Chapter 33

Faye

The sharp clang of the school bell broke through the heavy silence, signaling the end of the school week and the official beginning of the weekend. I exhaled deeply, relief washing over me in the stillness of the empty classroom.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to lean back in my chair, savoring the quiet as the faint sounds of students echoed through the hallway. Their chatter floated in, full of laughter and excitement as they made plans for the weekend. It was a stark contrast to the solitude I relished here, just for a minute longer.

But soon enough, the quiet satisfaction was replaced by something else—a light buzz of energy as I pushed back from the desk. I started gathering the stack of ungraded papers in front of me, shoving them into my bag with a mix of urgency and excitement. My mind was already racing ahead, mentally laying out the evening with Yoko.

I'd make sure to finish some grading before she arrived—I knew well enough that once she walked through my door, my focus on anything remotely work-related would vanish completely. All I wanted was a relaxing, stress-free night with her, a quiet evening we both deserved after a long week.

But just as I zipped up my bag, the door creaked open, breaking my rhythm.

My lips curled instinctively into a small smile, my heart already tugging in anticipation. I didn't even need to look up—I just assumed it was Yoko. She always had a way of appearing exactly when I needed her most.

Except... it wasn't her.

The smile faded from my face, my chest tightening as tension shot through me. I looked up and froze.

Allison.

Fantastic.

"I don't have time for you," I said sharply, my back to her as I packed my bag one final time. "I need to leave."

Even without looking at her, I could feel her presence—the weight of it lingering like an unwelcome shadow, filling the space with a suffocating tension. We've done well to stay out of each other's way for weeks, months even, as if silently agreeing that there was nothing left to say. But here she was, crashing into my Friday afternoon, and as far as I was concerned, she was the sole reason for ruining the plans I had so carefully envisioned.

"I have something to tell you," she said, her tone measured and infuriatingly casual, filling the room like static. It was that same nasal voice, that same disarming calm she always wore, as if we were old friends reconnecting. We weren't.

"I don't," I cut her off abruptly, grabbing my things and heading for the door. 

My steps were quick, deliberate—anything to keep my distance, to remind her that her presence was not welcome. I didn't look at her, didn't give her the satisfaction of a glance. But then she spoke again, and her words froze me in place.

"It's about the overseas trip to Edinburgh."

Damn it.

Reluctantly, I turned to face her, annoyance rolling off me in waves. "You have two minutes."

"No, Faye. I'm going to need more than that." She didn't move from where she was leaning casually against an empty desk, her posture impossibly relaxed as though she owned the room.

She was smiling that smile—the one I once fell for, the one that now made my stomach churn with disgust. It was almost mocking, as though she knew exactly how to press my buttons.

The entire sight of her, her confidence, her audacity, only made my blood boil. Who does she think she is, standing there like we're on good terms, like she hasn't torn through my life already?

I adjusted the strap of my bag, squaring my shoulders. My voice was cold, deliberate, carrying the kind of authority I knew she hated. "If you have something to say, spit it out. I don't have all day."

"There's a lot of preparation for the trip," she began, her voice annoyingly steady, like she had rehearsed this moment. "And you will need help."

I let out an involuntary sigh because, unfortunately, she wasn't wrong. I knew how much work the Edinburgh trip required—organising itineraries, coordinating with other teachers, ensuring the students were prepared. It was overwhelming, and if I were honest with myself, I hadn't even properly started. But her offer—her help—felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

I turned away from her, back to my desk, setting my bag down with just a little too much force. My fingers itched with the frustration coursing through me, but just as I opened my mouth to reply, a soft vibration cut through the tension.

I grabbed my phone instinctively, my heart fluttering the moment I saw the sender's name glowing on the screen—Yoko.

In an instant, the tightness in my chest eased, replaced by a familiar warmth.

Yoko

Hey, shall we head back together?

I quickly typed out a reply, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts.

Faye

It's alright. I might have to stay later to work on the Edinburgh trip. Sorry, darling. Let's catch up tomorrow instead?

Her response was immediate, as if she'd been waiting for me.

Yoko

Oh. Alright then. Need any help?

The question made my heart ache just a little—her kindness, her willingness to always be there for me. My fingers hesitated above the keyboard for a moment longer than they should have.

Faye

It's fine, go ahead and rest for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow :)

I hit send, and the guilt settled in my chest like a weight. Cancelling our time together already felt wrong, but cancelling because of Allison made it worse. I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. There was no point in dragging Yoko into this mess—into her.

Yoko didn't deserve to carry that weight.

