I ended up with the boy who destroyed my life. Three years ago, I begged Ethan Cross to leave me alone. He crushed my hand under his boot and called me trash. Three years later, he was on his knees, sobbing, begging me not to leave him. And I threw those same words right back in his face. 1 I was pinned against the wall. The alley smelled of stale beer and desperation. My fingers, trembling, typed one last message to the only person who understood me, the boy I’d fallen for online. Then, the monster’s phone chimed. Ethan Cross pulled out his phone, and the cold cruelty in his eyes vanished, replaced by a softness that made my stomach twist. He sent the message, and a second later, my own phone buzzed silently in my pocket. It was the custom notification I’d set for him. For my Ryan. My head snapped up. There he was, under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, the sharp, perfect line of his jaw and the delicate features I knew so well. He was the spitting image of my Ryan. But the cigarette dangling from his lips, the dark violence simmering in his gaze… that was a stranger. This was not the sweet, bookish boy from the photos. For a dizzying moment, I couldn’t separate them. Was this my sweet Ryan, my online confidant? Or was this Tiffany Reed’s notorious boyfriend, the walking nightmare known as Ethan Cross? “Ethan, that’s the bitch who slashed my new purse!” Tiffany shrieked, her voice a weapon. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, her eyes glinting with triumph. “She’s just jealous because she’s poor. White trash with sticky fingers.” “I didn’t…” I didn’t ruin her purse. She’d slapped me out of nowhere a few days ago. When she went to do it again, I ducked. She lost her balance, stumbled, and scraped her brand new, twenty-thousand-dollar bag against the brick wall. She’d screamed that I would pay for it. When I told her I couldn’t, she promised her boyfriend, Ethan Cross, would make me. I knew who Ethan was. Everyone did. He was from one of those old-money families with a business empire downtown. The rumors were dark—connections to unsavory people, a reputation for brutal, cold-blooded fights. They called him a demon, someone who wasn't afraid of anything. I just never imagined that the demon and my sweet, gentle Ryan could be the same person. Ethan pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me. The warm lamplight did nothing to soften the icy chill in his eyes. His tall frame cast a long, suffocating shadow over me. My fists clenched. I heard his voice, devoid of all emotion. “Two choices. Pay for the bag, or get on your knees and apologize.” The cold, dismissive tone was a world away from the tender, loving words he’d sent me just minutes before. My mind short-circuited. A reckless, desperate hope flared inside me. I looked straight at him. “Do you believe me when I say I didn’t do it?” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Don’t be stupid.” He turned away, his voice thick with annoyance. “Teach her a lesson.” The blood froze in my veins. The world went silent. His friends forced me to my knees. The slaps came fast and hard, ringing in my ears. They tore at my clothes, kicked me in the stomach. The pain was so sharp I couldn’t even scream. Through it all, Ethan leaned against the far wall, indifferent. He was smiling softly at his phone screen, as if waiting for a message. I curled into a ball, absorbing the blows, hot tears finally breaking free. The consequences of being beaten by grown men meant I couldn’t get up for a long time. They’d knocked out two of my teeth, and the blood I spit up stained the collar of my shirt a deep, rusty red. I lay there on the filthy asphalt for three hours, a discarded object, before I could find the strength to crawl home. I didn’t dare tell my parents. They were good, honest people from a small town who worked themselves to the bone just to scrape by in this city. Thinking back, that was where it all started. I was bullied because I was from the country. The constant taunts—hick, trailer trash, you couldn’t afford to breathe the same air as us—had chipped away at my soul. I learned a hard lesson then: when you’re poor, dignity is a luxury you can’t afford. You’re just mud for other people to stomp in. “Hiss—” I dabbed at my cuts with antiseptic, alone in my room. God, it hurt. My phone kept buzzing with that special tone. Message after message from my sweet Ryan. The same affectionate, gentle words. But now, they made my skin crawl. