Chapter 8: I Spent My Energy On This Gloomy Afternoon Trying To Tie Up Any Loose Ends

  "Zeke?"

  ?I raised my head with agonizing slowness, delaying the inevitable. My eyelids felt like they’d been weighted with lead, and the library’s fluorescent hum was starting to overshadow my will to sleep.

  ?"...Huh? Oh. Hey," I croaked, forced to abandon the comfort of my folded arms.

  ?Rosalie didn't lead with a greeting. She leaned against the table, her eyes pinning me in place. "So, Zeke. You want to tell me why you decided to strategically sabotage your own quiz time? Erasing your answers over and over just to keep the 'No Talking' rule in effect... it was a bold move."

  ?I tried to manifest a mask of bored confusion, but she’d already landed a pinpoint shot on the bullseye. My defense was compromised before I could even deploy it.

  ?"What? No," I lied. "I was just overthinking. Second-guessing my answers. Nothing special. Sorry if I... made you feel ignored."

  ?Silence stretched between us. I found myself mesmerized by the way she traced the wood grain of the table with her fingertip. In my state of total fatigue, it was the only thing on earth that seemed worth watching—that strange, hypnotic stare you usually only experience when it's 6:00 AM.

  "You sure?" Rosalie asked, her voice dropping an octave. "Because you seemed stressed. And I happened to notice that every answer you wrote down was correct the first time. You only erased them once you realized you were ahead. Was it really just the quiz making you look that frustrated?"

  "Yeah," I snapped, leaning back. "I felt stressed about having to waste energy on something that trivial."

  "I’m pretty sure the expression on your face was frustration, not exhaustion," Rosalie countered.

  Damn. She was good. She wasn't just watching me; she was auditing me. The winner was clear in this battle of wits.

  "I guess I look frustrated when I'm tired, then," I muttered, offering a non-explanation.

  She smiled at me. It was a gesture of warm, genuine affection—the kind of I didn't know how to reciprocate.

  "I guess there’s no workaround for that one," she said. "Anyway, you’ve been quieter than usual today. Even for you. It’s Post-Assembly Day One, so... I thought I’d check your vitals."

  She was trying to bypass the transition and force me into the assembly topic. It was a strategic shortcut, skipping the small talk to dive into the heated wreckage of yesterday. I saw through it.

  "Quieter?" I stretched, feeling my spine pop. "I’m always quiet, Rosalie. I assume you knew that, so I don't really know where you're coming from."

  "Well, do you feel bad about the fiasco? The whole 'End the Social Clique plan' implosion?"

  "Of course," I lied. "But I haven't reached the 'depressed stage' yet. Sorry to disappoint. I’m just... hovering at baseline."

  I knew I was full of it. I was fighting an internal war, but I don't want her to know that. Venting is a massive energy leak. Once you tell someone you’re struggling, they start looking out for you—and being looked out for is just another form of being watched.

  "No, don't apologize, I'm not disappointed." she responded.

  "I didn't really say anything during the meeting, I wasn't too interested in the whole idea. Remi kind of shocked me though..." I said, further clearing myself.

  "Remi, huh? Yeah. I always saw her as the jolly, extroverted anchor of the group."

  "Mhm." I turned my gaze back to the bookshelves. "Sometimes the anchors are the first things to drag you under."

  "I noticed you’ve gotten much better at pen-spinning lately," Rosalie said, her curiosity cutting through my lingering fatigue. "Why didn’t you do it in class today?"

  "Oh. Right. I guess I did improve," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to me. I couldn't tell her I was avoiding the risk of another 'meet-cute' pencil drop. "I didn't do it because... well, I guess I forget my habits sometimes."

  "You forget your habits?" She laughed, a light, genuine sound that made my awkward lie feel even heavier.

  "Yeah. Happens more than you'd think," I responded, my eyes fixed on a loose thread on my sleeve.

  "Well, Zeke. Good talk. I’m going to head back to the dorms before the halls get too crowded."

  She stood up and walked away. A moment later, the bell chimed—the signal that dinner time had officially ended. I stayed in my seat, staring at the empty space she’d occupied. I probably spend more time in this library than any other student at AIA, yet I’ve picked up fewer books than the average freshman. For me, this place isn't for learning; it’s for hiding in plain sight.

  I waited until I was sure Rosalie was several hallways away before I finally stood up. My bag felt slightly heavier than it had this morning, as if the day's failures had added physical mass to my shoulders.

