His Biggest Regret

The first day back at school was worse than I had imagined.

I walked through the hallways, head down, my fingers gripping the straps of my backpack so tightly my knuckles turned white. Every whisper, every snicker felt like a dagger to my skin. My name slithered through the air like poison, carried by hushed voices and barely concealed laughter.

"Slut."

"Desperate."

"Pathetic."

The words weren’t shouted, but they didn’t have to be. They reached me all the same. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. My heart pounded against my ribs, but I kept my steps steady, refusing to let them see me break.

The first strike came at lunch.

I was carrying my tray, scanning the cafeteria for an empty seat, when someone bumped into me from behind. Hard. My tray wobbled, my lunch spilling down the front of my shirt. Gasps and laughter filled the room. My cheeks burned as I wiped at the mess, my hands shaking.

"Oops," a voice cooed behind me. "So clumsy."

I turned to see Nicole Reynolds, Ethan’s new girlfriend, smirking down at me. Her blonde hair was curled to perfection, her lips painted a glossy red. She tilted her head, feigning innocence, but the malice in her eyes was unmistakable.

"You should really watch where you’re going, Ava," she said sweetly. "Wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself. Again."

Laughter erupted around us. I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. But before I could respond, Nicole’s friends swooped in, surrounding me like vultures.

"Oh my god, she smells like spoiled milk!"

"No, that’s just the stench of desperation."

"Maybe she thought getting with Ethan would make her popular. Hate to break it to you, Ava, but it just made you a joke."

A part of me wanted to scream. To throw my tray at them and storm out. But I didn’t. Because that’s what they wanted. Instead, I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and forced my voice to stay steady.

"Are you done?" I asked, meeting Nicole’s gaze. "Or do you need more people to laugh before you feel better about yourself?"

Her smirk twitched, but before she could respond, I turned on my heel and walked away. My shirt was stained, my appetite was gone, but I had won one small victory—I didn’t cry.

But the nightmare was far from over.

By the time I reached my locker, a sticky note was plastered across it in bold, black letters:

SLUT.

I ripped it off, my fingers trembling. The whispers followed me as I spun my lock, but when I opened the door, my blood ran cold.

A picture was taped inside. A picture of me, lying on Ethan’s bed, wearing nothing but his football jersey. Except it wasn’t real. My face had been edited onto someone else’s body, the edges blurred but the intent clear.

My breath caught in my throat. My vision swam. A choked sound clawed its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

New notification: @LoserAva trending again.

Tears pricked my eyes. My hands shook as I slammed my locker shut and bolted for the restroom, my heart pounding like a drum. I barely made it into a stall before my knees buckled. I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to hold back a sob.

How? How has it gotten worse?

My phone buzzed again. Then again. My fingers fumbled as I pulled it out, my stomach twisting as I opened the messages.

[Unknown Number: Everyone’s seen it, Ava.]

[Unknown Number: No one’s gonna believe you.]

[Unknown Number: Slut. Whore. Go kill yourself.]

I gagged, my stomach heaving, but I swallowed the bile back down. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the walls to stop closing in. I couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not where they could see me.

A knock on the stall door made me jump.

"Ava?"

The voice was soft, hesitant. I recognized it instantly—Lena, my former best friend. The girl who had abandoned me the second Ethan’s betrayal went public.

"Go away," I croaked.

A pause. Then, "I just… I wanted to check on you."

I laughed, the sound hollow. "Now you care?"

"Ava—"

"Just leave," I snapped. "Like you did before."

Silence. Then, the shuffle of retreating footsteps. The restroom door creaked open, then shut.

I let out a shuddering breath, pressing my forehead against the cold metal stall. My hands curled into my lap, nails digging into my skin. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

But the worst was yet to come.

By the time the final bell rang, I was barely holding myself together. I just wanted to get home, crawl into bed, and pretend this day never happened. But as I stepped outside, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Miss Carter."

I turned slowly. Mr. Grayson, the school counselor, stood by the entrance, his expression unreadable. My stomach twisted.

"Your parents are here."

My blood ran cold.

Dread settled over me like a heavy blanket as I followed him down the hall. The moment I stepped into the office, my mother’s glare cut through me like a blade. My father sat beside her, his jaw clenched, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his knee.

"Ava," my mother hissed, her voice laced with barely restrained fury. "What have you done?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Mr. Grayson cleared his throat. "We called you in because of the recent harassment—"

"Harassment?" My father scoffed. "You mean the humiliation our daughter has brought upon herself?"

Pain sliced through me, sharp and unforgiving.

"This… this isn’t my fault," I whispered. "I didn’t—"

"Enough," my mother snapped. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? Do you know how many people have seen those pictures? Your father and I can’t even show our faces without—"

"You think this is about you?" My voice cracked. "Mom, someone faked those pictures! I’ve been getting threats! My life is hell, and all you care about is your reputation?"

My mother’s eyes hardened. "You should have thought about that before you threw yourself at a boy like some cheap—"

"Mrs. Carter," Mr. Grayson interrupted sharply, "I understand this is a difficult situation, but your daughter is the victim here."

My father snorted. "She’s no victim. She’s weak."

The words punched the air from my lungs.

"We’ll handle this at home," my mother said stiffly, grabbing her purse. "Let’s go, Ava."

I stood frozen, numb, as she stormed out. My father followed without a glance back. I felt Mr. Grayson watching me, waiting for me to say something, to ask for help.

But I didn’t.

Because what was the point?

I turned and walked out the door.

Because if no one was going to save me, I’d have to save myself.