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed and deleted, over and over. Finally, I just sent one thing. He paused for a second. Then, the reply came. 2 As if to prove it, he sent a picture of himself in the library. In the photo, a boy in a crisp white shirt smiled, his eyes full of sunshine. He stood by a bookshelf, the picture of a gentle, handsome scholar. It was all a beautiful lie. I was flooded with a strange, chilling sense of relief that I’d never sent him a picture of myself. Relief that he hadn’t recognized me. It was the only thing that gave me a chance to see who he really was. I couldn’t afford to miss class, couldn’t risk my grades slipping. After first period, Tiffany and her friends dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. They cornered me by the sinks. “Ava,” Tiffany drawled, inspecting her nails. “Still showing your face at school? Tsk, tsk. I guess last night wasn’t rough enough.” “Haha, she’s probably too stupid to feel it. She’s so ugly and gross, she’d have to have thick skin to not kill herself already!” “Her name’s Ava, but she’s more like a pig. A dirty, thick-skinned pig!” They laughed as one of them scooped murky, foul-smelling water from a toilet bowl and dumped it over my head. The cold, stinking liquid soaked my hair and ran down my neck, making me want to vomit. “See, Ava? Now you look on the outside how you are on the inside. Filthy and disgusting,” Tiffany sneered. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and slapped me twice, hard, before wiping her hand on a paper towel as if she’d touched something unclean. Then they left. I slid down the cold tile wall until I was sitting on the grimy floor. I buried my face in my knees, fighting to hold back the sobs. Tiffany locked me in there. I was stuck for the rest of the morning, until someone finally let me out during the lunch rush. I thought, hoped, that would be the end of it. But Tiffany was just getting started. In the days that followed, my desk was constantly vandalized, my homework would mysteriously disappear. After a few times, my teachers stopped believing my excuses. Tiffany was a ghost haunting my every step, her only pleasure turning my life into a public humiliation. One evening, I stayed late studying in the library, hoping to avoid her. It didn’t work. She and her crew were waiting for me at the entrance. She knocked my travel mug from my hand. It hit the concrete with a sharp crack, and the coffee I’d made to keep myself awake splashed all over my legs. The dark liquid instantly stained my new white jeans. Rage flared in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, but a warning glance from Ethan froze the words in my throat. He was standing right next to her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression dripping with disdain. “What’s the matter, Ava? Got a problem?” Tiffany taunted, shoving me hard. I stumbled backward and fell, landing right in the puddle of spilled coffee and dirt. The earthy, bitter smell made my stomach churn. Her followers erupted in laughter, jeering that I looked like a pig rooting in slop. They started trying to force my face down into the muddy coffee on the ground. When my cheek was just inches from the pavement, the librarian came out to lock the doors. “What’s going on here!” Tiffany and her friends immediately let go, plastering innocent smiles on their faces. “We’re just playing Truth or Dare with Ava!” one of them chirped. “Yeah, Ava lost! Her dare was to drink the coffee off the ground!” “That’s not true,” I pleaded, looking desperately at the librarian. “Ma’am, they were forcing me.” The librarian’s brow furrowed. Before she could speak, Tiffany cut in, all smiles. “Oh, don’t listen to her, ma’am. She’s just a sore loser trying to get out of the dare!” “Yeah, Ava, don’t be like that. It’s just a game,” another girl added. It was their word against mine. They were many; I was one. Their story was united. Predictably, the librarian believed them. Her face hardened as she looked at me, then back at Tiffany. “Alright, that’s enough. This is a school, not a playground. Get home, all of you.” The librarian left, clearly wanting nothing more to do with it. Tiffany looked down at me, her smile dripping with poison. “You see that, Ava? They’re all on my side. No one will ever believe you.” “You can tattle to the teachers all you want. I have a hundred ways to get out of trouble. You, on the other hand… you’re not so lucky.” 3 My heart felt like a block of ice. I didn’t even hear the rest of what they said. I sat there on the cold ground for a long time, so long that the campus lights started shutting off, one by one. It wasn’t until a security guard found me and called my name that I realized I’d been staring into space for hours, sitting in a puddle of cold, sticky coffee. I walked home in a daze. My mother was in the kitchen, clattering dishes in the sink. “You’re a grown girl, can’t you keep your clothes clean? We don’t have money for new pants, you know.” “Instead of focusing on your studies, you had to go with this crazy art idea. It costs twice as much to support you! You’re just making our lives harder. Why can’t you be more like your cousin back home? She’s so diligent and thoughtful.” I was used to my mother’s complaints. I’d grown numb to them. But tonight… tonight, I felt the sting of tears. I ignored her and locked myself in my room. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. It was Ethan. My Ryan. It hurts his feelings? Yes. It would hurt his feelings. Even though our relationship was only online, I knew how much he depended on me. He needed to talk to me 24/7. He was starved for affection, crippled by insecurity. His family life was a mess, casting a long shadow over his childhood. After his mother died, he’d spiraled into a dark place. I happened to come into his life right then. I was the one who sat with him, virtually, through those agonizing months. After that, he was like a puppy showing its belly, offering me his entire heart. He’d once told me: I thought about his words, then pictured him standing by as Tiffany tormented me. My fingertips trembled. I asked him. No need. Ethan Cross, I have my own way of making my bully’s life a living hell. 4 During art class, Tiffany “accidentally” knocked over my paint tray as she walked by, then tore the canvas I was working on. “Ava, do people as poor and pathetic as you even deserve to study art? It’s so expensive. Can your family even afford it?” She strutted away, admiring her nails. I silently cleaned up the mess. Half my paints were gone, and my other supplies were stained. I sealed the remaining tubes of paint and took my soiled brushes to the sink, carefully washing the pigment from the bristles. I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked over my shoulder. It was Ethan. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips, watching me with an expression of pure mockery and contempt, like I was a clown in a circus. My grip on the brush tightened. He made no move to leave. When I tried to exit the restroom, he blocked my path, cornering me. “Apologize to Tiffany tomorrow.” His tone was absolute, his eyes a clear threat. “But I did nothing wrong. I didn’t damage her purse.” I found the courage to meet his gaze. The next second, the burning tip of his cigarette was pressed against my arm. “Cut the crap.” “It’s a twenty-thousand-dollar bag. All she wants is an apology. Don’t be an idiot.” “I’m not a patient guy. You know what happens if you don’t.” Ethan walked away. I clutched my burned arm, fat tears rolling silently down my cheeks. That night at home, my mother started in again, pleading with me to give up art. She said a family like ours couldn’t afford my dreams. My father finally told her to stop. Before bed, he came to my room. He told me to just focus on my studies, that the family would find a way to support my art. I looked at my dad, at the premature gray in his hair and the dull glint of his glass eye, and my heart ached. My dad lost an eye when he was a kid, beaten by some bullies in his village. On rainy days, or when he was overtired, the socket would ache terribly. But he never complained. He just shouldered the burden of our family. “Dad, I’ll get a part-time job. I promise, I can earn my own money soon.” My dad smiled, a sad, proud smile, and shook his head. He didn’t want me to worry. Then his expression grew serious. “You haven’t been yourself the last few days. Did something happen at school?” I shook my head. “If anyone is bullying you,” he said, his voice firm, “you have to tell us.” I nodded and told him not to worry. They were already working so hard. They didn’t need another burden. I’d learned to grow up tough and on my own. I always found a way. Tiffany thought I was some pushover she could crush for sport. But does being poor mean I have to swallow every injustice? The moment Tiffany demanded I pay for her bag, I’d already secured the security camera footage from the hallway showing her falling on her own. I’m poor. I know how to protect myself from being scammed. I documented the injuries from the alley and the bathroom. I got a copy of the library’s security tape. I had barely responded to Ethan’s messages these past few days. The bombardment was relentless. I had 99+ unread messages. I opened them, reading one by one. Reading that last one, I knew he was panicking. So, Ethan Cross, you can feel pain after all. Don’t worry. The real pain is just beginning. 