  As I moved through the corridor, I spotted Heckler near the lockers. I flinched—a sharp, involuntary reflex I couldn't explain. Maybe it was because he was the version of me that actually dared to speak, and seeing him reminded me of my own cowardice. I reached for the dial on my headphones, cranking a bedroom pop track until the hazy, lo-fi beat became my entire atmosphere.

  I glanced out at the courtyard. The fountain water sparkled in the moonlight, dancing with a grace that felt almost offensive given how stagnant I felt. Maybe "dancing" is too much personification for a plumbing fixture, but whatever.

  Further down the hall, I saw my Astronomy professor descending the stairwell. My survival instinct kicked in immediately. Without thinking, I veered off-course and slipped into the boys' restroom—a tactical retreat.

  Close one.

  I stood at the sink and began to wash my hands. I wasn't dirty, but I needed the ritual. I looked at myself in the mirror, fixing my collar and adjusting the tilt of my headphones. In all honesty, I wasn't even sure if the professor would have recognized me if we’d passed in the hall. I was a ghost in his class, too. I should have just kept walking, but the restroom is the universal "pause" button for the socially exhausted.

  The sound of the water rushing was loud enough to drown out the creak of the bathroom stall. A student came out and began to awkwardly wash his hands as I stand beside him focusing on my own isolated thoughts.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Maybe all this time I’ve spent trying to "avoid" everyone is just a fancier way of saying I'm living out a cliché loner high-school life.

  I’d tried to frame my silence as a rebellion against the world, but the world wasn't even fighting back. If I were truly important—if people actually depended on me—my absence would have left a hole. But no one cares. My "rebellion" is a one-man show with an audience of zero.

  All the energy I’d wasted beating myself up over the assembly... it felt meaningless now. Why did I feel that way? It couldn't have just been Ophelia’s failed plan. There’s something deeper, a different cause I’m not ready to look at yet.

  I’m a disappointment, not because I failed, but because I’m an overreaction in a vacuum. Even if I told people how I felt, they’d dismiss it as unreasonable. I'm a "Genius Successor" who can't even succeed at being a nobody.

  I continued my walk toward the exit. As I reached the lobby, the atmosphere shifted. The nighttime aesthetic of Aethelgard was undeniably high-tier; the warm glow of the chandeliers contrasting with the absolute ink of the world outside the massive windows was a rare comfort. It felt clinical, yet safe.

  I stepped out into the night air. I needed the walk to process the data of the last few days. Lately, I’ve noticed a strange decay in my emotional investment. My concern for Ophelia, Alizée, and the others was evaporating. Was my "philosophy of laziness" finally working?

  The crickets began to swallow the night ambience, it was a sound that resonated at the end of the day. It never seems to fade as you progress in the darkness.

  I felt confused, but it was a quiet, muffled confusion. "Emotionally numb" was the clinical term, I suppose. I have a habit of leaving the past behind like a shed skin. I create a new version of myself—one that has discarded the pain—yet I still carry the trauma like a piece of luggage I can’t quite unlock.

  I call it the Point A vs. Point B problem.

  While everyone else is still trapped in the wreckage of Point A, I’ve already fast-traveled to Point B. The problem is solved for me because I’ve decided it no longer exists. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. I’ve never been called out on it, mostly because I never let anyone see where I stood in the mess.

  It’s a pointless cycle—almost like an emotional downhill slide that just resets me at the starting line every time.

  I wandered deeper into the woods, reaching a clearing where the moonlight seemed to rest on the benches. I stopped.

  Ophelia was there. She looked small, her usual radiance replaced by a hollowed-out stillness. I was about to turn back when a voice broke the quiet—a calm, undeniably smooth tone that made my skin crawl.

  "Ophelia, what are you doing out here?"

  "Huh? Who's there?" Ophelia snapped.

  "Ajax Vale."

  "...You're that pervert who caught me on the stairs. What do you want?"

  "I want to talk. That’s all."

  I ducked behind a tree. Eavesdropping was a low-energy move, but I'm already here. A true victim of circumstance.

  So, I guess that whole rom-com sequence that unfolded earlier didn't end well. I'm glad I didn't stick around long enough to hear the end of that.

  "I just wanted to let you know," Ajax continued, "that yesterday wasn't your fault."

  "..."

  "Look at me, Ophelia."

