Chapter 9: Accusations
The following morning wasn't any better. It felt like I was sinking under water. My body moved through the motions, getting dressed, shoving books into my bag, combing my hair, but my mind was elsewhere.
The words Alexander had thrown at me still pulsed in my head like an infection. Open your eyes, Isabella.
I didn't want to think about him, but I couldn't stop. And worse, every time my hand brushed the edge of the note in my pocket, the memory surged back. The shaky handwriting.
So, instead of heading to class, I found myself climbing the stairs to the headmaster's office.
The secretary gave me a doubtful look when I asked to see Alistair, but she didn't stop me. Soon, I was seated across from his polished oak desk.
He looked the same as always, sharp suit, tie knotted to perfection, silver hair neatly combed back. His piercing blue eyes lifted from the papers in front of him to me, calm and unreadable.
"Miss Marquez." His voice carried authority without effort. "To what do I owe this visit?"
I shifted in the chair, clutching my bag. "Sir, I wanted to know… if the police have made any progress with the investigation."
Alistair set down his pen with deliberate slowness. "Progress?"
"Yes." My voice came out quicker than I intended. "It's been days, and I haven't heard anything. Rose…" My throat caught on her name, but I forced myself to finish. "She deserves justice. And I deserve to know if they've found who did it."
His gaze was steady, cool. "Miss Marquez, although I understand the circumstances involving you and this issue, this is not your concern."
My chest tightened. "Not my concern? It happened in my room."
"That," he said smoothly, "is precisely why you should stay away from it. The authorities are doing their job. Your responsibility is to focus on your studies, not to meddle in matters you cannot control."
Heat flushed my face. "I'm not meddling. I'm asking. I…"
He raised a hand, silencing me. "Enough."
The single word was enough to make me clam up.
I pressed my lips together, fingers digging into my bag strap. His calmness was infuriating, like he'd already decided nothing I said mattered.
"I can't just pretend it didn't happen," I whispered.
"I'm not saying you should. I'm just saying you should let the authorities do their job." He told me.
And that was that. He returned to his papers, dismissing me without another glance.
I sat frozen for a moment, my pulse roaring in my ears. Anger bubbled in my chest, but so did something else, something like betrayal. Didn't he care? Didn't he understand that Rose had been alive, laughing in the hallways just days ago? And that I was being framed for something I didn't do?
Well, apparently not.
When I realized he wouldn't say another word, I stood stiffly, my chair scraping against the floor, and walked out.
By the time I got back to class, the morning lessons had already begun. I slid into my seat, ignoring the teacher's pointed look. My mind wasn't on equations or diagrams anyway. It was on every other thing that was happening regarding Rose's death.
The hours crawled by.
At lunch, I made an excuse to leave early and headed toward my locker. My stomach was a knot of dread I couldn't quite explain.
I spun the lock, opened the door, and pulled out my notebook. As I did, a folded piece of paper slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
For a second, I just stared at it.
Then my hands moved before my brain could catch up. I picked it up, unfolded it, and read.
You murdered her. You fucking murdered her.
The words screamed at me in jagged ink.
My breath caught. The paper trembled between my fingers.
What the hell was this? If Alexander thought I was going to cower from his threats then he thought wrong. I was going to put a stop to this right now.
My vision blurred red as I shoved the paper into my pocket and slammed the locker door shut. I didn't even care that heads turned as I stormed down the hall. My boots echoed like gunshots against the tiles.
I was going to find him. I was going to scream at him until he admitted it. Enough was enough.
But before I could round the corner, a familiar voice stopped me.
"Izzy?"
I skidded to a halt. Mateo was there, leaning casually against the wall, his easy grin already forming, until he saw my face. His expression shifted instantly. Concern shadowed his features.
"What's wrong?" he asked, pushing off the wall to come closer. His hand reached out but stopped short, hovering like he was afraid I'd break. "What are you holding?"
I froze. The paper burned in my hands or maybe it was my anger clouding my mind.
"It's nothing," I muttered.
"Izzy." His tone hardened. "Don't lie to me."
I hesitated, then with a frustrated sigh, I yanked the note out and shoved it at him. "Fine. Here."
His eyes flicked over the words, his jaw tightening as he read. The easy charm drained from his face, leaving something cold and unfamiliar.
"Who wrote this?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
My chest tightened. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"
"Think," he pressed, his gaze snapping back to mine. "Did you see anyone near your locker? Anyone following you?"
"I don't know!" My voice rose, cracking with the weight of everything I'd been holding back. "I didn't see anyone, Mateo. I just opened it and it fell out, okay?"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm not dumb or stupid, Mateo! I didn't see anyone. I opened my locker and there it was!"
"Don't yell at me," he shot back, though his own voice was louder now. "I'm trying to help you!"
I laughed bitterly, the sound scraping my throat. "Help? By asking me stupid questions I can't answer? By making me feel like I'm the one who planted it?"
His eyes widened. "That's not what I'm saying."
"That's what it feels like!"
The hallway was empty, but my words bounced off the walls, sharp and ugly. Mateo's fists clenched at his sides.
"Izzy," he said finally, quieter this time. "I just need to know who's doing this. That's all."
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back viciously. "And I need you to stop treating me like I'm holding back answers I don't fucking have."
He held me close as I fought him. "Ssh, babe, we said no cursing remember? It doesn't suit you."
"Oh fuck you!" I said pushing him away from me. "I'm talking about a letter and you are talking about me cursing. That has nothing to do with what I'm going through!"
We stared at each other, the silence louder than our shouting.
Finally, Mateo exhaled through his nose and looked away, his shoulders tense. "I'm only trying to help."
"Then help me and stop treating me like you or someone who's gone bonkers." I told him.
"You know what?" He asked with a sigh. "I can't deal with this right now."
What the actual hell? It felt like I was speaking to someone strange right now.
The word felt like a wall slamming down between us.
He handed the note back to me, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second, and it sent a pang through my chest.
"Just… keep it," he said. "We'll figure it out when you are clear headed."
I wanted to say something, anything, to break the distance suddenly yawning between us. But my throat was tight, my pride sharper than my grief, and the words wouldn't come.
So I just nodded stiffly, shoved the paper back into my pocket, and walked past him without another word.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn't sure if Mateo was still on my side or if he was even on my side in the first place.