re getting the better half of the deal.”

“Two hundred thousand just to have you delete a video? No. This is extortion. Of the worst kind.”

The girl looked up from her salad, her lips curled up into a smirk. “Is it, now? Tell me, how much do you think your life is worth? Two million? Five billion? Take that into account when you say this is extortion.”

She took a bite of her chicken. Swallowed. Then set her fork down.

“By the way, in case you were curious, the gun is real. If you’d kept pushing me earlier, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

I stared at her, agog. “You’re fucking insane.”

“A cross many of the enlightened have had to bear when confronted by those who choose to remain ignorant.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re worse than Amelia ever was. And she—”

“No. Don’t presume to speak of Amelia. You aren’t even worthy to speak her name,” hissed the girl. “It’s infuriating that she would ever pick you to be her protégé. Especially when I was always there. Waiting in the wings.”

“Fine. You want two hundred thousand, you’ll get it,” I said.

“It was nice doing business with you, Patricia,” said the girl, leaning over her salad and proffering a hand to shake on. “I hope you’ll come to see how mutually beneficial this was. For the both of us.”

~

“You need to take this to the police, Tricia. I’m serious.”

“And say what? I don’t even know her name.”

Naomi blinked up at me from the passenger seat. “Are you shitting me right now? She pulled a fucking gun on you. Threatened you with it. In a fucking diner. What if you had been shot?”

“Well, I wasn’t,” I said somewhat petulantly, crossing my arms and leaning back into the driver’s seat of my mother’s silver Honda Accord. “Besides, what if she releases the video out onto the internet?”

“It won’t matter. None of us are going to press charges, Trish. You know that,” retorted Naomi, anger flushing her tan skin red. “And from what I’ve seen, it’s a grainy video. You can barely make out any details. Listen to me. This isn’t worth your life.”

A pregnant silence descended over us as we sat in the car.

I knew Naomi was right. To an extent.

But she didn’t have a reputation in college to maintain. Even if I wasn’t charged, having a video like that out on the internet could impact my ability to network or find a job.

People had been cancelled for less on social media.

Could I consign myself to social suicide?

I glanced over at Naomi, still breathing heavily at my side. Her face was still red. But underneath the anger, there was fear and concern and…love.

Shit. I’d been so focused on how much the video would reflect on me and its damage to the curated image I’d tried to maintain, I’d forgotten about the people closest to me. How might they feel if I did something stupid and got myself killed? What would they think if I allowed Professor Langley’s cousin to blackmail me out of home and college.

More importantly, why did the opinions of literal strangers seem to matter more to me than the family and friends who had had my back for as long as I’d known them?

I opened my mouth, ready to apologise but Naomi spoke first, breaking the silence between us. “Look, I know this is a stressful situation for you. But the Trish I knew wouldn’t take this lying down. She’d fight back. Probably with the most unhinged plan to get what she wants.”

“And you saw how well that panned out in high school,” I said. “There’s a scar I still have.”

Naomi chuckled. “Yes, well, the incident with Amelia aside, you still managed to get crowned Prom Queen with Brad as Prom King. And you also got one of the highest marks in the grade.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Naomi placed a hand on my arm. “You’re the baddest motherfucker I know, Tricia. But also know you have me, Evie and, admittedly, Sanchez, on your side.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are we really counting Sanchez in as part of our group? I’d say he’s more of a liability than anything else.”

“True,” admitted Naomi, “but he, surprisingly, has had his moments.”

“I’m sensing a story here, Naomi. Spill.”

“Maybe next time,” she hedged. “Let’s just get home first and come up with an actionable plan, yeah? Oh, and can we stop by Wendy’s? I’m starving.”

~

“Tori Louise Smathson,” I said, holding up a printout of the private Instagram page for Professor Langley’s cousin to the glass divider.

After trawling social media for two hours after I’d returned home, I’d found a picture of who I presumed was Tori, a large beaming smile on her face, dressed in the blue and gold private school uniform she must have worn. Her long blonde hair had been braided into two pig tails.

Amelia’s face was like stone.

“She’s the reason you were expelled from your last school. Right? Tell me what happened.”

Silence greeted my words. The minutes stretched between us and still Amelia said not a word.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat, still determined to get an answer. After all, I was running out of time. There was no telling when Tori Smathson would upload the video to destroy my reputation. And if I wanted any hope in hell to stem the blow, I needed some ammunition of my own.

Tori, herself, had revealed just how much she relied on Amelia. In so doing, she had revealed her one weakness.

One that I needed to take advantage of.

But I needed to know more.

