Chapter 5 : The Breakdown

That Thursday, the air felt thick as a storm rolled in, the sky dark and moody outside the library window. Elodie sat with her head down, her pen tapping absently against her notebook. I was halfway through reviewing a chapter when I noticed her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

     “Elodie?” I asked cautiously.

     “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” she said suddenly, her voice so raw and small, like a tiny animal cruelly tortured by naughty kids.

     I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

     “You,” she said, lifting her head to glare at me. Her eyes were red, like she was holding back tears. “Why do you keep coming here? Why don’t you just give up on me, like everyone else?”

     “Because I don’t want to,” I said softly. “I’m not everyone else.”

     She let out a bitter laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “Yeah, well, maybe you should be. You’re so smart. Everyone else figured it out sooner. I’m not worth the effort.”

     Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true.”

     “Yes, it is!” she shouted, slamming her pen down. “You don’t get it, Serena. You don’t know what it’s like to have people laugh at you, call you names, treat you like trash. You don’t know what it’s like to walk through life feeling… invisible. Like no one would care if you disappeared.”

     The room fell deathly silent. Elodie stared at me, breathing heavily. I didn’t know what to say. My heart twisted painfully as I watched her, so small and vulnerable, all the walls she’d built around herself crashing down all at once.

     “Elodie…” I began, my voice barely above a whisper.

     “I hate them,” she said, her voice breaking. “I hate them for what they did to me. I hate that I let them win. I hate that they made me like this. And I hate you, Serena, because you don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

     Her voice wavered on the last word, and then she broke. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she dropped her face into her hands, her body trembling with sobs.

     I didn’t think. I just moved.

     Before I knew it, I was out of my chair, kneeling beside her. “Elodie,” I murmured softly. “It’s okay.”

     “It’s not,” she choked out. “Nothing’s okay.”

     She didn’t resist when I gently put my arms around her. For the first time, she let someone in. She buried her face against my shoulder and wept—deep, broken sobs that shook her entire body. I held her as she cried, running my hand gently over her back, not saying anything. There were no words that could fix this, no magic solution to erase her pain. But I could be there. I could listen. I could let her know she wasn’t alone.

     Minutes passed—long, aching minutes—until her sobs quieted, and her breathing steadied. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were swollen and red, but the raw vulnerability was still there. She looked at me like she didn’t know what to say, like she’d never had someone hold her like that before.

     “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

     “You don’t have to be sorry,” I said gently.

     She looked down, twisting the corner of her sleeve in her fingers. “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t hate you.”

     “I know,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

    Elodie sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. “I don’t know why I told you all that. I never—” She stopped, her voice trembling again. “I never tell anyone.”

     “Maybe you needed to,” I replied.

     She didn’t respond, but for the first time, she didn’t look like she wanted to run away. She looked… lighter, like some of the weight she’d been carrying for so long had finally been lifted.

     “Thank you,” she whispered after a long pause, her voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

     I smiled softly. “Anytime, I’m here for you.”

     Her eyes lifted ever so slightly. “Always?”

     I nodded. “Always.”