David didn't move.
He stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them, like he didn't belong there—which he didn't. Amanda watched him from the corner of her eye, her expression blank, unreadable.
"I said you can go," she repeated, her voice quieter this time. Not softer. Just more tired.
David swallowed. His voice was rough. "I don't want to."
Amanda looked at him then. Really looked. And for a second, he swore something flickered in her gaze—contempt, maybe. Or disappointment. But it vanished so quickly he wasn't sure it had ever been there at all.
"You don't have to pretend you care, David," she said. "It's exhausting."
"I'm not pretending."
"Right." Her head lolled to the side, eyes on the ceiling again. Her voice was flat, toneless. "You're just another person who watched it happen and said nothing."
David flinched.
Amanda stared at the ceiling as if it had answers. "Do you know what I remember the most?" she asked, her voice oddly detached. "Not the pain. Not the screaming. Not even the blood. I remember how quiet it got after I begged them to stop."
David stayed still, the words digging into his chest.
"I begged, David." Her lips twisted into something like a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And no one came. They left me there. Like trash."
David blinked hard. "I saw the video… I—"
"Good." She cut him off. "Maybe next time you'll speak up before someone ends up in a hospital."
"I tried," he said, desperate now. "I told the teachers—"
"And they did nothing. Just like you."
Silence fell again, sharp as glass.
Amanda's fingers curled slightly around the blanket. Her face was unreadable, but her voice carried a low tremor. "Don't act like you care now that it's safe to."
David stepped closer, one hand reaching out instinctively—then freezing in the air, inches from hers. Amanda didn't pull away. She just stared at him with a cold, hollow expression.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" she asked. "Is this the part where you tell me you've 'always liked me' and I'm supposed to forget everything and feel grateful someone finally noticed I exist?"
David shook his head, eyes glassy. "That's not what I'm—"
"Save it," she whispered.
He stood there, helpless.
"How did you know it was Jonas?" she asked suddenly.
David hesitated. Then, quietly: "They posted it. The video. On the student forum."
Amanda laughed again—sharp and shaking. "Of course they did."
She laughed and cried all at once, and David didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to hold her. She wouldn't let him. He wanted to speak. She wouldn't listen. He wanted to fix it. He couldn't.
When her tears slowed, Amanda wiped her face with the edge of her blanket. Her expression returned to that same dull numbness, like the crying had never happened.
"Don't come back," she said.
David opened his mouth.
"I mean it," she said flatly. "You don't get to show up when I'm broken and act like you care."
He lingered, frozen in place.
"I'm done playing the sad fat girl everyone gets to pity," Amanda whispered. "I'm not your redemption story, David. I'm not here to make you feel better."
He stood there a moment longer. Then he turned and left.
And Amanda, alone in the sterile white silence, stared at the ceiling again.
She didn't cry this time.
She just lay there, stone still, trying to feel nothing at all.