“I know she visits you, Amelia. She told me herself at a diner three days ago. And told me you spurned her for me. If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought she loved you.”

Amelia’s left eye twitched at my words but she said nothing.

“Who was she to you. Really? Was it a lover’s spat gone wrong? It’s okay. We’re living in the 21^st century now. There’s no need to be closeted. I mean—”

Laughter. Loud and raucous, and completely out of place. Had I missed something?

After wiping the corner of her eyes, Amelia stared at me dead in the eye. “You truly are desperate, Patricia, if you’re grasping for straws. So, this is why you deigned to visit me after so long.”

“I wouldn’t say two weeks was all that long a period,” I said testily.

“Ah, yes. But we didn’t actually chat, did we?”

“They said you were busy.” I shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalantly as I could. Not wishing to reveal how much her rejection had hurt me even though I knew it had also been a mistake to give in.

This game I played with Amelia was dangerous. After all, the girl before me was a master manipulator.

I’d always thought I knew which buttons to press when I was Queen Bee of Seven Oaks but Amelia had made it an art form. No. It was better to keep my distance here.

“So, was this all just a waste of time? Or will you tell me more about Tori?”

“I could. But what would I get out of it?” asked Amelia as she leaned back in her chair, slinging one arm back over the chair.

I looked Amelia in the eye, taking in the grin. She thought she had all the power in this dynamic. And if I was being honest, she did. Without her help, I might as well consign myself to a fate worse than death.

Naomi might have thought it was something that could blow over by the next week, but I knew better. Scandal could remain for years.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been in my right mind. People would still use it against me.

Just like Tori Smathson.

Which was why I was here.

But there was only one thing I could really feasibly offer to Amelia. Doing so, however, meant I would be playing right into her hands.

Still, if it was the price I needed to pay…

Nervously, I licked my lips. “Well, look at this way: you’ll finally get to know how right you were. Two sides set against each other. You have me, still clinging to all my ‘false selves,’ and then you have Tori, a subscriber to your philosophy. It’ll be a battle for the ages and you’ll have front row seats.”

“You paint a pretty picture, Patricia. But I still don’t know why I should help you.”

My grip tightening on the receiver I feared I would crack it in half. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. “Because the fight won’t be fair. And I know you’re a stickler for letting people make their own decisions. Be it for good or ill. More than that, it puts me in your debt.”

Amelia pondered my offer for several minutes. She even got up from her seat to pace the cramped room she had been given.

After what felt like aeons, she sat back down on the steel stool and picked up the receiver.

“Fine. I’ll play this little game of yours, Patricia.”

“Thank—”

“Oh no. Don’t thank me. It isn’t for you. Rather, I’m hoping this little game will simply hammer home the point I was meaning to make.”

~

In the end, everything comes back full circle, I thought as I stood outside the bleachers of Seven Oaks High, dressed in tight ripped black jeans and an oversized t-shirt. A duffel bag lay next to my feet. I rubbed my naked arms and pulled out my phone to check the time.

7:30 PM.

Tori Smathson was late. Or, possibly she had arrived early and was simply scoping the field to see if there might be any incoming threats. After all, I could have called the police. Or set up an elaborate trap.

When I’d announced the location for us to make the exchange, she hadn’t been happy. But I hadn’t wanted it to be in a public area where innocent bystanders could get hurt. Easier to find somewhere deserted. Where we might not get interrupted.

It had taken 20 minutes and three conditions before Tori had come round to the idea.

There was a cunning to her. I’d give her that.

As I waited for her to appear, I glanced across the football field and up at the orange sky with pink streaks. Sunset. Well, almost. The sun was hanging low over the horizon. It would be another ten minutes before it would start to sink below the mountains.

My phone pinged and I glanced down.

                Unknown: u hv the $$?

I quickly replied back with an affirmative. And then followed it up with a: where r u?

Text bubbles appeared for a few seconds before vanishing. Then they appeared again.

                Unknown: u alone? i thought i saw sumthing earlier.

Goddammit. If it was Sanchez and Evie getting frisky somewhere in our old school, heads were going to roll. I’d given them explicit instructions to remain out of sight.

Smathson had been adamant that no-one else was to be here.

Of course, it might not be Sanchez or Evie but a student or teacher. The musical theatre kids were notorious for coming in at almost all hours to build their extravagant sets or to quietly rehearse their scenes in an empty classroom or two.

That, however, was out of my control. And I said as much when I texted Smathson back

                Unknown: fine. i’ll b there in 5. stay put. no funny business yeh?

If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would have rolled my eyes.

