Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 50 - THE PHOENIX DESTROYS, NOT SAVES

The bathroom tiles were cold under my feet.

The light above the mirror buzzed, flickering once. I tied my hair into pigtails. The elastic snapped once on my wrist before I looped it again, tighter. The new clothes were still in their paper bags. I peeled off the stickers. A plastic hanger clattered to the floor. I didn’t pick it up. The tights went on first, black, ripped, uneven. The tears scraped across my thighs like they had something to say. The micro skirt followed, feathers brushing against my skin with every small movement. I pulled the belt tight until the buckle clicked. The graphic tee was stiff from the tag still stitched inside. I didn’t cut it off. I layered the cardigan over it, loose, open. It smelled faintly of factory dust and something chemical. My hands slid into the sleeves. The grommets jingled when I moved. At the dresser, I found the choker. Leather and spikes. I strapped it on, careful not to pinch my neck. Then the eyeliner, thick, sharp. I dragged the line longer than usual. My hand didn’t shake. My boots were by the door. I zipped them up one at a time. The zipper teeth scratched my skin through the tights. I didn’t flinch.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked like the storm before the silence, thigh-high chaos stitched in lace and leather. My reflection stared back with parted lips, spiked choker, shadowed eyes. I didn’t blink. I walked out of my room.

Downstairs, my dad looked up. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He was still in his checkered house shirt, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He stared like I was someone he couldn’t quite recognize.

“Betts. You...” he started, then stopped.

I poured water into a glass. It was warm. I drank it anyway. The television was on low volume. Some morning show host laughed too loud. Claire wasn’t there. Good. I grabbed my bag. The zipper stuck. I yanked it. It opened.

Outside, the sky was gray, not heavy, just dull. The car beeped when I unlocked it. I slid into the seat, engine humming on the second try. The street was mostly empty. A dog barked from two houses down. My fingers tapped the steering wheel. I didn’t pick a song. I didn’t need one. The stoplight turned green. I drove.
The world moved around me like clockwork, clean, organized, unaware.

The school gate was open. Two guards stood to the side, one checking IDs, the other talking into his radio. I didn’t stop. I walked past them. They didn’t stop me. The gravel crunched beneath my boots. Voices started to fade as I passed. The air smelled like rain that didn’t fall. Some students turned their heads. Some whispered. Some stared longer than others. My name floated between sentences, clipped and cautious.

“Is that…?”

“That’s her, right?”

“Oh my God, what happened...”

I kept walking.

My bag bumped against my hip. The hallway was cold. The fluorescent lights buzzed, one flickering near Room 107. A janitor wheeled a yellow mop bucket across the tiles. It squeaked. He didn’t look at me. I opened the door to Room 109. My homeroom.

My seat. Someone was in it. She was laughing at something the girl beside her said, sipping milk tea like she owned the air around her. I didn’t speak at first. I walked until I stood beside her. Then I raised my boot and kicked the front leg of the chair, hard.

It screeched across the tile. She jolted and looked up. Her straw fell from her mouth.

“Move,” I said. “You’re on my seat.”

She scrambled out of it. Mumbled something like “Sorry...I didn’t know...” but I’d already sat down.

My bag hit the floor. I opened it. Took out my notebook. My pen rolled off the desk and hit the tile with a hollow tap.