7:35 AM
"Please, take your seats," It drizzles restlessly, raindrops politely knocking on window panes in the auditorium. Begging for entrance, to be given a chance.
I tune out pained grunts which peel from the game on my phone through its speakers, observing the rarely-used room - the auditorium.
A grand crystal chandelier hangs in the middle of it, but it has a cold beauty to it - something hauntingly beautiful.
Every set of eyes, not excluding my own, find themselves dead set on Dean Yun - watching expectantly, "Did anyone know?"
We glance around at each other, hoping to chance upon an answer to her question and maybe multiple of our own. But, we'd never get a direct answer. Victorit was built by secrets, and it'll stay that way.
The air is suffocatingly clogged with tension until a light brunet chuckles, "You."
Dean Yun narrows her eyes in his direction. The two have old history, where he is a gray strand in her taut bun of black hair. A prankster with plenty of other students who find amusement in his mischievous pastimes, so long as they aren't on the receiving end. "Seems only you know. Care to share the secret?"
He taunts her with words glazed in a sweet tone despite his Swedish accent which already gifted his voice a signature lilt. He coats his mocking words in something Dean Yun won't recognize. But for some of us, the smell of his intentions are too strong - we know. He, Elias Bjorklun, had to have been involved.
The dean exhales harshly, furrowing her brows as she gazes at the newspaper in her hand. "Knight. Francisco Knight."
She peers around the auditorium, while her echo still sounds through it. Her face tilted up, Dean Yun wears exhaustion with dark eye bags. Her eyes stop on Genevieve Monet. Then Yun finishes, "Hung himself last night."
In seconds, Genevieve's face writes an expression of shock with her mouth fallen open. "Why-"
But I stare, Francisco… committed suicide?
It isn't that I could cry since I never knew him enough for that. But, I exhale while rubbing my neck, wow.
Genevieve frowns, tears threatening to touch the hearts of gullible students in the room. "And y-" She chokes a sob, one I was sure had to be fake. "You thought… one of us might be responsible? Dean Yun, we loved Francisco."
There is a subtle - barely there - involuntary quirk in Dean Yun's lip, "Loved? Genevieve, darling, I never mentioned him dying."
Turning to Genevieve, I see her sneer as Yun continues. "In fact, he isn't dead."
Continuing through her act, the longest I've ever seen her commit to something, she insists. "Bu-but you'd assume a hanging succeeds… well, normally at least."
She has a point, but Genevieve had to have something to do with it. Ejiroghene Abiola grins teasingly, dark gums glistening.
"Well, I, for one, can guarantee that my dear Genie, had nothing to do with it." His arm slung over her shoulder cheekily while saying her nickname, one she'd earned around the university. And though it didn't come without a price, she'd grant any of your wishes.
We didn't have it, none of us had any concrete evidence to pin them down for their harassment. They'd have their slippery checks to slide out of trouble anyway as they always have.
I swallow my accusations, ignoring the sour taste when Genevieve watches Dean Yun back down knowingly.
"Anyone, who would like to visit Francisco, fill out a form at my office." Yun gives everyone a dutiful nod, gripping the newspaper tightly until it crinkles as she walk away.
It feels bitter, watching her figure fade as she walks off stage.
Everyone starts whispering, but I look around with my brows furrowed in anger and disoriented even. My grip tightens around my phone subconsciously, which makes me glance down at the screen.
I'm not upset when I see it. Only disoriented as I stare back at the two bold words: Game Over.
⚖️
"I can't actually believe it, Claude," Anya Vinit winces when her voice cracks, and I'm sure her heart did too. "He's gone."
"Yun never mentioned him dying." I stare blankly, while repeating what I'd heard from her monotonously. "Besides, we weren't friends with him. Why do you care?"
Anya flinches, but the question is one more directed toward myself. We'd both watched silently when the student board assaulted him. Pretended we didn't see anything. Francisco was victim because he was on scholarship, and that set him apart from others who had old money to back them.
Yet we understood a difference which was never there, and let it happen. Sitting in our thoughts, silence fuses with the grim atmosphere of Anya's dorm room. "Do- … do you think, maybe he'll be the same?"
My eyes snap to her figure as she asks her question in a small voice. I want to answer her with the truth, but… maybe it's better to answer as a friend.
"Yea," I exhale the lie. "I think so."
She breathes in relief, and I wonder if I did the right thing - knowing I made her content with a lie. She speaks again, "Maybe… we could see him sometime?"
I freeze, shaking my head wistfully. I couldn't do that to him, not when I watched his agony happen. How could I even dare to show my face in front of him after that? If I did, it should be to get his forgiveness.
Maybe, I might be put at ease if I see Francisco - but it's not something I deserve.
Her voice breaks when she looks at me with glossy eyes, "Wh- why not?"
I only smile at her sadly, "I couldn't do that to him."
If only someone had told me to wait, let it kick in. Perhaps, I felt numb earlier because it hadn't set in that Francisco actually hung himself. But now, the torture never stopped.
Is this what Francisco felt when he was being assaulted? No, I shake my head, it's not even close.
It'd never be. I'd never be able to come close to what he felt. Just like I'll never be able to pay for what I did.
I'll have to bear the weight, that's my punishment.