Chapter 117

Chapter 117
Chapter 117

Anna’s POV

Yvonne would not sit down.

She kept moving.

Back and forth across my living room like something trapped. Like the walls were closing in on her. Like if she stopped moving, everything would catch up.

Her heels hit the floor too hard. Sharp. Fast. Over and over.

I sat on the couch.

I had not moved in a long time.

My body felt heavy. Like I had weights tied to my arms and legs. Even breathing felt like work.

"That bitch," Yvonne snapped. Her voice cracked but she pushed through it. "That lying, manipulative bitch. I swear I will ruin her. I will ruin her life the way she ruined mine."

I closed my eyes for a second.

"Yvonne, stop."

She froze. Turned slowly. Her eyes were red. Swollen. But still burning.

"Stop?" she repeated. "You want me to stop? After everything that just happened?"

"Yes."

She laughed. It sounded wrong. Too loud. Too empty.

"You’re joking."

"I’m not."

She walked closer. Stopped right in front of me.

"She exposed you," she said, her voice dropping lower. "Everyone knows now. Your mother. Your family. The whole city. Your life is finished. And you’re sitting here telling me to stop?"

I looked up at her.

"I know."

That seemed to hit her harder than anything else.

For a second, she did not speak.

Then her face twisted again.

"Then why are you so calm?" she demanded. "Why are you not screaming? Why are you not angry? Why are you not doing something?"

Because I had no energy left.

Because everything inside me had already broken.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

"Screaming won’t change anything," I said quietly. "It won’t fix anything."

"It might make me feel better!"

"For how long?"

She did not answer.

She turned away again. Started pacing.

"I can’t believe this," she muttered. "I can’t believe she did this to us. I can’t believe she planned all of this. For two years. Two whole years."

I watched her.

And something inside me shifted.

Not anger.

Not pain.

Something colder.

"We did this," I said.

She stopped again.

"What?"

"We did this to ourselves."

She turned slowly.

"Say that again."

"We did this to ourselves," I repeated.

Her face hardened.

"No. She did this. She planned this. She tricked us. She ruined us."

"We ruined her first."

Silence.

Heavy. Thick.

"You’re defending her," Yvonne said, her voice low and dangerous.

"I’m telling the truth."

"After everything she did?"

"After everything we did first."

Her hands clenched.

"You’ve lost your mind."

"No," I said. "I just finally see things clearly."

She stared at me like she did not recognize me.

"Lucia didn’t start this," I continued. "We did. We betrayed her. We took everything from her. We destroyed her life. She just came back and did the same thing to us."

"That is not the same!"

"It is."

"No!" she shouted. "What she did was worse! She planned it! She pretended to be someone else! She lied! She manipulated everything!"

"And what did we do?" I asked quietly.

She opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

I stood up slowly. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand.

"Do you remember high school?" I asked.

She frowned.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything."

"I don’t want to talk about high school."

"I do."

I walked past her. Stopped by the window. Looked out at the city.

Lights everywhere. Cars moving. People living.

Like nothing had happened.

Like everything had not just ended for us.

"You were poor," I said.

"Anna..."

"No. Let me finish."

She stayed silent.

"You were so poor it hurt to look at. Your clothes never fit right. They smelled sometimes. Not because you were dirty. But because your house was. Because your environment was."

Her breathing got louder.

"You brought lunch in plastic bags. Sometimes you didn’t bring anything at all. And when people noticed, they laughed."

"Stop."

"You sat alone most days. Do you remember that? Sitting at the edge of the cafeteria like you were invisible. Like nobody wanted to sit near you."

"I said stop!"

"But one person did."

Silence again.

"Lucia."

Yvonne did not move.

"She sat with you. Every day. Like it was nothing. Like you were not different. Like you were not someone people avoided."

"She pitied me."

"No," I said. "She didn’t."

"She did!"

"She didn’t."

I turned to face her.

"She liked you. That’s why she sat with you. That’s why she talked to you. That’s why she stayed when everyone else walked away."

Yvonne’s eyes flickered.

Just for a second.

"She paid your bills," I continued. "Do you remember that? When your mother couldn’t pay rent. When your lights got cut off. When you had nothing."

Yvonne looked away.

"Lucia paid. Not once. Not twice. Over and over again. Quietly. Without telling anyone. Without making you feel small."

"I didn’t ask her to."

"I know," I said softly. "That’s the point. You didn’t have to ask."

She swallowed.

Hard.

"She just saw you struggling and helped," I said. "Because she cared."

Yvonne shook her head.

"She had money. It was nothing to her."

"It was something," I said. "Because she chose to give it."

I stepped closer.

"Do you remember Stanford?"

Her shoulders tensed.

"You got in. Full ride for tuition. But not for everything else. You couldn’t go."

Her lips pressed together.

"You were going to give it up. Your dream school. Your future. Everything. Because you couldn’t afford it."

I paused.

