Chapter 66 Don't Take Me for Weak

Chapter 66 Don't Take Me for Weak

Olivia's POV

"I saw them." His tone was flat, not at all like someone who'd just read all those nasty comments.

"What do you think?"

The air went quiet for a few seconds. He didn't say anything, and the atmosphere got even heavier. My heart seemed to stop for a moment.

"Don't leave me..." I couldn't help but speak up, my voice carrying a hint of tears. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I had this feeling he might leave me on his own, afraid I'd get hurt.

He stood right in the middle of the doorframe, blocking out all the candlelight from the hallway. His face was buried in shadow, impossible to see clearly. The light came from behind him, outlining his whole figure with a thin rim of gold.

"Silly girl." The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "That's what I wanted to say to you."

The door was wide open, and the wind from the hallway rushed in. My feet felt chilly. I was standing barefoot on the cold stone floor, still gripping the door handle.

He stepped forward half a step and raised his hand. The back of his hand almost touched mine, then pulled back.

Ethan leaned down and gently kissed my cheek, my nose, then my lips. Like he was comforting me, or coaxing a child. How could he be so gentle? Those people didn't understand him at all, and they'd never get to know the real him like this.

The next day in Potions class, I'd been annoyed since I woke up. I couldn't say exactly what was bothering me, but something just felt off.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a while. My bag was already packed, but I pulled out my textbooks to check them again, then stuffed them back in. Two minutes later I unzipped it again to see if I'd forgotten anything. I hadn't, I hadn't forgotten a thing.

Ethan wasn't around today. Priscilla needed him to verify the tryout registration forms, so we had different schedules for that class. Which meant without him there, I'd have to go to Potions alone.

Was that why I was so irritated? When he was around, I always felt safe.

"It's no big deal, it's not like you've never been to class before," I told myself. But I just couldn't shake this feeling, this weight pressing down on my stomach, heavy and dull.

I stared at myself for a moment, slung my bag over my shoulder, and pushed the door open.

I'd walked the path from Westridge Tower to the academic building countless times. Today felt different somehow. I couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, but my feet felt unsteady on the ground, like walking on mud that was almost dry but not quite, unable to get a good grip.

Turning the corner of that long corridor, the Potions classroom door was already half open. Warm yellow light spilled out, and I could hear people talking inside, chattering away. I couldn't make out the words, but I knew that tone too well. That kind of voice people use when others are around, with a hint of performance to it.

I stopped at the doorway.

Just stood there by the doorframe, half my face lit up, half in shadow.

Through the crack in the door I could see the corner of a desk in the row nearest the entrance, and the potion cabinet by the podium. Shadows moved back and forth inside, someone laughed.

I didn't want to go in. My legs stiffened involuntarily, my knees felt rusty. My feet seemed glued to the floor, I couldn't even lift them.

The back of my head started throbbing again.

Someone's gaze reached out from inside the classroom through the crack. I could feel that look landing on the side of my face, like a very small needle, not deep, but you knew it was there.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. The more afraid you are, the less you can show it. I understood that. But the problem was, how do you stop being afraid? I hated those disgusted looks, hated that noisy gossip, hated those people who didn't care about right or wrong.

I turned my head back and stared at that door for a while. A strange incantation flashed through my mind.

"Protego."

This was the defensive spell Ethan had taught me.

"It's not a big shield, it's very small, close to your body, like a second skin. You won't feel it when no one's bothering you, but if someone approaches you with bad intentions, it'll push them away." Ethan's exact words echoed in my mind.

"Spells aren't just recited, they're held up by the thought in your heart. The more you know what you want, the stronger it becomes."

Protego.

I stood at the Potions classroom door, repeating this word over and over in my mind.

I closed my eyes. Don't think about those people, don't think about yesterday's post, don't think about those stares from the crack in the door.

Just think about one thing. I don't want to be hurt for no reason anymore.

I don't want to be hit on the back of the head, don't want paper balls thrown at me, don't want those smiling "sorry about that"s landing on me.

After a moment, I actually felt something. A very fine, light warmth spreading out from my chest, like someone had placed an extremely thin film over my skin.

I opened my eyes. My back wasn't stiff anymore, my knees weren't weak. The feeling of my feet on the ground changed. It became solid.

I took a step forward. The light from the crack in the door lit up half my face. I could feel the talking inside pause for a moment, someone was looking at me.

Whatever. I pushed the door open.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor, clack, clack, clack, not fast, not slow. I didn't deliberately soften them, didn't deliberately stomp.

Everyone looked over.

Like an invisible string was pulling at their necks, all turning in unison. Dozens of pairs of eyes landed on me at once. Examining, scrutinizing, curious, annoyed, waiting for a show. Everything.

That girl in the front row near the middle with the braided pigtails, the one who'd hit the back of my head, was holding a quill, the tip suspended above parchment, a drop of ink pooled at the end. She just tilted her head and looked at me like that, a smile still hanging at the corner of her mouth that she hadn't quite managed to wipe away.

Not a kind smile, but that "let's see where you sit today" kind of smile.

In the row by the window, several boys had their necks stretched out long, one of them with his mouth hanging open. Near the back door, two girls had their heads together, one said something, the other didn't laugh, her eyes just stayed fixed on me.

A boy in the middle of the classroom dropped his quill, it clattered to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, got halfway there and froze, half-crouching with his head twisted to look at me.

The entire classroom, no one spoke.

Everyone was watching me.

In the past, being stared at by this many people, I probably would have looked down, walked quickly to my seat, buried my face in my textbook, pretended nothing happened.

But not today.

I took my bag off my shoulder, held it in my hand, and walked through the middle aisle.

People on the left watched me, people on the right watched me too. People in front turned their heads around, necks twisted at uncomfortable angles, just to make sure I knew they were watching me.

My steps didn't stop.

As I passed the row by the door, a girl's elbow had been resting on the edge of the aisle. Seeing me approach, she quickly pulled it back, like she'd been burned. Her hand knocked against the edge of the desk with a thud, she didn't even bother to rub it.

Passing through the middle, that boy who'd been picking up his quill finally got it, pinched between his fingertips. He leaned back, making way for me, even though the aisle was already wide enough. The way he made room for me was louder than the sound of his quill hitting the floor.

I walked to the row by the wall, sat down next to where Ethan usually sat. Put my bag on the desk, took out my textbook, arranged it on the surface.

The sound of pulling out the chair rang out twice in the quiet classroom. The first time I didn't line it up right, so I dragged it forward again before sitting down.

Those stares were still on me, but they felt lighter. Changed from scrutinizing to just looking, from waiting to see to not sure what they're looking at.

I picked up my quill and spun it between my fingers, opened my textbook, found the page for today's lesson.

That pigtailed girl's gaze cut across from the front left, landing near my temple. I didn't turn my head, didn't look up. My quill touched the parchment, writing one word at a time.

Protego.

I said it again in my mind.

That film was still there, pressed against my skin, from neck to wrist, from waist to knee, not broken anywhere.

Footsteps came from down the hallway, unhurried.