Rhea locked the stall door with shaking fingers.
The click echoed too loudly in her ears.
Her legs gave up after that.
She slid down slowly, back hitting the cold tiled wall, skirt crumpling beneath her. Her breath came out in broken pulls, chest tightening like it was collapsing inward.
Her hands moved to her abdomen again.
The sight made her choke on a sob she didn't want to release.
Blood hadn't stopped.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't violent.
It was worse — slow, steady, relentless.
Rhea pressed tissue against it. Hard. Too hard. Her hand shook so badly the paper tore.
"Stop… please stop," she whispered, not knowing whether she was begging the wound or herself.
She changed tissues. Then paper towels. Then pressed her palm flat, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut as tears escaped anyway.
Nothing worked.
The blood seeped through, staining her fingers, spreading, dripping down.
She felt it then — the warm trail sliding lower, soaking into the fabric of her skirt.
Her breath hitched sharply.
"No… no, no, no—"
She curled forward, forehead resting against her knees, one arm wrapped around herself while the other kept pressure on the wound. Her shoulders shook violently as sobs finally broke free.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just broken.
"I didn't scream," she cried softly to the empty stall.
"I didn't even make a sound… why didn't you see me?"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She wiped her face with the back of her wrist, smearing tears uselessly. Her vision blurred — tiles splitting into doubles, then triples — but she didn't let herself fall apart completely.
Not yet.
She bit her lip until it hurt, until the sting distracted her from the deeper ache in her chest.
She doesn't know.
She will never know.
That thought destroyed her.
Rhea laughed weakly through tears — a hollow, broken sound that didn't belong to anyone sane.
"She hurt me and walked away," she whispered.
"And I still love her."
More blood soaked through.
Her skirt darkened visibly now, fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Panic rose — sharp and suffocating — but she pushed it down.
You deserve this, she told herself.
You planned revenge. This is just the cost.
She pressed harder, fingers cramping, nails digging into her own skin. Tears dripped down her chin, falling onto her hands, mixing with red.
"I wanted to tell you," she sobbed quietly.
"I swear I wanted to tell you everything."
Her breathing became uneven, almost silent gasps as exhaustion crept in. Crying like this hurt. Holding pain like this hurt.
But she didn't stop.
Because stopping meant feeling everything at once.
And Rhea wasn't strong enough for that.
Outside the stall, the world continued — footsteps, distant voices, laughter — completely unaware that inside, a girl was bleeding quietly for love she had already lost.
She stayed there, shaking, crying, pressing, failing —
unable to stop the blood,
unable to stop the tears,
unable to stop loving Ling even now.
Outside.
Rina's laughter faded mid-sentence.
Her eyes narrowed, fixing on Ling's hand.
"…Ling," Rina said slowly, frowning. "What's that red on your finger?"
Ling didn't answer at first.
She glanced down absently, annoyed more than curious — until she saw it.
Red.
Smeared along the side of her finger, thin but unmistakable.
Ling's breath stalled.
"That's not paint," Rina muttered.
Ling lifted her hand closer, her movements suddenly slow, almost afraid. Without thinking, she dragged her thumb across it, spreading it further.
The smell hit her.
Metallic. Warm. Wrong.
Ling froze.
Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as something ugly crawled up her spine.
Blood.
Her blood?
No.
Her gaze snapped downward.
There — near the tire, barely noticeable against the pavement — something glinted.
A small ring.
Bent.
Familiar.
Ling's heart slammed so hard it hurt.
"No," she whispered.
She crouched abruptly, fingers shaking as she picked it up.
The navel piercing.
Rhea's.
The world tilted.
Ling's breath came sharp and uneven as fragments slammed together in her head — the dance, her grip, the warmth she ignored, the way Rhea went silent instead of crying out.
Ling straightened suddenly, panic ripping through her composure.
"Rhea," she said, voice breaking for the first time that day.
She turned, scanning wildly.
The courtyard was almost empty now. Students had scattered. Voices were distant. Normal.
Too normal.
"Rhea!" Ling shouted, spinning in a circle.
Nothing.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Ling started walking fast — then running.
She checked the auditorium doors. Empty.
The hallway. Nothing.
The benches. The parking lot.
Her breaths turned ragged.
"Where is she?" Ling demanded, tears finally spilling as she grabbed the first student she saw by the collar.
"Rhea," Ling said sharply, eyes wild. "Where did she go?"
The student panicked. "I—I don't know! I swear—she left alone!"
Ling shoved them away and turned to another.
"You," she snapped, gripping harder this time. "Did you see her? Where did she go?"
The girl shook her head, terrified. "No one knows—she disappeared!"
Ling's vision blurred.
Her fingers loosened, dropping uselessly to her sides.
Blood was still smeared on her skin. Rhea's blood.
Ling staggered back a step, clutching the piercing in her fist like it could anchor her.
"No… no, no, no," she whispered, voice cracking apart. "She was just here."
Her throat burned.
Tears slid freely now, unrestrained, streaking down her face as dread replaced anger completely.
Ling turned in frantic circles again, calling her name softer this time — broken.
"Rhea… please."
But there was no answer.
Only silence.
And for the first time since the night before, Ling felt it clearly —
Not revenge.
Not rage.
Fear.
Pure, suffocating fear —
that she had finally gone too far,
and hurt the one person she had once sworn to protect,
and didn't even know where she was to undo it.