The dormitory had never felt so desolate. Shellie Stillburg lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The once soft beige walls seemed to close in on her, casting shadows that shifted ominously in the dim light. Her phone was on the floor, where it had landed after she flung it away in frustration. It had vibrated ceaselessly all day, filling her inbox with jeering messages and scornful memes.
Every part of her ached—not just from the betrayal but from the relentless assault of ridicule that followed. Dellhey University's students had turned her life into a spectacle, a drama unfolding for their entertainment.
Shellie's chest heaved as she clutched her knees tighter, her brown eyes bloodshot from crying. Every time she closed them, the video played in her mind, over and over again. Samaira's betrayal had carved a hollow pit in her heart, and the humiliation that followed was salt rubbed into an already gaping wound.
The silence was broken by a tentative knock at her door. Shellie froze, her breath hitching.
"Shellie? It's Scarlett," a soft, familiar voice called out.
Scarlett Winston. The classmate who barely spoke unless necessary. The one who always seemed to be observing from the sidelines, detached yet aware.
"Please, go away," Shellie croaked, her voice breaking.
There was a pause, then another knock.
"I'm coming in," Scarlett said, her voice firm yet gentle. The doorknob turned, and Scarlett stepped into the room.
Scarlett's presence was as striking as ever. Her auburn hair fell in loose waves around her face, catching the faint light from the bedside lamp. She closed the door behind her and looked at Shellie, her hazel eyes filled with concern.
Shellie turned her face away, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie.
"I don't want to talk," Shellie mumbled.
"I know," Scarlett replied, pulling a chair closer to the bed. "But I think you need to."
Shellie didn't respond. Scarlett sat down, her gaze steady but non-invasive.
"It's not fair," Scarlett said softly. "What happened to you. None of it is."
Shellie's shoulders began to shake, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks.
"They're all laughing at me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Everywhere I go, they'll see that video. That… thing Samaira made me into."
Scarlett leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"They don't define you, Shellie," she said gently. "What Samaira did—what they're doing—it says more about them than it does about you."
Shellie shook her head, her chest tightening.
"You don't understand," she choked out. "I'll never live this down. No one will ever look at me the same way again."
Scarlett reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Shellie's arm.
"You're right," Scarlett said quietly. "I don't know exactly how you feel. But I do know what it's like to feel like the world is against you. To feel like you don't belong."
Shellie turned her tear-streaked face toward Scarlett, her brown eyes searching.
"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.
Scarlett offered a small, sad smile.
"My hair," she said, brushing a strand of her auburn locks behind her ear. "It wasn't always something I liked about myself. When I was little, my siblings all had white hair. Beautiful, snowy white hair. And then there was me, with this fiery red mane. People would stare when we walked together. They'd whisper. Some even said I wasn't really part of the family."
Shellie's eyes widened, her tears momentarily forgotten.
"That's awful," she said.
"It was," Scarlett admitted. "I adored my siblings. They were my world. But no matter how much they loved me, those whispers got to me. Kids at school would call me names. Relatives would ask my parents why I didn't 'match.' And one day, a distant aunt suggested I be separated from my siblings because I wasn't 'one of them.'"
Shellie's breath hitched.
"What happened?"
Scarlett's gaze grew distant, her voice tinged with melancholy.
"They listened," she said simply. "We were separated for a while. It wasn't permanent, but it felt like it. I missed them every single day. And when we finally reunited, I was different. Quieter. More guarded. But I also realized something during that time."
Shellie tilted her head, her brow furrowed.
"What's that?"
"That no one gets to decide who I am or where I belong," Scarlett said, her voice firm. "Not the kids at school. Not that bitter old aunt. Not anyone. And the same goes for you, Shellie."
Shellie blinked, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
"But how?" she whispered. "How do I move on from this? How do I face them?"
Scarlett leaned closer, her hazel eyes locking onto Shellie's.
"One step at a time," she said. "And you don't have to do it alone. I'll be here. Every step of the way, if you need me."
Shellie's lip quivered, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to hope.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw but heartfelt.
Scarlett smiled, her hand still resting on Shellie's arm.
"You've got this, Shellie," she said softly. "Just like I did. You've got this too."