You think I know everything that went on? I don't and I do. You'll understand later on.

A lot of stuff happens at Everest. A lot of which we don't speak of.

At some point, I was too wrapped up in my own head to see what was happening around me.

That was one of my biggest mistakes.

Because in a world like this being ignorant is as good as being dead.

✯•Diaphanous /daɪˈæfənəs/: Light, delicate, and translucent, especially of fabric•✯

»»———-YVETTE———-««

❝The heart of a woman should be like an oleander

Pink divine petals

With leaves able to kill a man.❞

»»-————-✯ •✯ •✯—————-««

✯••✯
»»There's something in this school, it's like a disease««

1:43 am.

I was curled up on the floor, my bare skin pressed against the cold tiles slowly being engulfed by the ocean of clothes, books, and utter clutter of disarray and soul-sinking shadows that now seemed to be a permanent part of the layout of my bedroom.

I should clean up.

1:45 am

I was crying again, no matter how hard I tried to shut my eyelids tight stubborn droplets of hot salty tears found away to smuggle through and roll down my face endlessly. I don't know if I should refer to the time as early morning or late night but what I do know was that I was going to cry through it all till the sun eventually rises.

If I make it till then.

2: 09 am

My skull was splitting into several pieces and scattering over the rubbish surrounding me, my whole body ached like I was an open wound bleeding and drowning me in a pool of my own pathetic sorrow. But I couldn't help but think if everything that had happened was my fault.

I had an exam today.

2: 15 am

My boyfriend and I had fought again.

2: 17 am

I was crying all over again with renewed vigor, coughing and wriggling uncontrollably, heaps of thickly coated sobs clogging my throat and making breathing as difficult as getting up on my limbs. My chest kept on tightening, the tips of my ribs were grazing each other subtly as if readying for a dance.

I was in so much pain, so much pain that I don't know where it started or ended. I don't know what hurt the most or what wasn't hurting at all. I wasn't sure if it was the pulsing bruise thriving at the side of my face or the piercing frigid hands drilling into my head, or maybe it was the still bleeding slash hidden underneath my braids soaking my hair and causing a sticky mess on the floor or the clawing emptiness eating me from the inside.

2: 21 am

I should get up. I had an exam. I needed to brush up on everything I have already read a hundred times this session.

2: 23 am

My boyfriend's name is Micheal but everyone who loves and hates him called him Mike. I love him with every being in me. I love him so much. I love him more than I should.

Someone sent me a text. I couldn't reach my phone from where I tossed it on the bed so I ignored it.

2: 25 am

I need to read

I should call Hannah.

2: 30 am

I was supposed to be having a reading session with Mike over at his house but somewhere along the lines of volcanicity and climate change we heard his mother screaming from a story beneath us.

Micheal's father was the Mayor of Whitepocket. Our mayor hits his wife.

His sons couldn't care less.

Someone texted me again. It was too far so I ignored it.

I can't call Hannah. I'll keep this to myself one last time.

2:32 am

Maybe it was my fault this time, maybe if I had done a fair job at pretending the air wasn't splintering with her loud wails or the floor wasn't shaking with the mayor's inhumane roars like Mike did maybe we wouldn't have fought. Maybe I wouldn't have gotten hurt.

I have a geography exam in the morning. I can't fail it.

2:37 am

I liked to believe that Mike was nothing like his father, and in many ways that was true, and in other ways it was all mind-altering self-deceit. Physically they were nothing alike, Mike was too light-skinned, too tall, too buffed up to match his father. In that aspect there were differences.

I should stop crying.

I liked to believe that the Mayor didn't cuddle up his wife or weep into her arms after he came to terms with what to he did. I liked to belive he didn't care for her bruises or promise never to do it again. I also liked to believe she didn't love him as much as I loved Mike. The father and son were different when it came to fixing what they broke.

I told Mike to go stop his father. I told him he was heartless for disregarding his mother. I interfered with their business. I should've just shut up.

Mike got angry and I got hurt.

I waited on the ground of his room till I couldn't hear her painful sobs no matter how hard I pressed my ear against the floor.

I waited till Mike realized that in his fit of rage he had smacked me over and caused me to bash my head against his reading table.

I waited till he started begging. I waited till I was sure I wasn't dying. I waited till he came to his senses.

Then I left.

2: 42 am

I should text Hannah. I wondered if she was asleep.

Mike was texting me.

2: 43 am.

I ignored it.

Hannah was my best friend.

