Page 10 of Black Castle

The reality of her mistake hit her again like a storm. Her hands clench the edges of the table, and something stings behind her eyes.

What has she done?

How could she have done this?

Why did she lie and steal Ian’s life from him?

The guilt weighs her down, the wall far too close now.

The stares, the whispers, the weight of it all, presses down, suffocating her. And before she can stop herself, she abruptly rises to her feet, her hip knocking against the edge of her table, but the sharp pain that zaps through her is nothing compared to the invisible noose tied around her neck right now.

She needs to get out of here.

She needs to find Kenji.

And maybe Ian.

The sharp scent of grass and sweat clings to the air, mixed with the echo of shouts and laughter of boys whose blood has been charged with adrenaline.

Vivienne doesn’t step onto the field. She sits there by the bleacher, which is cold beneath her, but she barely registers it. Her arms rests on her knees, her fingers twitching, scratching, pinching.

There are no tears. But her eyes burn, red-rimmed…unfocused.

Kenji doesn’t notice her. But someone else does after about ten minutes. One of his teammates—Gerald? He briefly glances at the bleacher and spots her. He frowns, confused, then nudges at Kenji before throwing a small nod in Vivienne’s direction.

Kenji turns, confused at first. And when the realization hits him, the soccer ball in his hand rolls off, abandoned on the grass. He jogs over to her, his movements quick and urgent.

He stands near her, winded after running. But Vivienne doesn’t react. She doesn’t move.

She has her black arm warmers rolled up—the ones she always wears long enough to cover her scars, even though the style clashes with the school uniform. Her nails dig into the scars—scratching, pinching, tugging at the stitches from two days ago.

A tremor runs through her fingers, her lips pressed tight to keep them from shaking.

Kenji breathes a curse, then mutters, “I’m coming.”

In a second, he is back on the field again. She watches as he jogs to his team, speaking animatedly—an apology, maybe. And before she can blink, he is back again, lifting her up and leading her away from the field.

The knock on the door persists, but each one keeps echoing into silence, and Vivienne is relentless.

With her fist clenched again, she places another one, her knuckles burning.

No answer still.

She steps back, arm crossing over her chest as she stares at Ian’s apartment door. But there is nothing. No footsteps. No sound.

No sign that he is even inside. Just like how there is no sign that he is receiving her calls or seeing her texts.

Kenji exhales behind her, shifting uncomfortably. He said it was not a good idea to come to his house. But she had remained obstinate despite the uncertainty regarding this visit. Her apology would fix nothing. But she still wanted to try.

“Maybe he’s not home?” he offers. But Vivienne knows better. He is home alright? He is watching through the drawn curtains of his room.

She steps closer to the door again. Her fingers hovering over it. But she lets them fall to her side.

“He’s home,” she says. “He’s ignoring me.”

Kenji doesn’t argue. Instead, he grabs her wrist gently and pulls her away from the door, away from her guilt. Away from something she can’t fix.

“We’ll come back.”

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