The minutes ticked by slowly. After what felt like an aeon, a familiar blonde hair ducked beneath the bleachers.

Tori Smathson was dressed head to toe in black. From the thick scarf around her neck to the satin gloves and heavy-duty boots she wore though it was still a warm 80 or so degrees out. Summer, this year, was a right killer. Especially when one was trying to sleep at night.

Unwinding her scarf, Tori flashed me a cold smile. “Where’s the money, Patricia?”

“In the duffle bag,” I said, giving it a kick.

“You wouldn’t mind if I checked it, would you?”

“I would, in fact. How do I know you haven’t set the video up on some server, ready to be released as soon as you get the money?”

She sneered. “The unenlightened always doubt.”

“Yes, well, you haven’t engendered much faith, have you?” I retorted. “If I remember correctly, you held me at gunpoint in a diner just last week.”

“Fine,” said Tori. She pulled out her phone from her coat pocket, unlocked it and showed me the video she was using to blackmail me.

“And this is the only one?”

“Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like the money?”

“Sure. Sure. But before you take duffle bag and run off, I wanted a conversation with you. Could you do that at least, Tori?”

Smathson’s brow furrowed. She straightened up and crossed her arms. “If this is a delaying tactic, Patricia, this won’t work.”

“No, no. Nothing at all like that. It’s just, I want to get something off my chest.”

“Oh?”

I scratched the side of my nose. “The whole blackmail thing, the video, it really brought me back to a dark place. Did you know? I was bullied in middle school. Snot-nosed teacher’s pet Patty, they used to call me. I had these thick-rimmed glasses and acne all over my face.

“And though I joined a thousand different clubs, wanting to fit in, I never did. The theatre kids looked down on my mathematical prowess. Math club turned their noses up my desire to join a sports team. And the dance team? They knew I was good at it but they could never let me in on their final line-up. Despite all the hours I’d poured into practice.”

“A story told a million times over in almost every school,” said Tori, although her face had paled. Just the tiniest bit.

“Enter high school,” I continued, ignoring her interruption. “I didn’t want to sit alone in the cafeteria anymore. Or be cast aside as another oddity. In so doing, I changed everything about myself to fit into the mold expected of a Queen Bee. The anger and resentment within me had found new purpose. But it was also tinged with fear. Although I didn’t have any old classmates at Seven Oaks High, I worried people would figure me out and see me for the impostor I was.

“Then, of course, there were the expectations I get good grades too. That part, too, was still engrained heavily in me. But it’s a tale as old as time, isn’t it? Considering it was something you also went through.”

A shadow of a heretofore unknown emotion flitted across Tori’s face before she hid it behind her mask of cool indifference. “Is that all, Patricia?” she asked. “It’s not going to make me change my mind, you know. I don’t care a whit about the baggage you’ve gone through. I just want the money.”

“Fine,” I said, giving the duffle bag another kick. “Take it. But we both know the reason you’re doing all this, Tori, is because you want to find an escape. Just like me, you thought you had to be someone you weren’t. Amelia took advantage of that. Tore down the walls you built up, feeding on your insecurities.

“Your family, of course, don’t understand. They salt the wounds Amelia left behind.

“There is, however, another answer. You don’t have to go through with this. This isn’t you,” I said, extending a hand out.

Smathson smacked my hand away and grabbed the duffle bag, her face a few shades whiter than it had been before. “What the fuck do you know about me anyway? Stop trying to act all high and mighty. I know who I am. You’re the one who’s at a loss, playing at pretend.”

“Am I?”

“If you weren’t, this stupid video wouldn’t hold such power over you,” she sneered. “Well, I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ll need to check the money before I commit to deleting it.”

“Of course.”

She weighed the bag in her hands for a few moments, perhaps wondering if this was all a trap before she set it back down on the grass, knelt down and unzipped it. The first stack of $20 bills was pulled out. Then another.

Until, finally, she pulled out her first $50 and $100 stack.

Smathson whirled on me then, face red. “You think this is a game?” she roared at me. “Where’s the fucking money, Patricia?”

I remained as calm as I could. “Right there. In your hands.”

“This?” she slapped a fat stack of $20s in my face. “This is fucking Monopoly money!”

“Is it?” I asked, furrowing my brow deep in thought. “Weird. I definitely know I filled the bag with money I got from my parents. It was a whole fiasco, asking them for two hundred thousand dollars.”

“You bitch! I’ll fucking destroy you,” spat Smathson. “You come here, trying to sell me a sob story so I’ll sympathise with you because of all the ‘similarities’ between us, but you’re just lying to my face. You don’t know me. You never will. Not about the things I’ve done and the sacrifices I’ve made. Anger is all I have left.”