2: 44 am

I hated the way he made me feel, I hated the way he hurt me, I hated the way I couldn't for the life of me fix up my room, I hated the way I couldn't stop crying, I hated the way I couldn't get up, I hated the way he knelt in front of me, I hated the way realization widened his eyes, I hated the way his mother screamed, I hated how two-faced his father was, I hated the way he turned vile with anger, I hated the way he becomes his father.

I hated the way I love him.

2: 45 am

My alarm broke out.

I have to read.

I didn't text Hannah. She might be too preoccupied. I didn't want to disturb her.

2: 48 am

I was in the bathroom under the shower watching the water wash the crimson off my hair and disappear down the sink. I reached out and touched the wound, it stung but I knew it wouldn't need any stitches but my braids were ruined.

I need to find scissors.

2: 54 am.

I chopped everything off, light brown attachments littered my bed, and spilled over to the clothes and empty packs of junk on the floor. I think I might have gotten a good chunk of my real hair. Tears bubbled up my throat and I started crying again, this time I didn't even know what for.

I had to clean up and read.

I went to shower again and let a rain of hot water flush down on me.

3:00 am.

My second alarm ripped through my skull with a painful zing.

3: 11 am.

I was draped in a towel, my hair free from the red stickness and metallic smell and painkillers flushed down to my belly. I sat by the window bench with a mountain of books stacked in front of me, I looked out and inhaled the view of Spring Valley, silver-vined streets and eloquently trimmed hyacinths that splashed regality in vibrant purple hues.

Something itchy with multiple tiny legs danced in my throat like a virus when I looked back at my books, I coughed so hard I began to see blurry and my neck weak with soreness.

I began reading for my exams.

6: 45 am.

Dawn grey, Wine, royal blue and white were the colors of Everest Academy, that's where I went to. Each color represented what the school supposedly stood for balance, opulence, trust and confidence, and peace.

That was what our parents wanted from us and that was what the school made sure to milk out for them.

In a place like Whitepocket, competitiveness seeped from all corners of the towns and districts that made it up. Everyone wanted theirs to be better, wanted to be smarter, wanted to be more accomplished, wanted to be more influential, richer.

Competition was what birthed Everest Academy.

A school crafted with thick ambitious dedicated hands and bless with life with the spirit of exclusiveness and determination by Obiora Amaechi one of the seven founding fathers of Whitepocket.

But that's a story for another day.

So unlucky peasants like us whose parents hadn't sprouted from old doozy money, those of us whose family names barely held a candle, those of us who were termed 'money hungry' had to struggle to make sure we topped of those which families ran deep into the roots of Whitepocket.

We had to work twice as harder and then some more.

Because we would rather take our lives that sin in the name of disappointment.

My third alarm boomed from my phone. It was 7 O'clock.

I ignored it and settled in front of my vanity mirror and began to clean the mess of earlier today or should I say late last night? Whatever it was.

The hot shower helped with the swelling on my cheekbone because the once purple patch had reverted back to bright pink. I cleaned and dabbed, and swiped and concealed. Then I brushed through my head struggled to braid them into 6 and threw on a beanie.

I took a step back and raked myself through the mirror, dressed up in the color of balance, opulence, trust and confidence, and peace of my school.

Good. I wish I looked good.

Someone texted me.

I arranged my books neatly into my bag and held on to the textbooks that were too thick to fit without making it look bulgy. I should clean up my room, I wasn't normally unkept, infact I almost never was it was just that fixing up my room was a task greater than my control.

And honestly I loved it that way. It felt real. Safe. It felt like mine.

So instead I polished the tiles from the blood and threw the clothes stained into the wash basket for laundry when I come back home earlier today.

Someone texted me.

There was nothng left to do than go to school, my exams started in 3 hours and I still needed to brush up on some topics so I didn't have the luxury of wasting any more time and stalling from picking that cursed phone.

I sighed threw my duvet over and rescured it from the pile. I shouldn't check, I really shouldn't check. I should switch it off and ignore it like I have been for the rest of the day.

But of course, just as always my body betrayed my mind.

73 missed calls and 102 messages from Mine🤍.

I swiped the notifications off my home screen clear and buried them in my pocket before heading downstairs.

My parents didn't come home last night, I can't remember when last they did, their itch to multiply their net worth greater than the need for rest or sleep. They did it for us.

"I thought you were sleeping out," Charles my little brother of barely a year said shirtless and hunched over the kitchen island. "Let me guess you guys fought again, must've been a fun night."

There wasn't any amusement or mockery in his voice neither was there concern, he was too busy organizing little tiny glass bottles filled with transparent liquids into stashes, arranging them carefully into a stationary kit, and scribbling in a long hard-cover notebook.

