Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 8

A somewhat long day—though more than long, just exhausting—was finally coming to an end.

After spending days holed up in my room, I experienced being burned for the first time in my life, tried ingesting a white phosphorus match in a way the match girl from the fairy tale never would have, and even had a somewhat peaceful conversation with Evan.

Well, there was no yelling, nor did we say anything intentionally hurtful to each other. That alone qualifies as peaceful, doesn’t it?

The last conversation this girl—me, or rather, the one whose body I now inhabit—had with Evan before locking herself away in sadness was full of cruel, cutting remarks. Words so sharp they seemed to wish for death.

Anyway, it had been quite a turbulent day.

With so much happening, it was only natural that my body was weary. Dragging myself around, I barely managed to wash my face before collapsing onto the bed.

“Ugh…”

I rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. I wanted to lie down properly and sleep in a decent position, but I didn’t have the energy to move a finger.

Would I suffocate like this, with my face buried in the pillow?

Suffocating because I was too tired to turn over—it wouldn’t be enough to win a Darwin Award, but it might get me nominated.

Resigned, I let go of everything, burying my face deeper into the pillow and surrendering to sleep.

And then I dreamed.

To summarize, the dream suggested that everything I’d experienced in this world was just a peculiar nightmare. I woke up in my usual room, the one I’d always known.

The thick black curtains blocked out the sunlight, and I lay on my bed, which had two mattresses stacked for extra softness.

Thinking it was all just a silly dream, I left the room to change the mood. I went to the kitchen, took out some oolong tea from the fridge, and added plenty of ice.

To chill the tea, I swirled it in the glass three or four times before grabbing a plastic Mickey Mouse straw and sticking it in.

When I took a sip, to my surprise, it tasted like nothing.

Frustrated, I drank several more sips, holding the tea in my mouth before spitting it out, but no flavor appeared.

Feeling infinitely low, tears welled up in my eyes.

A grown man, crying because his tea had no taste.

A man?

No, just a small, powerless girl. Haha.

Yes, that’s what I’d become.

My hands, which had once been rough with calluses on the fingertips, were now soft, like those of someone who played piano.

The skin was pale, and long white hair cascaded down my shoulders.

I looked in the mirror and saw a girl staring back at me, tears streaming down her face, her expression cold.

Her emotionless face—so devoid of feeling—was the one I always wore.

As I stared into her eyes, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, forming a faint smile.

She moved only her mouth to smile.

Because to smile, all you need is to lift the corners of your lips just a little.

…

When morning came, I got up as usual, tidied myself, packed a suitable book to read, and headed to class.

The classroom’s atmosphere, Lydia’s bullying—there was no need to describe it all again.

This life, which repeated every day, felt as endless as Sisyphus’s punishment.

I struggled through the day, only to wake up to the same today as yesterday, and face a tomorrow identical to today.

What meaning am I supposed to find in this?

Is enduring this lethargic life with positivity the smallest act of resistance I, as a person, can muster?

At least today passed relatively easily.

The worst Lydia and her group did was some physical violence.

A few kicks, a slap—mild violence at most.

It didn’t hurt my pride too much. It wasn’t humiliating in a sexual way. I didn’t collapse in self-loathing.

Or maybe I just don’t remember clearly.

But I’m fine now, aren’t I?

Exhausted from the bullying, I eventually fell asleep.

Not that it matters much how I felt—what’s important is that I dreamed again.

Oddly enough, it was the same dream as before: drinking oolong tea.

Although calling it sleep might be too kind. I had merely passed out after being slapped.

I’m so frail that a single slap is enough to make me lose consciousness.

Maybe someone thought I’d die of a twisted mouth if left lying on the cold floor. It seemed someone had moved me, because I woke up sitting in a chair, slumped over a desk.

My back and shoulders ached from the awkward position.

Stretching as I got up, I noticed the other students glancing at me.

They gave me quick looks, like one might give a rare animal, before turning away.

Back to the dream. Did I want tea, or did I long for the simple reality of throwing on some sweatpants, walking five minutes to a café, and ordering a glass of oolong tea?

