12
School days flew by, and Jason stayed in the
hospital, somehow finding the time to
message me.
I rarely responded.
Unless I couldn’t help it.
Like his message: “My leg is healed, thank
you, Heather.”
Then he sent a picture where you could
faintly see his abs.
I couldn’t help it: “Your leg is healed; why are
you sending a picture of your upper body?”
He didn’t reply for a while, then pretended to
apologize: “Sorry, wrong picture. Oops, can’t
take it back.”
I don’t believe him.
During this time, Elijah seemed to be doing
other things and didn’t come to me.
I soon found out why.
After Jason returned to school, he was
reported for fighting, assault, and intentional
injury.
I was in the teacher’s office when they
questioned him.
Seeing me, he vehemently denied: “I didn’t hit
anyone. I was defending myself, I was injured
<
Thinking for a moment, I went over: “Teacher,
I can testify. I took Jason to the hospital that
day.‘
||
The teacher kept him for a detailed account
of the incident, and I left with my homework.
But I ran into Elijah around the corner. I ignored him.
But he pressed aggressively: “He’s a thug, do you know how bad his reputation was in middle school? Why are you helping him?”
“It’s none of your business.”
I suddenly remembered Elijah’s look at Jason,
and asked, “So, you did it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Elijah, you’re such a despicable person.”
He didn’t get angry: “Heather, he’s not worth
it.”
I sneered: “I don’t need anyone to tell me
what to do.”
Back in class. Jason messaged: “Do you
<
believe me?”
I replied: “Yes.”
The incident ended with Jason reading a self-
criticism at the flag–raising ceremony.
That day he messaged: “Thankfully, no
punishment, that would have been a
problem.”
I was puzzled, sending a “?”
He laughed it off, saying nothing.
I didn’t ask further.
Heather’s bullying of Elijah continued.
But he remained silent.
Always looking at me with a pitiful gaze.
As if trying to find ripples in my expression. But I pretended not to see.
I didn’t understand. Since Elijah was reborn,
he should know his talent could make his life
easier.
But he made no effort to resist.
As if deliberately showing his misery to
<
trigger my protective instincts.
He was disappointed.
I couldn’t even be bothered to look at him.
