Chapter 34 Pain is my new aesthetic
Chapter 34 Pain is my new aesthetic
Ilyas POV
My hands curled into fists as I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. The room tilted, but I barely noticed. I stepped out of the office and into the corridor, dragging my feet, shoulders hunched, head low.
People scattered. Students pressed themselves against lockers. Whispers followed me like insects crawling under my skin. Someone dropped a book. A teacher took one look at my face and stepped back.
Good.
They should be afraid.
“She deserves it,” I muttered as I walked. “She deserves to feel it.”
Pain. Fear. Loss. I wanted to carve it into her the way it was carved into me. The corridor behind Building C loomed ahead, quiet, forgotten.
My boots scraped against the concrete as I crouched, brushing dust away from the floor until the outline of the hatch appeared. My hands moved on instinct. Open. Reach. Grip. Cold metal kissed my palms.
I pulled the axes free, one in each hand, their weight familiar, comforting. I turned them slightly, watching the dull light slide along their edges.
“It’s been a while,” I murmured. I dragged one blade lightly across my palm, just enough to feel the bite, the sting. Red welled up immediately. Real. Grounding. I smiled. Not wide. Not happy.
Cynical.
I straightened slowly, axes hanging loose at my sides, shoulders rolling back as something dark and focused settled into my bones. “C’mon,” I whispered to no one. “Let’s go.”
My footsteps echoed as I started forward. Somewhere in this school, that girl was breathing freely. But not for long.
Hazel’s POV
After everyone finally drifted away－ bored, disappointed, done with me－ I tried to push myself up. My body refused.
Pain ripped through my ribs and hips the moment I shifted, sharp and unforgiving. I collapsed back onto the pavement with a broken gasp, my hands scrabbling uselessly against the ground. Oh. So that’s what being kicked by a lunatic feels like.
I lay there for a second, staring at the sky, blinking rapidly as my body tried to decide whether it hated me or just wanted me dead. My ribs felt like they were filing a formal complaint. My hip? That thing had already written my obituary.
I sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. “Don’t cry,” I muttered, biting down hard on my lip. “You’ve literally slammed onto solid ice at full speed before. Olympic ice. Professional ice. This is just… concrete with attitude.”
Strong. I was strong. I am strong.
I repeated it in my head like a mantra as I tried to sit up again. Then the sob slipped out anyway. Traitorous. Loud. Ugly.
I dropped my forehead to the dusty pavement before anyone could see my face, even though no one was there anymore. My shoulders shook despite my best efforts, hot tears spilling down and blurring everything. Hazel Rowan, reduced to crying on the ground like a cautionary tale.
Everyone saw me. They saw me. They all saw me. That thought hurt worse than the kick. Worse than the pain screaming through my bones.
I could already hear the laughter, feel the looks that would follow me through the halls. Just like before.
My throat tightened.
“No,” I whispered fiercely, shaking my head. “No, no, no. That’s not happening.” Crying only made things worse. Crying turned you into a target.
I wiped my face aggressively with my sleeve and forced myself upright, even as my body screamed in protest.
I stood there bent slightly forward, like an old woman trapped in a teenager’s body, breathing shallowly through clenched teeth.
“I’m not weak,” I told the empty courtyard. “I’m a world champion skater from Westbourne. I didn’t claw my way onto the ice just to be taken out by some scarf-wearing psychopath with anger issues.”
That thought gave me enough fuel to straighten a little more. One day, my face would be everywhere; TV screens, billboards, interviews. I’d be rich, untouchable. They’d be… well. Still here. I snorted softly. Yeah. I’d be the one laughing then.
The courtyard had emptied out almost completely now. No phones. No eyes. Good. I turned and started limping toward the dumpsters. The smell was awful, but it was quiet, hidden－ perfect. I need somewhere to sit. To rest. To not be seen.
I rounded the corner, focused on the wall ahead－ and my foot caught on something solid. I went down again with a pained hiss, catching myself just barely on my hands.
I glanced down, ready to curse whatever object had personally decided to ruin my life. And froze. The shovel. His stupid shovel. I stared at it for a second, then slowly pushed myself onto my knees, ignoring the way my hips screamed in outrage. I picked it up and glared at it like it had personally insulted my ancestors.
“So,” I said through clenched teeth, “you’re still here.” Even now. Even while bleeding out. You still manage to bring me down to my lowest.
I tightened my grip. “Thrasher, was it?” I scoffed. “Figures. Even your shovel has an ego.” My hands shook as I imagined it was him, his stupid smirk, his stupid pride, his stupid hero complex. My fingers curled tighter.
“You ruined my life,” I hissed. “If you’d just listened. If you hadn’t helped me when I didn’t ask－” My voice cracked, rage spilling over. “I wouldn’t be in this pain!” I shook the shovel back and forth violently, breath coming fast, hysterical laughter bubbling up despite myself. “I hate you. I hate you. And your idiot friend.”
I slammed the shovel down and pressed it into the ground, hands wrapped around the handle like a throat. “Oh, don’t worry,” I laughed breathlessly. “Even if you survive, I’m killing this thing. DIE, THRASHER－ DIE－”
A laugh echoed behind me. Not mine. I froze. Slowly, I turned. Four guys stood a few feet away, watching me like I was entertainment. One of them stepped forward slightly－ green hair, black roots. He looks familiar. Kinda. He nudged the guy beside him and grinned. “Told you she’d be alone.” They chuckled, eyes dragging over me like I wasn’t a person at all.
My stomach dropped.
They started walking toward me－ unhurried, confident, like predators who already knew how this ended. I tightened my grip on the shovel and lifted my chin, even as my heart slammed against my ribs.