Chapter 5

Clara hated Mondays. The corridors were louder, the teachers crankier, and the bullies more energized after a weekend of rotting at home.

She was at her locker when it started—three girls, whispering too loud right behind her.

“Look at her. Doesn’t even talk.”

“Creepy bitch.”

“Bet she cries herself to sleep.”

Clara slammed her locker shut with a bang that made them jump. “Go fuck yourselves,” she muttered, brushing past them.

Their laughter followed her, sharp and cruel. She clenched her fists, but didn’t turn back. Not worth it. Not unless she wanted detention again.

And then, like always, Lana appeared. Bursting out of a classroom, swinging her bag like a weapon, eyes shining too bright for this dead place.

“Clara!” She grabbed Clara’s arm. “Save me. Mr. Phillips nearly killed me with algebra.”

“You probably deserve it,” Clara muttered, but her voice softened.

Lana leaned in, whispering dramatically, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Don’t worry, Lana, I’ll protect you from evil math teachers.’”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You’re on your own, dumbass.”

Lana laughed, but it didn’t sound like it usually did. It was a little too forced, a little too high-pitched. Clara caught it instantly.

“You okay?” she asked, blunt.

“Of course,” Lana said too quickly. “I’m always okay.”

The lie was obvious. The way her smile trembled, the way her hand tightened on the strap of her bag—it all screamed not okay.

“Bullshit,” Clara said.

Lana’s eyes flicked to her, something dark swimming beneath the brightness. But then she looked away, plastering the smile back on. “You’re imagining things.”

At lunch, Clara noticed it again. Lana sat across from her, chattering with two other classmates, laughing at something stupid. But when she thought nobody was watching, her shoulders slumped. Her eyes went flat, her fork just poking at her food.

Clara kicked her under the table. “Eat, dumbass.”

“Ow.” Lana grinned, though her eyes didn’t. “Bossy much?”

“You’re gonna pass out if you don’t.”

“Maybe I like being dramatic.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “You’re full of shit.”

Lana’s smile cracked for a second, then she changed the subject, too fast.

Clara wanted to grab her and shake the truth out of her. Instead, she just scowled into her tray.

After school, they went to the cliff again. It was cloudy, the sky heavy, the wind sharper than usual. Clara hugged her hoodie tight, glaring at Lana who was too close to the edge.

“Back up before you fucking fall,” Clara snapped.

Lana tilted her head, eyes fixed on the drop below. “What if I did?”

Clara’s stomach dropped. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not.”

The seriousness in her voice scared Clara more than the words.

“Lana—” Clara started, but Lana cut her off with a smile.

“I’m kidding. God, you’re so dramatic.”

“That’s not fucking funny,” Clara growled. “Don’t say shit like that.”

Lana looked at her for a long time, the smile fading. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re the only person who’d notice if I was gone.”

Clara’s throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to tell her she mattered, to confess the truth clawing at her chest. But instead, she said, “Of course I’d fucking notice. Don’t be an idiot.”

Lana’s eyes softened, but sadness lingered there, unspoken.

That night, Clara couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at her ceiling, Lana’s words echoing in her head. What if I was gone?

She thought about the bruises, the lies, the way Lana’s laugh no longer reached her eyes.

Clara whispered into the dark, “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The next day, Clara found Lana at her locker, shoulders shaking. She was laughing with a group of kids, but it was wrong. Too loud, too desperate. Clara recognized the cracks now—the way Lana’s mask was slipping, piece by piece.

When the others walked away, Clara cornered her. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Lana chirped, fiddling with her books.

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid.”

Lana froze. Her mask wavered, eyes filling with something heavy. For a moment, Clara thought she’d finally spill everything.

But then Lana forced a laugh, pushing past her. “You worry too much.”

Clara grabbed her wrist, voice breaking. “Lana—”

“Clara.” Lana’s voice was sharp now, almost pleading. “Please. Drop it.”

Clara let go. She watched her best friend walk away, her heart pounding with anger, fear, and something she couldn’t name.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell Lana she wasn’t alone, that she loved her more than anyone else in the world.

But instead, she whispered to herself, “You’re fucking lying, Lana. And one day, it’s gonna kill you.”

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