"Lucia fought her parents for you."

Yvonne’s eyes snapped back to mine.

"She begged them," I said. "Argued with them. Pushed them. Until they agreed to pay for everything. Your housing. Your food. Your books. Four years of your life."

"She didn’t have to fight that hard," Yvonne muttered.

"You think convincing rich parents to spend that kind of money on someone else’s child is easy?"

Yvonne did not answer.

"She did it because you mattered to her," I said. "Because she wanted you to have a future. Because she believed in you."

Yvonne’s face changed.

Not much.

But I saw it.

The crack.

"And what did we do?" I asked.

Silence.

"We slept with her fiancé," I said.

Yvonne flinched.

"We helped him steal everything from her."

Her breathing got faster.

"We stood there while he abandoned her."

"Stop," she whispered.

"We destroyed her," I said.

"Stop!"

"The one person who actually cared about us. We destroyed her."

"STOP!"

Her voice broke.

She dropped onto the couch. Hands gripping her hair.

"I hate her!" she cried. "I hate her so much!"

I didn’t move.

"She was perfect!" Yvonne shouted. "Everything about her was perfect! The way she talked, the way she acted, the way people looked at her! It was like she could do no wrong!"

Tears ran down her face.

"I was always the poor girl! The charity case! The one she helped! The one she saved! I was nothing without her!"

Her voice cracked.

"I hated that feeling," she said. "Hated it. Every time she helped me, I felt smaller. Like I owed her. Like I could never be equal."

Her hands shook.

"I didn’t want to need her. I didn’t want to depend on her. I didn’t want to feel grateful all the time. I hated it!"

I watched her.

This was the truth.

Ugly. Raw. Real.

"So you destroyed her," I said quietly.

She looked up.

Eyes wild.

"Yes!" she shouted. "Yes, I did! I wanted to bring her down! I wanted her to feel what I felt! I wanted her to lose everything the way I had nothing!"

Her chest rose and fell quickly.

"And now?" I asked.

She froze.

"You got what you wanted," I said. "She lost everything. She suffered. She broke."

I stepped closer.

"And now you lost everything too."

Silence.

"Are you happy?" I asked.

She didn’t answer.

"Was it worth it?"

Her face crumpled.

Then hardened again.

"No," she said. "Because she came back."

I nodded slowly.

"Yes. She did."

"And she ruined us!" Yvonne snapped. "She took everything! She exposed everything!"

"Because we did it first."

She looked at me like she wanted to argue again.

But nothing came out.

I turned away.

Walked to my room.

Opened my suitcase.

Started packing.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I’m leaving."

"What?"

"Tomorrow. London. My grandmother lives there."

"You’re just going to run away?"

"Yes."

She laughed again. Bitter.

"Of course you are. You always take the easy way out."

"This is not easy."

"Then stay! Fight! Do something!"

"Fight who?" I asked. "Lucia? For what? What do we even have left to fight for?"

"We can still get revenge!"

I stopped.

Turned slowly.

"Revenge for what?"

"For what she did to us!"

I stared at her.

"She did to us what we did to her."

"That’s not the same!"

"It is to me."

"I’m not letting this go," Yvonne said. Her voice was quiet now. Dangerous. "I will make her pay."

"You already paid."

"No."

"Yes," I said. "We lost everything. That’s payment."

"It’s not enough!"

"Then nothing ever will be."

She clenched her fists.

"I will destroy her," she said. "I swear it."

I looked at her for a long time.

Then I zipped my suitcase.

"Be careful," I said.

"Of what?"

"Of yourself."

She frowned.

"You’re already angry," I said. "Already consumed. If you keep going down this path, there will be nothing left of you."

"I don’t care."

"You will."

"No," she said. "I won’t stop until she suffers."

"She already suffered," I said softly.

"Not enough."

I picked up my suitcase.

Walked past her.

Stopped at the door.

"Yvonne," I said.

She didn’t respond.

"You’re not fighting Lucia anymore."

She looked at me.

"You’re fighting yourself now."

Her expression didn’t change.

"I hope you stop before you lose everything," I said.

"I already did," she replied.

I shook my head.

"No. You haven’t lost yourself yet."

I opened the door.

"But you will."

I stepped out.

Closed the door behind me.

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet.

I stood there for a moment.

Just breathing.

Then I walked to the elevator.

Pressed the button.

Waited.

The doors opened.

I stepped inside.

As they closed, I thought about Lucia.

About the girl who sat with Yvonne in high school.

About the girl who paid bills without asking.

About the girl who fought for her friends.

We destroyed that girl.

And she became something else to survive.

Maybe we would have done the same.

Maybe we already did.

The elevator moved.

Down.

Away.

Tomorrow I would leave.

Start over.

Try to be better.

But some things don’t leave you.

Some things stay.

Guilt.

Regret.

The memory of the one person who cared.

The doors opened.

I stepped out into the night.

And for the first time, I didn’t look back.