"Let me guess your customers want to make a withdrawal, must be fun." I deflected surprised at how clear my voice sounded, I didn't say a word for hours and I half expected my words to melt into incoherent sentences.

"Don't," He wiggled his finger at me at where he thought I stood because he was so engrossed in his little business that he couldn't look up. "I like what I'm doing, you definitely do not."

He took a peep at me to emphasize. "So that's why you came home early, you guys did fight, again."

"Just shut up and take whatever you have over there out of this house, its giving me a headache." I said taking some leftovers from the fridge and heading to the microwave knowing whatever I had to say or think about it wasn't going to change anything.

In my life, I have come to terms that my words barely held as much as a feather.

"Well, its giving me extra cash," He grinned, slammed the lid shut and glided over to me. "And all I have to do is keep them safe, I'm not even selling."

Charles was like a warehouse of our set and even the current ss3 a class above us. Because of our parent's lack of presence, he had one of the safest houses to store up what anyone was afraid of keeping at their own house in ours.

The range was infinite and very much lawless.

"You don't need the money, we get enough." I punched in some buttons and waited for the food to warm up.

He shrugged. "You need to leave him though."

I watched my food intensely afaraid that if I look anywhere else I might cry. "Who?"

"You can't keep playing dumb forever, you know right?"

The ache at the back of my head grew worse with every second we spent talking about him, with every second I kept walking around it, with every second I came up with an excuse to forgive him, take out my phone and call him over to pick me up.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I took out my food and settled on the island, my stomach churned staring at the plate of rice and chicken curry. It turned and turned and burned and burned like there was a pool of lava bubbling with aggression and splashing against the walls of my abdomen.

I picked at the grains willing myself to take a spoon and somehow forcing my lips shut to stop a sob from exploding out my throat.

Charles sighed, picked up his box and book and snapped at my face compelling me to look up at him. "If you don't one of these days he is going to fuck you up more than you imagine."

I glared at him, or at least tried to gripping onto my spoon tightly. The multiple legged virus was back toy around my chest up my head and down to the bottom of my guts, twisting me from the inside.

"What do you know?" My voice cracked, my shoulders quavered and eyes blureed.

"More than you think, Yvette, more than you think."

"Mike is a good person, you know that, I know that, he just has his issues..." I looked up to him. "Everyone has their issues."

"And they have no right to make their issues other people's problem. Mike's issues aren't yours."

"I never said they're mine."

"But he's making them yours."

"Charles," I sighed out. "You don't know everything about him, about us."

"Trust me, I do."

And then he was strolling out leaving me alone between the shrinking walls drawing closer to crush me and mimic the way my ribcage was crushing my heart and suffocating me.

Hot dark blood filled my lungs and scorched all the air I had managed to save until I was exhaling ashes and ambers and a huff of something rotten, something bad.

I looked down at my food again, dug the spoon deeper into my palm, and shifted it through the curry in a bid to distract myself from the growing ache prodding from beneath my beanie. I could almost see the gash behind my head bursting open and leaking down my ears and snaking around my neck.

Mike did this. Mike did this. Mike did this. I did this.

I forced a spoon into my mouth, my tongue was numb and the taste was bland but prickly. I shut my eyes close allowed the acid feel burn its way down.

And then I forced another.

And another.

And another.

And another-

Something filled with hot molten jammed up in my throat I staggered up my seat with a start so fast that I had my plate toppling over the slab and dashing to pieces on the floor sounding like a disheveled orchestra. Thrusting myself forward I toppled over my feet and slammed my ribs against the corner of the island and slumped to the ground.

My body was on fire, there was a hole in my chest spilling my guts on the floor and the holes in my head spewing tears, mucus and vomit.

I was going to break up with Mike today. I needed to.

Someone sent me a text. 

I sent my phone flying.

ROSE'S LITTLE RANT;

Okay okayyyyyyyyyy, how was it???

Yvette, my sweet baby, has an exam but it is boy matter that filled her head 😔

Anyhow sha it will be fine, somehow somehow, hopefully.

Do you think she's a character you would root for or that could be your fav?

And Mike🙃 Let's leave his matter until we have met him.

We saw a little bit of Charles. We might not see him much cause he is Charles but remember Charles, don't forget Charles. Don't you just love Charles??

Lolllllll.🤭

I have the next chapter down but I think it's best to release them weekly rather than double updating and disappearing a month straight, right?????

Okay okay, byeeeer. See you soon, by God's grace.

Love, Rose❤️.