Chapter 4 : Behind the Walls

The next day, I left all of my heavy materials back in the classroom, taking only a notepad and a pen to the library. It felt good, with all that burden gone. Today was Friday, the last day of the week, but somehow, it didn’t feel like a relief. Instead, it felt like something was shifting—like this day would mark a turning point I couldn’t quite see yet.

     I stepped into the library to find Elodie already at the table, slouched low in her seat with her arms crossed. Her hair partially covered her face, and she didn’t even look up as I sat down. For once, she wasn’t humming or tapping her pen or throwing some passive-aggressive jab my way. She just stared at the open notebook in front of her, though I doubted she’d written anything.

     I placed my notepad on the table quietly and sat down, unsure of what to say. After everything that happened yesterday, I expected more defiance, more mockery—but this? This strange stillness? It unsettled me.

    “Are we… starting?” I asked carefully, breaking the silence.

     “Do whatever you want.” Her voice was flat, barely above a murmur.

     I frowned. “Elodie, what’s—”

       “Just drop it,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though I noticed the usual bite wasn’t there. “Don’t act like you care.”

     Her words stung, but instead of snapping back, I just watched her. Really watched her. The shadows under her eyes were darker today, and the eyes themselves seemed puffy. Her shoulders were hunched like she was bracing for something. She looked smaller, more fragile, as if a single word might make her crack.

     “Why do you do that?” I asked suddenly.

    Elodie finally looked up, her pale gaze locking with mine. “Do what?”

     “Push everyone away,” I said softly. “You act like you don’t care about anything, but that’s not true, is it?”

     Her expression hardened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

     “Maybe not,” I admitted. “But I know people don’t act like this for no reason.”

     She scoffed and looked away. “Oh, so now you’re a shrink? Should I spill my deepest, darkest secrets to you? Get a grip, Serena.”

     I could’ve let it go. I could’ve turned my focus back to my own work like I had the past few days, ignored her completely, and pretended none of this was my problem. But something in me wouldn’t let that happen. I thought back to the flashes of hurt I’d seen in her, to the things she said when she was trying to cut me down. It wasn’t just anger or cruelty; there was pain in her words. A deep, festering pain she didn’t know how to deal with.

     “Elodie,” I said carefully, “I’m not here to judge you. I’m not here to fight you, either. I just… I think there’s more going on than you let people see.”

     She froze, her fingers tightening around the pen she hadn’t even used. “You’re wrong,” she said, though her voice wavered.

     “I don’t think I am.”

     “Stop it,” she whispered harshly. “Just stop.” Her eyes burned with something raw—something that didn’t match the smirk she usually wore. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, and I saw it: the fear, the exhaustion, the walls she’d built so high around herself. It was as if she’d been carrying an invisible weight for so long that she couldn’t stand upright anymore.

     The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Elodie shook her head and muttered, “You’re so annoying,” but there was no venom behind it. She turned her gaze to the window, blinking quickly as if to clear something from her eyes.

     Elodie wasn’t just mean or lazy or impossible to deal with. She was hurting. There was a reason she shut people out, a reason she lashed out at anyone who got too close. Maybe she’d been hurt before—badly enough that the only way to protect herself was to push everyone else away first.

***

     Over the next week, I approached the sessions differently. I didn’t try to force Elodie to study. I didn’t pester her with questions about Shakespeare or math formulas. Instead, I simply showed up, sat across from her, and worked quietly on my own.

     Sometimes, Elodie would fidget in her seat or hum a tune just to annoy me, but I didn’t react. I let the silence settle, letting her feel that I wasn’t a threat. Other times, she would watch me out of the corner of her eye as if waiting for me to give up and storm off. I didn’t.

     One afternoon, as the golden sunlight spilled through the library window, I caught her glancing at the notebook in front of me. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes lingered on the open page—a list of vocabulary words I was reviewing for an English test.

     “Do you ever get tired of being perfect?” she muttered suddenly.

     I looked up, startled. “What?”

     She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You. Always sitting there, all proper and perfect, scribbling in your notebook like you’ve got it all figured out. Doesn’t it exhaust you?”

     I paused, considering her words. “I’m not perfect, Elodie. I’m just trying to do my best.”

     “Yeah, well, some of us can’t even manage that,” she said bitterly, her gaze fixed on the table. Her voice was quieter now, less defensive, almost… defeated.

     The next session, she actually picked up her pen and scribbled lazily in her notebook. It wasn’t much—just a few random lines—but it was the first time I’d seen her attempt anything in days. I said nothing, pretending not to notice. Somehow, I knew that pointing it out would make her shut down again.

     A week passed, and something began to shift between us. She wasn’t exactly nice, but she wasn’t combative, either. She stopped trying to push my buttons, and when she wasn’t distracting me, she stared into nothingness, her face blank. The silence between us felt different now—not hostile, but… heavy, like there was something waiting to break free.

     And finally, it did.