Flower of Carnage (18+) || BeckFreen [Completed]

Chapter 29

Days passed, and Becky hadn't returned to our room. I discovered that she had resettled in her accommodation at Flower Manor, methodically relocating her belongings little by little.

The events that transpired were a mystery to me. Following our conversation, everything took a turn for the worse. I found myself once again at the center of her animosity. It seemed that with her friend's return, she had reverted to her malevolent self. Despite my hopeful aspirations to instigate a change in her, I soon realized that her darkness was inherent, an indelible aspect of her being.

My footsteps weighed heavily as I reached the head's office, a place unfamiliar to me until now. To my disappointment, the head was absent, leaving behind a letter filled with cryptic words that eluded my comprehension.

"Beneath the veil where shadows dance,
A muted wail, a last chance.
Echoes linger, fate entwined,
In twilight's grasp, a soul confined."

These enigmatic lines left me perplexed. I lacked the genius required to unravel riddles. Why burden me with deciphering this puzzle when I longed for nothing more than a peaceful night's sleep?

"What are you doing here?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to find an unfamiliar girl with long, wavy hair and monolid eyes. "Did the head ask you to come here?"

"Yes," I replied, holding up the cryptic message.

She passed me without a second glance, selecting a book from the shelf and departing as if we were strangers. However, beneath her shirt, a small flower embroidery caught my eye—a daisy.

I replaced the letter on the table and retreated to my room, yearning for an undisturbed night's rest, free from troubling thoughts.

Yet, sleep eluded me. The four-line riddle echoed in my mind. "In twilight's grasp, a soul confined." Whose soul? Was it mine? Why burden me with such a cryptic message?

Frustration clouded my thoughts, compelling me to seek solace on the rooftop. The stars and moon, though serene, failed to ease my troubled mind. The riddle hinted at a life in my hands, a responsibility I couldn't ignore.

"Help!" a distant cry shattered the night. My gaze plunged downward, revealing the girl from earlier being pursued by an unidentified figure.

I tried to run as fast as I could but a loud bang resonated, freezing me in place. Was I too late? Did the girl perish? Fear rooted me to the spot. Venturing into the scene risked accusations that could jeopardize my very existence.

"You heard it too?" a fellow student approached, emerging from her dorm. "Don't go there. She's Becky's target this week. If she dies, no one will search for her. She was just a district 12 beggar testing her luck here. A regrettable error."

"What mistake?" I queried.

"You didn't know?" the student scoffed. "That girl spread the rumor about you and Billy. He paid her." With a shrug, she retreated to her room.

My chest tightened, curiosity compelling me to witness the aftermath. There, I observed Becky confirming the girl's demise with a sinister smirk. I hadn't known she was capable of such cruelty—no, brutality especially on my behalf.

***

I awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. I desperately clung to the hope that it was merely a dream, a haunting nightmare.

A hasty shower and a sip of milk replaced my usual morning routine, the palpitations too intense for coffee. Becky's face lingered in my thoughts—the smirk, the blood.

"F—!" I yelled, striking the wall. Blood welled from my injured fist, but I remained numb to the pain. This wasn't the life I envisioned, the path I intended to tread.

"Freen Sarocha Chankimha," a voice called from outside. Amanda stood at my door, directing me to the council's office for urgent paperwork. Without explanation, she left me to navigate the bureaucratic process alone.

Amid the paperwork, I lingered, drawn to the restroom where Becky sat on the sink, smoke swirling around her. Her appearance had transformed, smoky eyes replacing her usual demeanor. She paid no attention as I entered a cubicle, though I had no intention of using it. I couldn't admit I sought her presence.

I did. I wanted to apologize for my words days prior. Unbeknownst to me, she was purging those who sought to tarnish my reputation. Yet, her methods remained questionable. She too bore responsibility.

I bit my lip, closed my eyes, contemplating the right words. Her anger was palpable, avoiding me.

"Aren't you going to come out? I can't hear you doing anything," she remarked.

I opened the door to find her unchanged. She met my gaze, flicking her cigarette into the sink, three burnt-out sticks already. She approached, hands in her pockets, waiting for my words.

"I'm—"

"That's not what I want to hear," she interrupted.

Her expression remained impassive. What did she want from me?

"What?" I asked.

"I don't want you to say anything," she declared. "Kiss me, Freen. That's how you make up to me."