Something Beautiful

3•something concealed

One of the thrills of gossip was the incited reaction of its source. Whether guilt or shame or anger, people enjoyed it when the center of the rumor paraded signs of discomfort.

However, Umi could not produce these results for mere entertainment. She, who was once feasted and preyed upon offline and online, the stigma lingered beyond screens. Even with the people around her, she refused to be pitiable.

They hated her confidence.

But her predators were in for a wonderful surprise when she trod the campus with her head down and her hair covering her face.

Although a cruel few celebrated her appearance of defeat, more were curious as to why such a proud woman did not fit the adjective.

Umi was oblivious to such intrigued expressions, as the memory of Pauline's fierce eyes hurt more than her hand. She arrived in her first subject and claimed the back seat.

"Oh cool, same class."

Umi ignored James who claimed the spot next to hers with Ethan on his earpods blasting something angry. She pretended to write notes on her notebook and answered an uninterested "Yes" and "No" to her seatmate. The professor arrived and his questions stopped.

Umi left like the wind for lunch on the rooftop. Summer was kind for today, with more clouds and fresh breeze, gently swaying her hair as she enjoyed her meal.

Her silence was cut when Ethan emerged from the door with a question, "What are you doing here?'

"Want some?" she asked, raising the half-eaten sandwich, and expected a disgusted response.

"No thanks."

She shrugged, forced a bite in the awkward silence. She never thought that a day would come; she'd be thankful for James' interruption, now glaring at Ethan about to light a cigarette. "I'm telling Mom."

The latter clicked his tongue.

However, her welcome was cut short when James shifted at her and his face lit up like Christmas. "I knew it, she's here! Can we have lunch here?"

With a frown, Ethan returned the lighter and the unlighted to his pocket. "No."

"Please. You can light one, I'm not telling Mom."

"Still no."

"But I want to talk to her. We're already friends, aren't we?" he asked Umi. "Friends share things, like ice cream and rooftops."

"I don't own the building. Do what you want."

"You heard that? What do you want, bro?"

"I don't know, how about listening to me once?"

"Pizza it is. You, Umi? My burger treat is still up for grabs."

"None."

"Oh come on—"

Umi flinched and slapped his hand before he could reach her. A moment of silence passed. "Oh...sorry." James blinked. Umi rearranged her stunned expression and ragged breathing. It was too late, they read the fear on her face before she could erase them.

"...So burgers?"

"With double cheese?" he asked again after her silence, already distanced from her.

Umi nodded, clenching and unclenching her hands while calming her raging heartbeat.

"With egg?"

"...With egg."

He already left before she could refute what was said. Silence intervened between Ethan and her as he sat not so far away.

"Don't you have any friends?" he asked, finally successful on his second attempt to smoke.

"Having none won't kill me."

"James used to be like you too. Now, he's trying."

"Good for him, I guess." Umi focused on her sandwich, estimating how many bites were left before she could leave.

"Be good to him." Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. Then he turned away and puffed a smoke "That doesn't mean we have to be friends too. Just be good to him, I'll pay you if I have to."

Three more bites, she thought. Three more and she could finally leave the reality that her savior was colder than her.

"You said you have no friends."

"Yes."

"You don't look like the popular type. So it's either you're a nobody or an outcast."

Umi smiled bitterly. "I'm famous, it's just not obvious."

"Then which one you're supposed to be, the loser that everyone hates? Or the slut that everyone fucks?"

There were only two options, not three or four. Umi shrugged. "Both, I guess."

He responded with silence, then threw his half-consumed stick, a faint scratching of his shoes against the cigarette and the cement reached her ears.

The silence broke when James returned chasing his breath and the crinkle of the plastic bag. "Thank god you didn't leave yet." He rushed to her, paused and stepped back, with enough distance to hand food but not invade her space. "Your order has arrived, Madam. With extra ketchup."

His hand is stretched out in the air,

Umi hesitated and glanced at his expectant face.

"You don't like ketchup?"

She's not particularly a fan of burgers nor optimistic people. She's also one of the rare people allergic to tomatoes.

"Take it," Ethan urged.

However, she loves cheese and meat. It won't kill her, she thought, a bite won't hurt. Umi took the offer and mumbled a "Thank you."

A faint breeze brushed her face and caressed her hair for a dance. Ethan grabbed her chin to expose her bruised cheek. "What happened?"

"Why? What's wrong brother?"

"Let me see." Ethan stepped closer. "What happened to your cheek?"

Umi stepped back. "I forgot."

Ethan conquered the distance between them. "Look at me!" He grabbed both of her shoulders and peeled her hair away from her cheek.

She slapped his hand and retreated for more space. Repeatedly, Umi told herself, They are not a threat. You are safe. Still, her hand shook and her heartbeat raced. She nestled her cheek with a palm. It was too late. They already saw the pink and purple lines, more prominent on her left cheek.

"Who did that?"

She glared at James. "It has nothing to do with you."

"You can talk to us, you know," he said as she turned to leave. "Being sad is... sad. Being sad alone is sadder... or something like that. Deadly sad, I think."

His words were no different than 'And they lived happily ever after.'

They don't make sense.

They were words of the ignorant, wrapped in the false warmth of movies on Saturdays, homemade cookies and bedtime stories. They live in a bubble.

Who were they kidding? It won't end well, it never did. Breaking her walls won't kill her, but it would hurt.

Just like tomatoes.