Chapter 4Is It My Turn Now?

After a few days of slathering on concealer, the handprint on my face faded.

The one on my heart was permanent.

I started packing my things to move to my new dorm across campus. As I was wrestling a suitcase taller than I was down the stairs, I ran right into Nate.

He was carrying both of Sera’s suitcases, one in each hand, yet he was still managing to chat and laugh with her, doting on her every move. We met on the landing—him, pristine and smiling; me, sweaty and struggling.

It used to be me and him, a perfect team.

“Ava? You’re moving dorms?”

I didn’t bother to look at the awkward guilt in his eyes. “Yep,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Someone was kind enough to file my major transfer paperwork for me, so I’ve got to make room for the new student.”

His gaze darted away, and his voice was raspy when he finally spoke. “Look, Ava… maybe International Relations is a better fit for you anyway. And even if we’re in different programs, I can still come see you.”

I closed my eyes, too exhausted to argue anymore.

But as I turned to leave, he dropped Sera’s bags and ran after me, his voice tight with panic.

“That day… I didn’t mean to…”

Whatever apology he was about to offer was cut short by a sharp cry from Sera. He immediately fell silent and rushed back to her side.

“Nate, it’s all wet… Everything is ruined…” Sera sobbed, pointing at one of her suitcases, which was now soaked, a dark stain spreading across the expensive fabric.

“Who did this?!” Nate roared, his temper flaring.

I had been watching the scene with detached amusement, but my blood ran cold when Sera turned and dropped to her knees directly in front of me.

“I’m sorry…” she stammered, her voice a pathetic whimper. “I… I know I’m not good enough for Nate… I can stay in my old major…”

Her small voice was laced with a delicate, wounded tremor. “Please… I worked so hard to get into college… I just want to study…”

She never directly accused me, but she didn’t have to. The implication was clear. In that moment, I finally understood. She wasn't an innocent victim. She was a master puppeteer.

And her favorite puppet was still completely under her spell.

“Ava, how far are you going to take this?!” Nate’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “First you push her into the pond, now you destroy her belongings! What’s next? Are you going to get her expelled so you can have me all to yourself?”

His voice rose to a furious shout. “God, right now, I honestly regret ever meeting you.”

The words struck me like a physical blow, but my expression remained like stone.

“Think whatever you want.”

That was the spark that lit the fuse. Nate exploded.

He stormed over to my luggage and kicked it, sending it tumbling down the stairs. Then he grabbed an empty water jug from a nearby trash can, filled it at a water fountain, and dumped it all over my scattered belongings. He stomped on my clothes, my books, my life.

He crushed a small, leather-bound journal my grandfather had given me. It was the last birthday present he ever gave me before he died. He had filled it with photos and notes, documenting every important moment of my life, from my first steps to my high school graduation. On the last page, he’d written his final words to me.

I treasured it. I kept it pristine. It didn’t have a single folded corner.

Now, it was a soggy, mangled mess on the dirty floor, the ink bleeding, the pages ripped and ground into the tile by Nate’s shoe.

“NATE, STOP!” I screamed, throwing myself forward, trying to salvage it. But he pressed his foot down harder, refusing to move.

“See, Ava? Now you know what it feels like to have something you love destroyed!” he hissed.

Having vented his rage, his voice softened, as if he were scolding a misbehaving child. He reached out a hand to help me up, but flinched back as a tear from my cheek dripped onto his skin, hot as acid.

“Ava, you…”

I looked up, my face streaked with tears, my eyes shot with blood. “That was the last thing my grandpa ever gave me… Nate, I hate you.”

My voice was a raw, broken whisper. “I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.”

Panic finally washed over his face. He scrambled backward, his foot slipping off the ruined journal.

He stammered a quick, meaningless “I’m sorry,” then turned, grabbed Sera, and practically fled the scene.

His parting words echoed down the empty stairwell. “Ava, when you’ve calmed down, I’ll come back and we can talk.”

I knelt on the floor, gently picking up the tattered, unrecognizable pieces of paper. I wiped my tears away.

There was nothing left to talk about.

He had just personally, brutally, and permanently destroyed everything we ever were.

I pulled out my phone. The friend request from the Student Body President was still there, sent three days ago.

I pressed ‘Confirm.’