"OMG… They're gonna find me."
My whisper was barely audible as I stumbled up the stairs, lungs aching, legs trembling. Each step felt heavier than the last. My chest heaved—not just from panic, but exhaustion. I wasn't proud to admit it, but ever since the 11th grade, I'd stopped caring about my weight. At the time, it didn't seem to matter. But now… every pound felt like a brick strapped to my body.
I could hear them—footsteps behind me, laughter, chasing voices. The school hall twisted in shadows as the sun dipped low, painting everything in gold and gray.
Then, like lightning—fast and desperate—I darted into the janitor's closet.
It was pitch black. The air was warm, thick with the scent of disinfectant and dust. My back stuck to my shirt with sweat, the trail of it dripping down my spine like a slow tear. My chest rose and fell so rapidly I thought I might faint.
And then—a hand. Over my mouth.
I froze.
The world stopped spinning.
But before fear could truly take root, a familiar whisper came close to my ear.
"Don't make a sound."
Relief spread through my body like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was one of my brothers.
My shoulders sagged, breath still catching in my throat. "Thank God," I mumbled into his hand.
We both stood still, listening. Then—footsteps. Closer. Louder. My lungs screamed for air, but I refused to breathe. The pressure in my chest built, the darkness in the room feeling tighter with every second. I was seconds from passing out when a noise echoed from farther down the hallway—metal clattering, maybe.
The footsteps faded. Gone.
My brother's hand slipped away, and I pushed the door open, inch by inch, squinting into the corridor. It was clear.
Without a word, I broke into a run, feet thudding softly down the stairs. The thrill of the game had faded; I just wanted to go home.
My classroom was quiet as I stepped in. A peaceful kind of silence that felt foreign after the chaos.
I went straight to my desk.
Empty.
My backpack was gone.
I let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed my temples. One more thing. Just one more problem.
"Aww... Fatty's looking for her bag," a voice said, low and laced with venom.
My stomach dropped.
Rita.
I turned slowly. She stood there with her usual crew—three girls who laughed when she did, moved when she moved. I had been dealing with her taunts since the weight came on. I'd try to avoid her, to shrink and disappear in her presence. But she always found me. And her words always found the softest parts of me to stab.
"P-please give me my b-bag," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.
She grinned, wicked and sharp. "And why should I listen to you, huh, fatty?"
She unzipped my bag and began pulling everything out. Books, notebooks, pens—all of it spilled onto the floor like my dignity.
I wanted to cry.
No—I almost did.
I swallowed it down like I always did.
"Wh-what do you want?" I asked, voice shaky but trying to stand tall.
Rita walked closer, her heels clicking with purpose. She was beautiful—impossibly so. Porcelain skin, raven-black hair that shimmered under the light, a frame so tiny it made me ache with envy.
"Okay, fatty. I have a condition."
Her voice dropped.
My heart clenched.
"I want you to hook me up with your brother. Make me his girlfriend."
I blinked. "Wh-which one?"
"Your oldest. Samson."
Samson. Who had just become CEO of our father's company. My most serious, no-nonsense brother. Rita? With him?
I shook my head slowly. "I'm sorry. I can't."
I turned away.
"Fine," she said behind me, voice eerily calm. "I'll just ask him myself. You probably don't even know how to talk to boys. You're just stupid. And fat. I'm sure no one even likes you. Not even your brothers."
That one hit.
Hard.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
Tears slipped down as I ran from the classroom. My chest burned, my throat closed, but I kept running. Out of the school. Into the street. Into a cab. I muttered my address, and the driver nodded.
The city blurred outside the window. I didn't try to stop the tears now. I let them fall, hot and constant.
AT HOME
As soon as I stepped through the gate, I headed straight for my room. No one had returned yet—thank God.
I paced. Sat. Stood up again.
No more games. No more waiting to be something I'm not.
I splashed cold water on my face, grabbed a small towel and dried my cheeks. I could barely look at myself in the mirror.
Then I turned and walked out.
Down the long hallway.
To my father's office.
His door creaked as I opened it, just a little. He was sitting at his desk, a pen in hand and papers in front of him.
"Hey, Dad," I whispered.
He looked up instantly. His face brightened. "Ahh, my princess. How was school today? You're early. Where are your brothers?"
I hesitated. "Still in school. Um... I came to ask if you could book me a flight. To Texas. For university."
He blinked. "Now?"
I nodded, eyes cast to the floor, fingers tangled nervously.
He didn't ask why. Just smiled softly. "I like that you're thinking ahead."
Then he reached for his phone.
"Mike, take my daughter to Texas on the jet. In ten. Be ready." He hung up.
No questions.
That was my father.
"All right, dear. Go get your things. Joshua will pick you up."
I turned to leave, then hesitated.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Please... don't tell anyone, okay?"
He gave me a look—concerned, but he didn't push. "All right. I promise."
"I love you," I said, already halfway out the door.
"I love you too."
Back in my room, I moved fast. Packed the essentials. Checked everything twice. Again.
Mike called from downstairs.
The boys weren't home.
I slipped out, unseen.
The gate opened behind me as the car rolled forward.
"I'll miss them so much," I whispered to myself.
As the city melted behind us, I stared out the window.
For the first time in a long while… I was running toward something.
Not away.