I threw my hands up, alarmed. “Tori, I’m sorry if you believe that’s the case—”

“Don’t you dare say my name! I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work!”

“Please, just listen—”

“No! I want my two hundred thousand, Patricia. And I want it now. If you value your life, you’ll get it to me by whatever means necessary,” said Tori as she reached for her small black purse.

Before she could pull anything out, Sanchez came in from the left and tackled Tori to the ground. He pinned her arms above her.

Hissing like a cat, the girl struggled to free herself. She almost managed to knee Sanchez in the balls but the footballer was quicker.

“Helps when you have friends, doesn’t it?” I said almost casually as I crouched over Tori. “Trish was meant to be a caricature, true. The stereotypical mean girl Queen Bee. Somewhere along the way, though, it stopped being fake and I learned to love the friends I’d made. Evie might not have been smart, and Naomi liked the finer things in life, but over the years, I’ve learned there’s more to just the first impressions they gave.

“Therapy can help you too. We are more than just the persona we project to the outer world, Tori. But they’re also a part of who we are. It’s not a bad thing to be known as the nerd or the popular Queen Bee. Yes, I was cruel in how I wielded my anger and insecurities, but there’s no shame in admitting needing help. What’s important is knowing when to ask for help.”

Tori tried to spit at my face. “Are you done preaching?”

“Not quite,” I said, taking her purse and upending it. A small hand pistol plopped out on the ground. I kicked it aside. “Now we are. Sanchez, care to escort our friend over to the parking lot?”

“With pleasure, milady.”

I watched as Sanchez manage to wrestle Tori up to her feet and then frogmarched her away from the football field. Pulling out my phone, I texted Naomi and Evie that I was fine and everything had gone swimmingly. As I put my phone away, something silver and metallic caught my eye just a few feet away in the clipped grass.

Tori Smathson’s phone.

Just like Amelia told me, Tori hadn’t bothered with facial recognition or biometric recognition. Instead, she had set up a six-digit passcode. I entered in the code Amelia had told me.

The phone unlocked.

I clicked into the Photos app and opened up the video Tori had filmed that fateful night. Once more, I saw how I rose to my feet and swayed like I was drunk before lashing out at Sanchez and Evie. Or what I assumed were Sanchez and Evie. The picture was grainy at best. Shot over a long distance. And the camera work was shaky.

It ended right as Sanchez managed to sneak around behind me before restraining me in a bear hug.

Shit. Naomi had been right.

The video could hardly be called hard evidence. To any passersby, it might have looked like a group of friends having a drunken night out.

Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. I deleted the video. Then I deleted it again from the recycling bin.

But just as I was about to pocket Tori Smathson’s phone, a photo dated three years ago caught my eye. In it, both she and Amelia were smiling at the camera outside the local shopping mall. Both of them were wearing the school uniform of the prestigious high school they had attended: blue with gold trim blazers, white shirts and plaid tartan skirts.

My thoughts drifted, pondering what had caused the rift between them.

Amelia had said little when I’d pressed her about the incident that had drove the wedge between them and which had driven her down a dark path. One that Tori seemed to follow though she had initially rejected it.

Maybe it had been a lover’s tiff? Or perhaps Tori Smathson, obsessed still with the image she wanted to maintain, had pushed Amelia too far. Then, lashing out, Amelia had dug her own claws into Tori.

Leaving both of them miserable and social outcasts.

At least, that was the theory I’d concocted.

In the end, it didn’t matter who had started what. That was all in the past. And it wasn’t my responsibility to go digging, I thought as I locked Tori’s phone and slipped it into the back pocket of my ripped jeans. I’d return it to her later.

As I took another look around my old high school, I couldn’t help but dwell how different I felt from when I’d ruled the school as Queen Bee.

No longer did I feel overwhelmed; fearful of what might happen if I was unmasked for being an impostor.

And there were many things I was grateful for that I’d never once considered before.

I was alive. I was unharmed. And, more importantly, I was seeking help.

While I wasn’t completely healed from the damage inflicted by my childhood traumas, I was taking steps to better myself. Already, I had come to accept my whole entire self – the facets I thought I’d conjured up to compartmentalise the different aspects of my life.

True, none of them were the real me. Yet, at the same time, all of them were me.

It was a difficult concept to wrap my head around still, but I knew it would only be a matter of time.

And that was okay.

Feeling lighter than I had in days, I turned towards the school parking lot.

There was a story I still needed to bring to a close.