I slipped my phone into my bag and sighed, running a hand through my hair to compose myself before turning back to Allison.

I'll make it up to you tomorrow, Yoko, I promised silently. I swear.

My arms folded tightly across my chest, my posture rigid as I turned to face Allison. "Talk. Now." My voice was flat, cold, and devoid of any emotion I didn't want her to see.

She didn't flinch, didn't even waver. 

Instead, she kept that infuriatingly calm smile on her face, the same one that used to make me weak—but now, it only made my stomach churn. The silence stretched for a second too long, a deliberate pause, like she was choosing her words carefully.

Then she dropped it, smooth and effortless. "I'm coming on the trip."

The words hung heavy in the air, like a storm cloud rolling in, dark and ominous.

I froze, my mind processing her words at a crawl. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, steady but sharp. "You what?" I said, my voice colder now, my tone sharp as a knife.

"I'll be joining as one of the chaperones," she clarified, her smile curling into something more smug—something calculated.

I narrowed my eyes, her words slicing through me like a blade. You told me you wouldn't interfere. The memory of her so-called promises made my stomach churn. 

"That's what you said," I reminded her sharply, my voice cutting through the tense silence like ice. "Or do your words mean nothing now?"

Allison tilted her head, her practiced calm intact, but I saw the flicker of something—amusement, perhaps. It only served to fan the flames of my anger. My jaw clenched, and I folded my arms tighter, nails biting into my skin, desperate to hold on to some sense of control.

"This isn't some game, Allison," I ground out, every syllable deliberate, seething. "You don't belong on that trip. You have no reason to be there."

Her smile faltered—just slightly—but she recovered quickly, a smooth mask sliding back into place. "It is my job, Faye," she said lightly, as if we were discussing the weather. "The school needs additional staff, and I volunteered. We're short-handed, so I didn't have much choice."

I let out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Don't insult my intelligence. We both know exactly why you're doing this."

Her gaze hardened, the carefully masked facade cracking just enough to show the steel underneath. 

"Believe whatever you want," she said coolly, her voice sharp as glass. "But I'm going. Whether you like it or not."

The air between us thickened, the tension now suffocating. Then, in a move I didn't expect, Allison pushed herself off the desk, standing taller, a mockery of poise. 

"Let's discuss this over dinner," she said smoothly, her tone soft but laced with something that made my skin crawl.

I scoffed, unable to hide my disdain. "No. We talk here."

Her eyes narrowed briefly before she smiled again—sly and self-satisfied, like she knew something I didn't. She took a small step forward, closing the distance just enough to feel suffocating. 

"Come on, Faye," she said softly, her voice dripping with calculated sweetness. "We both know we need to work together to make this trip a success. I'm still the principal, remember? And any of your plans still need my approval."

Her words struck me like a punch to the gut. My teeth clenched, my fists tightening at my sides. I hated when she played this card, flexing her authority over me, forcing me into corners where my pride couldn't win.

She leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial tone. "It's just dinner, Faye. A professional discussion—nothing more."

I stared at her, my body tensed like a coiled spring, every fiber of me screaming to refuse. But she'd already won this round, and we both knew it. The truth hung heavy in the air: I didn't have a choice. Not unless I wanted her to make my life—and the trip—miserable.

"Fine," I muttered through gritted teeth, the words bitter on my tongue. "Just discussion. That's all."

"Of course," she replied, a victorious grin tugging at her lips, like she'd just claimed checkmate in a game I hadn't even wanted to play.

I turned away, jaw tight, fury boiling in my veins. I wouldn't let her see how much this was getting to me. But in the pit of my stomach, a storm churned, knowing this dinner was a battle waiting to unfold—and I wasn't sure if I was ready for the war.

When we arrived at the dinner place, the first thought that shot through my mind was: I fucking regret this decision.

The place was high-end, the kind that oozed sophistication and romance—a far cry from the professional, neutral setting this discussion was supposed to have. Soft golden lights draped the room, bouncing off polished silverware and delicate crystal glasses. Intimate tables were spaced far enough apart for whispered confessions. My stomach turned.

I stopped dead at the entrance, my legs refusing to budge. "Seriously? This is where you want to discuss the trip?" My voice dripped with incredulity as I shot Allison a glare sharp enough to pierce steel.

She turned to me, completely unfazed, her tone maddeningly calm. "Come on, Faye. It's quiet and perfect for a conversation."

Quiet. Perfect. The words made me scoff internally. Perfect for who, exactly? If anything, it was bound to create all the wrong kinds of misunderstandings, and I couldn't help but think of Yoko. God forbid anyone sees us here—her in particular.

