Vanessa's POV
There's something strange about quietness.
Not the kind that wraps you like a blanket, soft and safe. But the kind that tiptoes behind you, shadowed and tight, making you look over your shoulder even when you're sure you're alone.
That was the kind of quietness I started to notice more and more.
At school, the rumors hadn't vanished, but they'd dulled—like knives that had lost their edge. A few students still whispered, but others nodded when I passed them. A few even smiled. It was new. It was... terrifying.
I wasn't used to kindness. I wasn't used to mattering.
Alexis had started walking with me to class. Nothing dramatic. Nothing romantic. Just two people who understood each other's brokenness enough to keep walking forward together.
But the notes kept coming.
Folded, handwritten, always unsigned.
Each one felt like a whisper in my pocket.
"He's telling you the truth. But not the whole truth."
"Someone close is not who you think they are."
"You deserve to know everything."
That last one? I found it tucked inside my locker, inside my biology book. Meaning whoever wrote it had touched my things.
That night, I didn't sleep much. I lay in bed, covers pulled to my chin, heart hammering as shadows shifted against my walls. I wanted to believe these messages were from someone trying to help.
But help and harm sometimes look the same when they're wrapped in secrets.
At school the next day, I finally asked Alexis.
"Are you hiding something from me?"
He froze mid-step.
"What?"
"Don't lie. Just... don't. I've been getting these notes. And they say you're not telling me everything."
His face changed—just for a second—but I saw it. That flicker of guilt. Regret. Or maybe fear.
"Vanessa," he said carefully, "I've told you everything I can."
"That's not the same as everything."
He looked away.
"Do you remember the day you found me on the balcony?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I was thinking about jumping."
My breath caught.
"I didn't because I saw you walking into the courtyard. And you looked like how I felt. Like someone who'd been stepped on too many times but kept getting up anyway."
I was silent.
"I haven't told you everything. You're right. But not because I don't trust you. I just... I'm scared it'll change how you see me."
I placed a hand gently on his arm. "Try me."
But he didn't say anything else. And I didn't push.
Not this time.
That afternoon, I went to the library. Alone.
It was quiet—more peaceful than eerie this time. The scent of old pages calmed me.
As I flipped through a book for a class project, something slid out from between the pages.
Another note.
"He didn't tell you the full story about Rose. He's protecting her. Ask him about the accident."
The accident?
My hands shook.
I took the note home and stared at it for hours.
The next day, I cornered Alexis before lunch.
"What accident?"
His face went pale.
"I... Vanessa, please—"
"Don't beg. Just tell me. If we're friends—if any of this is real—I deserve to know."
He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair.
"Last year, Rose and I got into an argument during a school trip. I walked away. She chased after me, angry, and tripped. She fell down a flight of stairs."
My mouth went dry.
"She broke her wrist and had a concussion. Nothing permanent, but... people started saying I pushed her. I didn't. I swear I didn't."
"Did she say you did?"
"She never confirmed or denied it. Just kept quiet. Her silence spoke for her. I got suspended. My mom—she tried to defend me. Argued with the school board. That night she went driving... and never came back."
My heart twisted.
"So Rose's silence ruined your life."
He nodded. "And I still don't hate her."
I stared at him. "Why?"
"Because she's broken too. I don't know why she let them believe it. Maybe she needed someone to blame. And maybe I was just the easiest target."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to be angry on his behalf. I wanted to scream. But mostly, I wanted to cry.
Not because of what Rose did.
But because I understood.
When people expect you to be the villain, sometimes it's easier to just wear the mask.
That evening, I didn't write in my diary.
I wrote a letter.
To the anonymous note-writer,
Thank you. But stop. I don't want any more pieces. If you have something to say, say it. Don't haunt me. Help me. Or let me heal in peace.
\-Vanessa
I didn't sign it. Just folded it up and slid it behind the back panel of my locker, where the last note had been.
If they were watching, they'd see it.
If they cared, they'd read it.
The next morning, my letter was gone.
In its place was a single word, scribbled in slanted handwriting on torn paper.
"Soon."
Dear Diary,
Secrets don't whisper forever. They scream eventually.
Alexis is hiding scars behind silence. Rose is hiding guilt behind a perfect smile. And someone—someone I haven't seen yet—is hiding in plain sight.
But I'm done being afraid.
Let them scream. I'm listening.