Chapter 43 My near-death experience is probably a meme

Chapter 43 My near-death experience is probably a meme
Evie’s POV
I nodded. “So…What exactly happened?”
“He threw Hazel off the terrace, but I caught her, she’s still breathin’.”

I inhaled sharply, but honestly, I wasn’t that surprised. He once cut off a student’s finger for touching Kael’s shovel. My gaze flicked to his arm again. He caught me looking. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”
I didn’t believe him－he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped like the weight of the whole school was sitting on him.

“I’ll return this to Kael,” I said softly. “Please get some rest.”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair, eyes closing. I left the office quietly. After I give Kael his shovel back, I’ll get for painkillers for Principal Dane. I hope they don’t cost more than six dollars. Because that’s all I have.


Hazel’s POV
The nurse let me go home early after dumping what feels like a small apothecary of bitter herbal painkillers into my bag. She smiled like she was proud of herself.
I smiled back like a liar, then left immediately. I climbed the stairs to my mom’s apartment slowly, gripping the railing even though it wobbled like it was one bad day away from collapsing, so I leaned on the wall instead. My body still felt heavy. Bruised in places I didn’t remember getting bruised.

The herbal painkillers helped－technically－but not in the way the painkillers from Westbourne did. Those made the pain fade politely. Theses just sat in my stomach like, yeah… we’ll think about it.

By the time I reached the door, I was already tired. The door was locked. I stared at it for a second, then sighed. “Of course you are.”
Mom probably wasn’t home. Again. I shifted my bag and started digging for my keys. My bag, apparently was a portal to another dimension. Lip gloss. A cracked compact mirror. A crumpled receipt from three weeks ago. A pen that didn’t work. Another pen that also didn’t work, because redundancy is important. Herbal Painkillers. A folded note I don’t remember writing－wait a minute, is this a love letter?
Huh…wonder who sneeked that in here.

A crumpled flyer from a skating show I never got to perform in. Why do I still have this?
At some point I sat down on the floor, fully committing to this archaeological excavation.. After what felt like several business days, my fingers brushed against something sharp－keys, I lifted my keys into the air like I’d won a prize. “Victory”, I whispered hoarsely.
Then unlocked the door and dragged myself inside.

The apartment greets me with silence. Not the calm kind. The empty kind. I locked the door behind me and stood there longer than necessary, listening. Nothing. No TV. No music. No mom. “She’s not home,” I said out loud, even though I already knew.
I didn’t let myself think about it. Thinking was dangerous right now. I wander into the kitchen and saw a pot of pasta sitting on the stove. The sauce had gone thick and sad, clinging to the noodles like it had lost the will to live. The smell hit me and my stomach turned.
“Nope,” I said immediately.

I went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I paused. Bruises. Faint swelling. Eyes still red, like they hadn’t forgiven me for earlier.
“I smell like trauma,” I told myself, peeling off my clothes. “And public embarrassment.”
The warm water helped. A little. It loosened something in my chest I hadn’t realized was clenched. I stayed there longer than I needed to, just letting it run over me like it might wash today away.
It didn’t.

When I finally crawled into bed, everything came rushing back. The height. The fear. The way my voice broke when I begged. I pulled the blanket over my face and groaned. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened to me. It used to be a daily occurrence in my life when I was younger; kids pulling my hair, shoving me off the stairs… but it felt way more worse this time.

I almost fell to my death… I was humilated. Publicly.
People definitely took pictures. Videos. Screenshots. Somewhere out there, my near-death experience was probably already a meme, I can see the captions now. I pressed my face harder into the pillow.
“My life is over,” I mumbled. “I’m becoming a recluse. I will communicate exclusively through notes slid under doors.”

The apartment felt empty. Mom had gone back to that…job. Again. As soon as she saw I was breathing and upright, she disappeared like this was some kind of shift she’d clocked out of.
“She doesn’t care,” I whispered, even though part of me still hated saying it out loud. My eyes burned. I blinked fast, annoyed at myself.
Then my phone chimed. Once. Twice. Three times. I ignored it. Then it chimes again, insistent, like it’s judging me.

“Oh my God,” I groaned, rolling onto my back. “What now?” I grabbed it, and froze. A group chat.
Zeke and Lila had added me to something called HAZEL IS ALIVE

Lila: YOU SCARED THE LIFE OUT OF US
Zeke: bro i had to sit down
Lila: ARE YOU HOME
Zeke: pls confirm you’re still breathing

Something warm spread in my chest before I could stop it.

Hazel: Unfortunately yes. Still alive and breathing.
Lila: DON’T JOKE ABOUT THAT
Lila: did you eat
Zeke: pls eat. we are begging.                                                                                  
Lila: You should sleep now. Do NOT scroll on social media pls                         
Zeke: or maybe do, memes build character.

I laughed, an actual laugh. It surprised me so much I had to press a hand over my mouth. Then my phone buzzed again. Private message.

Zeke: sooo… what you doing with Zerran’s number?
There was a tiny emoji with big wide eyes at the end.

I smirk and type back: oh you know, secret business. crimes.
He replied instantly with a sticker; some animated character clutching its chest, sobbing dramatically while collapsing to the floor, tears spraying everywhere like a malfunctioning fountain.

I smiled before I could stop myself. Scrolling up, I paused at Zerran’s contact. My thumb hovered. Not today. Today had taken enough from me. I’d talk to him on Saturday. Tomorrow, I was staying in. No drama. No heights. No almost-dying. I deserved a break.. Then I saw another notification. Mom. My chest tightened. My thumb hovered over the message, every emotion fighting for space- anger, hope, disappointment, longing. In the end, I didn’t open it.

I set my phone on the nightstand. The apartment was still quiet, but my chest felt a little less empty. I roll onto my side, staring at the cracked paint on the wall, when thoughts of him floods my mind. Blood. Dark, sticky, everywhere. On the floor. On my hands. On his stupid uniform. Kael.
I see him again; collapsed, heavy, not breathing, his face way too still. My fingers curl into the blanket. Did he… actually survive that? The thought barely finishes forming before I smack my own cheek. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I mutter aloud.

That jerk is the reason I almost died today. He doesn’t deserve to occupy even a single neuron of my brain. I huff and turned my face into the pillow like that’ll physically shove him out of my head.

I’ll deal with everything tomorrow. Tonight, I just want my thoughts to shut up.
“Just sleep,” I whispered to myself. “You survived. That’s enough for today.” I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take me.