She told me we were only friends because of something I said. And in that moment, something inside me snapped. In a desperate attempt to make it stop, I told her I would kill myself. I know—it sounds crazy. But that's where my mind had gone. I tried every possible way I could think of. I swallowed pills, bottles of alcohol strong enough to burn my throat, even batteries, hoping the acid in my stomach would ignite them, make them explode. But nothing worked. I kept failing, like the universe was determined to keep me alive, despite my every effort to end it.
I even thought about jumping from the stairs, willing myself to fall hard enough to hurt, to feel something—anything—but I couldn't do it. Because, deep down, I realized I didn't want to die. Not like that. Not because of someone who had made me feel loved and then tossed me aside.
I was angry at myself. Angry for getting myself into this mess because of one girl. One girl who, in the end, didn't care about me the way I cared about her. Sure, she didn't want me anymore, but that didn't give her the right to make me feel so small. And it took me too long to realize that. It wasn't love. It was manipulation. And I was a fool.
If I had to choose between loving someone who would hurt me over and over again or being alone for the rest of my life, I'd choose loneliness. At least that way, I could find peace in my own company. Sure, it would hurt at first, but it's the right thing to do. Because, if someone truly loved you, they wouldn't treat you like that. They wouldn't humiliate you without reason.
And so, I told her: "Don't speak to me again." But the anger inside me didn't stop. It only grew. It turned into something darker, something dangerous. Every chance I got, I fed into it. One day, during gym class, I waited until the teacher's back was turned. I threw the ball with everything I had, hitting her square in the face. The sight of her bleeding, the look of shock and anger in her eyes—it felt like victory. For a moment, it felt good. But that satisfaction only deepened the rage I felt toward her.
I spread lies about her—hurtful, cruel lies that destroyed her reputation. I told everyone she slept around for money, that she was a prostitute. It wasn't true, but it didn't matter. The result was what I wanted: everyone turned on her. They looked at her with disgust, and I watched it all from the sidelines, feeling the sick pleasure of watching her suffer.
I thought I had won. But a few days later, Pandora confronted me. I was walking home from the grocery store when I heard her calling my name. She was furious. She tried to punch me, but I grabbed her wrist before she could land a blow.
"Alex, you really need to learn how to punch faster than that," I taunted.
"Shut up," she shot back, "I'm not the only one on a revenge strike, just showing how weak you really are."
I smirked. "If I were weak, I wouldn't be the one you've been crying over. I wouldn't be the one everyone's been avoiding."
Her response cut deeper than anything else she could have said. "You may have won, but let me tell you a few things: First, I never liked you. The reason we became friends was because I didn't know how to get you to leave me alone. You were just easy to manipulate, like a doll. Second, manipulating you was so easy. I bet you became pathetic, sitting at your phone, waiting for my next message. Third, you're just a lonely kid who will never be loved. No one likes you because you're too innocent and stupid to even live. And finally, you don't want to die because you're just a nuisance. You're collateral damage. Probably a mistake."
She walked away, leaving me frozen in place. My mind was spinning. Her words burned through my head. I didn't know how to feel—whether I should be angry, sad, or just numb. My body was shaking, but the tears wouldn't come. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.
When I got home, I locked myself in my room and collapsed against the door. I buried my head between my knees, taking slow, shaky breaths, trying to calm the storm inside me. It wasn't going to be okay, but I told myself it had to be. I watched a movie, but I couldn't focus. I fell asleep halfway through, too exhausted to think.
Days passed. I moved through the halls of school, and we never spoke. But the anger, the madness—it stayed with me, lingering like a tumor. I had to find an outlet for it. And I did. I threw myself into my studies, pushing myself harder than ever. From being one of the lowest in class, I climbed to fourth place. It was the only thing I could control.
I even made new friends, including Mara. She was calm, kind, and seemed to understand me in ways that no one else did. She helped me in ways I never thought I needed, shaping my life in ways I didn't even realize at the time. Still, there was an emptiness that lingered. I thought I had moved on, but the truth was Pandora's shadow still hung over me. I couldn't shake it.
One night, I couldn't resist. I hacked into Pandora's account, curious to see what she had been saying about me behind my back. What I found confirmed everything I had feared. She had talked about me to everyone she knew, calling me all sorts of names. She said I was pathetic, a fool for thinking I was worth anything. And then I found it—she had been plotting to ruin my life from the very beginning.
I cried when I read it. I realized how much hatred she had carried for me all along, how much she wished for me to disappear. I couldn't understand why she would do that. I had never done anything to hurt her. She had made me feel like I was the problem, like I was the one at fault.
Three months passed, and I thought I was healing. But then the universe threw me another curveball. I was late to biology class, and when I walked in, I saw who I had been paired with for the project: Pandora. The one person I never wanted to see again.
Mara just looked at me and shrugged. "The universe likes to mess with you, huh?"
And now here I am, back with the one person who nearly destroyed me, stuck with her for the whole project. How do I work with her now? How do I even begin to face her? The anger is still there, but so is the emptiness. I guess it's time to figure out what happens next.