5 Before I could finish reading, his calls started coming, one after another. I didn’t answer. Instead, I texted back. He clearly didn’t believe me. His insecurity was a bottomless pit. My finger trembled over the screen. After a moment’s silence, I replied: His tone immediately brightened. We had planned to meet after graduation. Now, he couldn’t wait. Perhaps he sensed it. He was losing me. I could hear the fear and desperation in his words. A strange pang of sourness hit my chest. I had steeled myself to hurt him, but for a split second, I wavered. I asked him: He answered without hesitation. As if the person who bullied and brutalized others didn’t exist. He truly had two faces. I texted. I’m giving you a chance, Ethan Cross. Don’t let me down. … Tiffany’s campaign against me wasn’t over. To force my apology, she took the fight public. She posted about the purse incident on the school’s online forum, instantly casting herself as the victim. She played the part beautifully, claiming all she ever wanted was a simple apology. She moralized from her high horse, accusing me of being a poor girl who coveted luxury goods she couldn’t afford. She said my vanity was a burden on my family, that I was selfish and ungrateful… Her performance of a “kind and righteous” victim won everyone over. The forum exploded with comments tearing me apart. “If you’re broke, don’t cause trouble!” “This is a classic ‘if I can’t have it, I’ll destroy it’ move! That Ava girl is disgusting!” “Yeah, kick the bitch out of our school!” “I heard Tiffany’s boyfriend, Ethan Cross, beat her up a few days ago.” “Good. I’d take a beating to get out of a twenty-thousand-dollar debt!” “Ava MUST apologize!” Under the post with the most furious demands for my head, I uploaded the video. The clip clearly showed Tiffany tripping, scraping her own bag, and then turning to blame me. The comments section went dead silent. I had planned to release the video today anyway. Tiffany’s post just gave me the perfect stage for a dramatic reveal. After posting it, I went to school with my head held high. 6 A number of students came up to me, offering comfort and apologies. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I didn’t know the whole story and I said some awful things about you online. I can’t believe she framed you.” On the forum, the tide had turned completely. The righteous anger was now directed at Tiffany. The good people, it turned out, were in the majority. Tiffany became a pariah, condemned by almost everyone. Her reputation was in tatters. I knew she wouldn’t let it go. The only question was, would Ethan help her this time? He had promised me he would be a good and decent person. He had promised me he wouldn’t do bad things anymore. I wasn’t sure he could keep that promise. When Ethan and his crew cornered me in the alley again, I got my answer. Tiffany stood beside him, pointing and screaming at me. “You’re fucking dead, Ava! You dared to set me up!” “You little bitch, I’m going to kill you today!” I ignored her histrionics and fixed my gaze on Ethan. “Ethan, you saw the video online. You know I’m innocent.” I had to be sure he knew, that he wasn’t just being manipulated by Tiffany. I had even used an anonymous account to make sure the video appeared in his social media feed. He didn’t look at me. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, his voice bored. “So what if I saw it? All I know is you didn’t do what I told you to do.” The cold words were like daggers, sinking deep into my heart. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound that almost turned into a sob. I shouldn’t have had any hope for him. Ethan Cross was never the sun-drenched boy by the bookshelf. He was always this dark, selfish, cold-blooded creature. How could I have forgotten? He had told me he was changing for the better. It was just another beautiful lie. How could I have been so stupid as to believe it? “Are you really going to ask Ethan for help, Ava? You must be dreaming!” Tiffany shrieked. “Ethan, teach this bitch a lesson she’ll never forget!” Someone shoved me from behind, and I fell to the hard pavement. The kicks and punches started again. It hurt, but I was prepared. I had two burner phones in my pockets, both recording audio and video, set to automatically upload. They cursed as they hit me. But this time, I realized with a jolt of terror, they were aiming for my hands. “These are your drawing hands, right? What a shame.” “Even if you got into art school, your family couldn’t afford it. Let us do you a favor and get rid of the problem for you, hahaha!” No! Art was my dream! My only dream! True panic seized me. I started screaming his name, begging. “Ethan, let me go! Please, just let me go!” Ethan turned his head. He looked at me. His eyes were filled with the same disgust you’d reserve for garbage on the street. “Ah!” In a flash of blinding pain, someone stomped on my right hand. The agony was electric, shooting up my arm. I thought I would pass out. “Ethan… Ryan…” My vision swam. My voice was a weak whisper. “You promised me… you were trying to be better… to be the person I wanted you to be…” “You promised… you wouldn’t do…” I didn’t finish. I saw Ethan’s face contort, his expression shattering into pure horror. He let out a strangled, broken roar. “EVERYONE, FUCKING STOP!”
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