I hesitated at the threshold, chewing over my options. It's not too late to turn around. Walk away. Let her call me out next week during school hours—I'd take that over this suffocating farce.

But then her voice softened, almost pleading. "Please, Faye. It's reserved already. We'll get it over and done with soon."

I bit down the retort burning on my lips, inhaling a slow, deliberate breath. Fine. I didn't respond, didn't trust myself to speak, and followed her in, feeling like I was willingly walking into a trap.

The hostess led us to a table tucked into a corner, intimate and secluded, just like the rest of this goddamn place. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat opposite her, the leather cushion cool against my skin. Get this over with, I repeated to myself like a mantra. My eyes flickered down to the menu, and then the petty voice inside me perked up.

If I have to endure this, I'm ordering the most expensive dish.

I smirked internally, channeling every bit of Engfa's attitude. She dragged me here. She can foot the bill.

Once the orders were placed, Allison folded her hands on the table, her expression shifting from pleasant to serious in a heartbeat. Her voice was low but steady when she finally spoke. "Like I said, I'm coming on the trip. And if I don't, we'll have to cancel it."

The words hung heavy between us, slamming into me like a wall.

I arched an eyebrow, my voice cold and unimpressed. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"I won't bother you, Faye," she said softly, her tone carrying just a hint of sincerity—like she'd practiced it. "I swear."

I let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh, leaning back in my chair. "That's what you said about school too, and yet here we are."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time, her mask faltered ever so slightly. "Look, Faye. I get it. You hate me. But this trip—it's important for the students. They're looking forward to it. I promise, I'll stay out of your way."

Her words floated through the space between us, and though my instincts screamed at me not to trust her, another thought crept into my mind.

Cancelling the trip over this? Over her? The disappointment on the students' faces flashed in my head, their enthusiasm from earlier when the trip was announced echoing in my ears. I hated it, but I couldn't let my personal grudges ruin this for them. 

I took a deep breath, dropping my eyes to the table for a brief moment. "Fine," I muttered stiffly, the word bitter as ash on my tongue.

And just like that, we fell into the mechanical rhythm of planning. Programmes. Accommodations. Groupings. My tone stayed cold, clipped. Her responses were polite, businesslike. It was clinical, distant—as it should be.

For a moment, I let myself focus on the work, forcing all the loathing, all the tension, to the back of my mind. But when the waiter returned with our food, the oppressive atmosphere came crashing back with full force.

The waiter hesitated slightly as he set our dishes down, clearly sensing the tension that cloaked the table. I caught the nervous flick of his eyes between us before he disappeared, leaving the two of us alone again.

The quiet stretched out, heavy and suffocating, as I picked up my fork and pushed my food around the plate. My appetite had evaporated, replaced by the tight coil of frustration and bitterness sitting in my chest.

I glanced up at Allison, who, of course, sat there as composed as ever, taking a slow sip of her wine like she didn't just blackmail her way into my life.

This dinner couldn't end soon enough.

"So... how are you? Love life?" Allison's voice cuts through the tense silence, casual and coaxing, like we're two old friends catching up over dinner.

I freeze. My fork hovers halfway to my mouth as my gaze snaps to her, sharp and unflinching. 

There it is.

The real reason she wanted to meet. The trip, the work—it was all just an excuse. My gut twists, and I curse myself for not seeing it sooner.

Slowly, deliberately, I set the fork back onto the plate, the soft clink echoing louder than it should. My eyes narrow as I glare at her. My voice is low, cold as ice. 

"That's none of your business."

She doesn't even flinch. That insufferable smile—practiced, fake—stays on her lips. If anything, she leans in, as though trying to close the gap between us.

"Come on, Faye," she murmurs smoothly, blinking slowly like her words don't carry daggers. "You used to tell me all your secrets."

The sharp jab of her statement pierces something inside me. My fists clench on instinct, the nails digging crescents into my palms.

My voice is a low growl, steady, deliberate. "Don't you dare." I hold her gaze, my eyes blazing. "I don't owe you anything, Allison."

Her lips curve into something smug, something wicked. "Just a name, Faye. That's all. I know you've got someone."

I snap. The frustration burns through me, hot and relentless. "What the fuck is your problem?" I spit, my tone venomous as my chest tightens. She's pushing me. Too far, too hard. 

"Do you really think you can sit here and act like nothing ever happened? Where's your shame?"

Her smile falters—just for a split second. There. A crack. But it doesn't last. She leans back slightly, schooling her face into neutrality, though I can see the strain pulling at her composure.

