Chapter 57: "Something Isn't Right"
The next morning, Zariah moved like a machine.
She brushed her hair. Pulled on a hoodie two sizes too big. Checked the gauze under her sleeve three times. Each movement was practiced, mechanical — but every joint in her body ached like she had been hit by a train.
The cut burned beneath the fabric, but she welcomed the sting. It reminded her she hadn't imagined it.
Her mom had already left. Another note on the table: "Have a good day, baby. Remember, I love you."
Zariah stared at it like it was written in another language.
Jasmine was already waiting outside school.
"Hey," she said, falling into step beside Zariah.
"Hey," Zariah echoed, her voice flat.
They walked together in silence for a few minutes before Jasmine spoke again.
"You look… tired."
"I didn't sleep."
"You haven't been sleeping for weeks."
Zariah shrugged, eyes locked on the sidewalk.
In class, she was quiet — more than usual. Her notebook stayed blank. She barely raised her hand. When called on, her answers were short and automatic. She looked through people, not at them.
And Jasmine saw everything.
By lunch, Jasmine had had enough.
"Zariah," she said, pulling her aside outside the cafeteria. "Talk to me. Please."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Jasmine said, stepping in front of her. "You didn't answer my texts last night. You didn't touch your lunch yesterday. Your hands are shaking right now. And don't think I didn't notice how you winced when your sleeve brushed your arm."
Zariah's breath caught. "You're imagining things."
"No, I'm not. I know you."
Zariah's eyes filled with something sharp — not tears, but something deeper. "Then stop looking at me like you're scared."
Jasmine didn't respond right away.
"I am scared."
Zariah looked away.
"I know you're hurting," Jasmine whispered. "But if you keep pretending you're okay, one day I'm not going to get there in time."
Zariah froze. Her chest tightened.
Jasmine's voice trembled. "Please… just let me help. Jasmine's voice trembled. "Please… just let me help. Before I lose you."
Zariah couldn't look her in the eye. Her throat tightened, her jaw clenched.
She wanted to scream, to cry, to let it all pour out — but instead, she shook her head.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "I'm so tired, Jasmine. And I don't think talking's going to fix it this time."
Jasmine stepped closer, lowering her voice even more. "Then don't talk. Just… let me stay. Let me carry some of it with you."
Zariah's lips parted like she wanted to respond, but she didn't. Instead, her eyes flicked to the cafeteria windows, where students were laughing, shouting, living. It felt like another world.
"You don't want to carry this," she muttered. "It's heavy. It doesn't go away."
"I'll take the weight," Jasmine said. "Any part of it. Even if it breaks me, too."
And just for a second — a flicker — Zariah looked like she might believe her. Like maybe the wall she'd built around herself had a single crack in it.
But then the bell rang.
And the moment was gone.
The rest of the day passed like a blur. Zariah kept her head down. Teachers gave her half-concerned glances, but no one asked real questions. She laughed once at a joke in English class, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her hands never stopped shaking.
Jasmine didn't leave her side. Not for a second.
But Zariah had already started slipping again — further this time. Deeper.
By the time the final bell rang, she could barely feel her own body.
The voice in her head was getting louder.
They'll be better off without you.
You're just dragging them down.
You're a burden, even to Jasmine.
She didn't argue back.
She just went home.
And opened the drawer again.