  Through the leaves, I saw him kneel. He reached out, sliding his fingers under her chin to lift her gaze to his. It was a move straight out of a low-budget romance novel.

  "Get your hands off me," Ophelia hissed, slapping his hand away.

  Ajax retracted his arm but stayed on his knee. Ophelia stared at the ground, her expression like carved ice.

  "When you called me a pervert for saving you on the stairs... I won't lie, it hurt a bit," he said, placing a hand over his heart.

  "Listen, Ajax. I don't need your pity," she snapped, still refusing to look at him. "The assembly was a disaster. That’s the end of it."

  She avoided all eye contact throughout that statement.

  He smiled. "Just checking in, Princess. Mind if I sit?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well. I'll just sit over—"

  "Just leave," she barked.

  "Your wish is granted, m’lady," Ajax said, gesturing a mocking, blown kiss.

  Ew. I could see why she hated him. He walked away with a smug, self-satisfied stride, proud of his "noble" attempt. Ajax was wrong on every level. He was trying to offer comfort, but his delivery was an invasion. It wasn't about her; it was about his own ego. Ophelia visibly muttered to herself once he was out of hearing range.

  I can't help but wonder if Ophelia really even likes her position as the Student Council president. A true president would try to uplift the whole council, even if it meant we were all the scapegoats. It feels off, but I won't try jumping to rash conclusions this early on.

  I waited until the sound of his footsteps faded before moving back toward the dormitory path. I knew these woods well enough to navigate them blind; the maps on the side of the tracks were just scenery to me. It was 8:53 PM.

  I have an uncanny ability of being in the wrong places at the right time. I should've never even been here to listen to that conversation.

  As I cleared the trees, I looked out at the bay. It was pretty, but it couldn't compete with the orange sunsets I’d seen a month ago. Ophelia was a perfect example of someone stuck in Point A, while I was already drifting in the void of Point B.

  I feel like today was incredibly dry.

  Maybe earlier, Aaxya didn't want to talk to me because she'd found better friends, she probably didn't want to be friends with people that caused trouble all the time. I was unfortunate enough to make the cut for those standards.

  I just wished, that maybe if I was the lazy, careless person I said I was. Then maybe I wouldn't be having these thoughts. I'm not even sure if it's a facade.

  I’d spent all of yesterday worrying about her, but today that drive was gone. Is it because the incident is "over" in my head? My status as the "quiet kid" doesn't justify helping people anyway.

  Then, I spotted a silhouette by the water.

  Aaxya. Still out here? Looks like she's playing with a shell.

  I felt a pull I couldn't explain. I’d told myself I wanted distance, but seeing her there, sitting outside the logic of Point A and Point B, I realized I was lying.

  I stepped onto the sand. The crunch alerted her, and she turned around, clutching something to her chest.

  "Hey, Aaxya. What are you doing out here?" I asked. The air felt easier to breathe here.

  "...Oh. Um. I'm just..." she tripped over her words, her eyes wide. "I couldn't sleep."

  "Me neither," I said, sitting down a respectful distance from her. I looked up at the stars. The lack of light pollution here was almost impossible—a sky full of silver dust.

  "..."

  "Hm?"

  "...Uh, I have some... chips," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the tide. "If you wanted them. I didn't get to eat them."

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a crinkled foil bag of potato chips.

  I froze. My mind flashed to the bag I’d tossed in the trash earlier—the one I’d thrown away as a form of self-punishment.

  "...W-what's wrong?" she stammered, pulling the bag back. "Oh, no. I'm sorry! Maybe you didn't want—"

  "No," I said, my voice firmer than I intended. "I'll have them. Thank you."

  Her expression shifted from overwhelming embarrassment to a warm, relieved smile.

  Maybe talking to her in the morning wasn't such a great idea, after all.

  "Sorry, Zeke," she continued. "I... I didn't expect to see you in the hallway this morning. I was trying to find you in the library."

  "It's fine," I responded, the guilt of the morning finally beginning to thaw.

  "Did you... want to talk to me?" I asked.

  "Y-yeah," she said, looking away as her face flushed.

  I looked at the horizon. I’d spent so much time beating myself up over the assembly, convinced I was a disappointment and a failure. But Aaxya didn't care about the assembly. She didn't see me as a fraud or a ghost, I was a real person to her.

  Maybe she was the bridge I needed.

  I opened the bag, the scent of salt and artificial flavoring hitting me like a luxury. I took a bite. It was the best thing I’d tasted all week.