Perhaps it was neither. Or both.

These fleeting thoughts often breathe life into me, even if they’re just idle fantasies.

At least now, unfortunately, my reality is attending this dreadful academy, burdened with endless doubt and cynicism.

The life of lounging in a warm room, peeling tangerines, sipping coffee, and laughing mindlessly over novels is now just a figment of imagination.

I need to forget. Thinking about it only brings pain.

As I dwelled on the futile monotony of my days, someone called out to me.

“Excuse me, Lady Erica.”

Lady? It had been a while since I was addressed so formally.

Lydia only used it mockingly, and Vivian called me that with a sparkle of admiration in her eyes.

But the warm voice addressing me now belonged to someone I disliked.

I turned my head and, unsurprisingly, it was Vivian.

“Hello!”

She greeted me brightly, her voice cheerful.

“…Pleasure to see you.”

I wasn’t particularly pleased, but it was a polite response.

If I said it was pleasant, then it was, wasn’t it?

“What brings you here today?”

“You said you’d be coming to class, so I thought I’d drop by.

Oh, and I had something I wanted to say.”

With that, she rummaged in her bag and pulled something out.

Cookies.

“Oh, I baked these again. This time, they’re just plain milk cookies.”

“…Hmm. Thanks. I’ll enjoy them.”

If I wanted to interpret it cynically, it sounded like, “I came to see if you were really attending class.”

I glanced at Vivian’s face, my thoughts skewing negatively, but all I could manage was a small sigh.

Who could look at such an innocent, beautiful face and think such things?

The sweet cookies in my hand swept away most of my doubts.

At least in this world, someone like me could eat sugary cookies thanks to those who worked themselves to the bone—enslaved, unacknowledged, their blackened skin toiling in the heat to produce sugar.

“I told you last time.

We’re not that close.”

Even as I drew a firm line, I held the cookies tightly in my hand.

Vivian hesitated, deep in thought, before speaking.

“I know Evan likes me—not as a friend, but as someone he has feelings for.”

“And? Did you come here to gloat about that?”

I tried to continue speaking but faltered.

I had claimed to feel nothing for Evan, but that was back when I could still separate myself from this pale girl.

Now, it felt like we were blending together, merging into one.

Unpleasantly so.

“I hate how this has ruined everything.

I want to get along with you, Lady Erica. And with Evan too… though I’m not sure.”

So, in her heart, she’d already moved on.

“I don’t really know yet who I like, who I dislike, or even what love is.”

Or maybe not.

Well, you’re still young.

Your body might be that of an adult, but your mind is as innocent as a child’s.

Perhaps that’s why men are so drawn to you.

That thought made her seem dangerous.

What if this romance turned into a thriller about grown men targeting an emotionally immature girl?

“So, why are you telling me this?

I’m not fond of laying all my cards on the table.”

I prefer unspoken understanding, letting things pass unaddressed.

Evan might feel the same.

He never brought up anything directly, always letting conversations slide past.

“Did you stop liking Evan?”

“No, it’s not that… but even if I do like him, I don’t think it’s that way.”

In other words, “I like Evan, but not romantically.”

A common cliché. The kind where someone realizes their feelings only after a long denial.

Perhaps Evan isn’t even the main character.

Maybe he’s just a disposable supporting role, like me.

How amusing Vivian must find me.

A girl whose only advantage is her noble status, outshone in every other way.

She probably doesn’t.

I’m aware that this inferiority complex and envy are just baseless delusions.

But

It still feels unfair.

She easily obtains the kind of love others can only desperately yearn for, envy, or obsess over.

Well, you’re the protagonist. That’s just how it is.

“So, what’s your point?”

“I was wondering if we could have a meal together sometime, like before.

Maybe with Evan too, if you’re okay with it.”

Was I frowning? She hesitated, lowering her gaze as our eyes met.

What does this dazzling heroine see in someone like me, stuck at rock bottom?

Why not leave me here? Why try to drag me out?

It only makes me feel more wretched.

I opened my mouth to speak but closed it again.

And then, I just smiled.

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