Cecily was weary to her bones with pretending. She was a skilled actress; everyone said so. She knew it to be true because no one knew how well she acted her offstage part, every day: the part of Cecily Patrick, carefree girl.
She barely slept, anymore. She ate only to keep Alice off her back, Alice whom she was sure was acting on orders from Connor to make sure she, Cecily, ate at least two meals a day. She just wasn't hungry. The food tasted like sawdust on her tongue but she smiled and chatted with her friends, and pretended, and after a while they stopped giving her those looks, the ones she hated.
So no one had to tell Cecily Patrick what a good actress she was. But she found, more and more, that it was easier to be by herself, where she didn't have to pretend. And so here she was, as night fell, walking across campus alone, on her way home. She knew it was stupid but half of her wished something would happen, anything, to stop the pain. Physical pain would be far preferable to what she lived with every day.
She wished she could be strong, but she simply wasn't. She was sharp and fragile as broken glass, and the flimsy glue holding her together was wearing thin. One day she would fly apart and there would be nothing left but a ghost, which is what she felt like anyway. A living ghost.
So when the drunken frat boys started making catcalls at her she almost smiled. She hurried her pace just a little. Let them come. She wouldn't go down without a fight--she owed her family that much--but they couldn't hurt her anymore than she'd already been hurt.
She heard them pick up their pace behind her, knew the chase was on, and she started to run. Behind her they laughed and shouted to each other.
But they never reached her.
One minute they were laughing and the next they were screaming and Cecily heard something snap. She whirled around and saw her rescuer throw one of her would-be assailants against a building, where he fell to the ground and lay still. The others ran away screaming into the night but Diego did not give chase.
He turned to look at her, anger transforming his face into something feral. "What the hell were you thinking, Cecily?"
"What difference does it make to you?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
He stopped, holding himself still.
"I saw you with Sakira," she said, willing her voice not to break. "I know you don't love me, so what do you care if I get hurt?"
"I don't wish you dead," he said, flatly. "I don't wish that on anyone. You shouldn't be so reckless."
"Why, Diego?" she asked, and he seemed to know what she was asking.
He shrugged. "I was bored."
"Bored." The word seemed to pierce her heart. He had broken her heart because he was bored? He really didn't love her at all. It had all been a lie. She felt like her last little shred of hope died with that word.
Bored."Go home, Cecily," he said.
She stuck out her chin. She would not cry. Head held high, she turned and walked away from him, never once looking back.
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