"It's two different things, Faye," she murmurs, her voice quieter but still infuriatingly calm.

"Different?" I scoff, a bitter laugh spilling out as I lean forward, my words cutting through the air like knives. "It's exactly the same damn thing. The moment you turned your back on me—when I was on my knees, begging for you to stay—you lost the right to know anything about my life."

She stiffens, but I'm relentless now. The words I've held back for years come pouring out like a flood, unstoppable.

"You're not sorry. You're not even regretful. Everything I gave you—everything I was—it was nothing to you, wasn't it?" My voice shakes, sharp and raw. "You didn't want a future with me. You just wanted power. Control. And now that you have it, you're back here again—like a shadow, trying to suppress me all over again."

Her hands curl into fists on the table, the tendons taut beneath her skin, but I don't stop. I can't. Not now.

"Was it fun for you?" My voice drops lower, deadlier, each word weighted with the fury burning in my chest. "Watching me break? Watching me lose every shred of dignity I had left, all because you were too much of a coward to choose me?"

For the first time tonight, I see it—real guilt, real shame flickering in her eyes. But it's too late. Far too late.

"I was insecure," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I—I didn't know what to do, Faye. I lost control."

"You chose to be blind," I hiss, my fury boiling over. "You chose your pride over us—over me. You could've stopped, but you didn't."

Her face tightens, and she looks away, clenching her jaw. "I regret it," she says, her voice breaking. "I regret all of it."

The words hang in the air, hollow, meaningless. I stare at her, my chest heaving with the effort of holding it all in, holding myself together. 

"It doesn't matter," I say coldly, my voice void of emotion now. "You threw away any future we could've had. There's nothing left for you to regret."

I push back my chair, the screech of the wood against the floor loud and jarring. I stand, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, ready to leave.

"Faye—wait," she says suddenly, her hand darting out to grip my wrist. "We still need to finish the trip discussion."

I yank my hand away, glaring down at her. "To hell with the trip," I bite out, my voice sharp, lethal. "If I can rebuild my life without you, I can damn well plan this trip without you."

Her face falls, the last remnants of her composure crumbling, but I don't stay to see it. I turn on my heel and walk out of the restaurant, the cool night air slamming into me as I step outside.

The wind whips against my skin, sharp and biting, but it's nothing compared to the fire burning inside me. My breath comes in shallow bursts as I pace quickly down the street, trying to shake off the suffocating weight of that encounter.

Spring is coming. The air is colder tonight, but it doesn't matter—I feel like I'm burning alive.

As soon as I stepped through the door, the dam broke. The tears fell hot and fast, streaming down my cheeks in silent surrender. My legs gave out before I could even make it to the couch, and I slid down against the door, collapsing onto the cold floor.

I sat there, crumpled and broken, my body trembling with the force of the sobs I'd been holding back for far too long. The room felt suffocatingly still, the silence broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing and the occasional sniffle. I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, but it was no use—tears kept falling, each drop burning like salt on an open wound.

The ache clawed at my chest, unrelenting and raw. I felt small, vulnerable, like the very air around me was mocking my misery.

And yet, in the midst of my grief, there was only one person on my mind. Yoko.

I clutched my phone tightly, the screen glowing softly in the dark. I need her. I need to hear her voice, to feel her arms around me, to know that she's here. She would be my anchor—she always is.

I hovered over her name, my thumb trembling above the screen. But I couldn't bring myself to press 'call.' It's late. She needs her rest. She has to wake up early tomorrow, and what right do I have to pull her into this darkness? This isn't hers to bear. Not tonight.

So, I sit there alone, the phone still clutched in my hand like a lifeline. My tears eventually dry, but the ache doesn't fade. It lingers, heavy and consuming, pressing down on me like a weight I can't shake.

After what feels like an eternity, I force myself to stand. My legs are weak, threatening to buckle beneath me with every step, but I push forward. I strip off my clothes robotically and pull on my sleepwear before crawling into bed, the sheets cold and empty, offering no comfort.

The silence wraps around me like a cruel embrace, amplifying the loneliness I feel in every fiber of my being. I stare blankly at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling with shallow, exhausted breaths.

And still, I think of her. Yoko.

Just hold on. Tomorrow, I'll see her. I'll tell her everything. It'll be okay.

I repeat those words like a mantra, a whisper of hope I cling to as I fight to keep the ghosts of tonight from pulling me under.

But tonight, I am alone. Alone with my demons. Alone with the echoes of a past I can't seem to escape.

I hate this. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to will myself to sleep, but the darkness behind my eyelids feels no different than the one consuming me.

I hate this so much.