I'm in a relationship with the boy who made my life a living hell. Three years ago, I begged Edmund Carter to leave me alone. He ground his heel into my hand and called me garbage. Three years later, he was on his knees, crying and pleading for me to stay. I gave him the same look he gave me then, and said the same word back to him. 01 Pinned against the wall by the school's most vicious bully, I sent a final text to the boy I'd fallen for online. A moment later, the bully's phone chimed. Edmund Carter pulled out his phone, and the cold fury in his eyes melted away, replaced by an impossible tenderness. [Be good, Emily. I'm busy. Wait for me.] The second he sent the message, my phone vibrated silently in my pocket. It was the custom notification I’d set for him. For my Edmund. My head snapped up, my mind reeling. There he was, standing under the halo of a streetlight, the perfect line of his jaw and his sharp, handsome features identical to the boy I knew as Edmund. But the way he held a cigarette between his lips, the dark, violent aura clinging to him—that was a world away from the bright, smiling boy in the photos he sent me. For a dizzying second, I couldn't tell who he was: my sweet, gentle online boyfriend, Edmund, or Tiffany’s monster of a boyfriend, Edmund Carter. "Edmund, that's the bitch who ruined my bag!" Tiffany shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at me, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "She's just jealous because she's poor and can't afford nice things. Fucking trash." "I didn't..." I hadn't touched her bag. A few days ago, Tiffany had slapped me for no reason. When she'd swung again, I dodged. She stumbled and fell, scuffing her brand new, thirty-thousand-dollar handbag. She’d screamed at me to pay for it. When I told her I couldn't, she’d sneered and said I should just wait, that her boyfriend, Edmund Carter, would take care of me. I knew who Edmund Carter was. Everyone did. He was from a wealthy, powerful family. The whispers said he had ties to the criminal underworld, that he was a ruthless, cold-blooded fighter who wasn't afraid of anything. They called him a demon. I just never imagined that my sweet, kind "Edmund" and the demon of Westwood High were the same person. He straightened up, walking toward me one slow step at a time. The warm yellow light of the streetlamp washed over him, but his eyes were chips of ice. His tall frame cast a suffocating shadow over me. I curled my fingers into fists as he spoke, his voice cold and dismissive. "Two choices. Pay up, or get on your knees and apologize." The detached contempt in his voice was so alien, so unlike the tender, loving boy from my phone. My stomach twisted. In a moment of sheer, suicidal insanity, I looked him in the eye. "Do you believe me if I say I didn't do it?" Edmund stared at me for a long moment, then let out a short, derisive laugh. "You really don't know what's good for you." He turned away, his voice laced with annoyance. "Teach her a lesson." The blood in my veins turned to ice. My ears went numb. His lackeys forced me to my knees. They slapped me, hard, again and again. They tore at my clothes, kicked me in the stomach. The pain was so intense I couldn't even scream. Through it all, Edmund just leaned against the wall, a detached observer, his eyes glued to his phone screen with a soft, gentle smile, as if he were waiting for a message from someone he loved. I curled into a ball, enduring the relentless kicks and punches, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. The consequences of being beaten by several grown boys were severe. It took me forever to even get up. Two of my teeth were knocked loose, and the blood I spat out stained the collar of my shirt crimson. I lay there on the pavement like a dead fish for three hours before I could summon the strength to crawl home. I couldn't tell my parents. They were simple, hardworking people from a small town, and even with both of them working tirelessly, we were barely scraping by in this city. That was the root of it, wasn't it? I was being bullied because I was from the countryside. "Hick." "Poor, pathetic trash." "We could sell you and still not make enough to cover it." Their words were daggers in my heart. It was then that I learned that being poor meant you didn't get to have dignity. You just got ground into the mud. "Hiss—" I patched myself up in secret. God, it hurt. My phone kept buzzing with that special notification. Message after message from my sweet Edmund. [Emily baby, you home yet?] [You should be home by now, why aren't you texting me back?~] [Did I do something to make you mad?] The same affectionate, gentle tone, but now it sent a wave of nausea through me. I typed out replies, again and again, deleting them each time. Finally, I just sent one thing. [You were just at the library tonight?] He paused for a second, then replied quickly. 02 [Yep, studied hard today!] As if to prove it, he sent a photo of himself in the library. In the picture, the boy wore a crisp white shirt, his eyes crinkling with a sunny smile. He stood by a bookshelf, looking studious and handsome, the very picture of a perfect gentleman. It was all a beautiful, disgusting lie. I was grateful I’d never sent him a photo of myself. Grateful he hadn't recognized me. It was the only reason I had the chance to see the real him. I couldn't afford to miss class and fall behind, so I didn't dare stay home. After the first period, Tiffany dragged me into the girls' bathroom. She and her friends cornered me by the sinks. "Emily, I can't believe you still have the nerve to show your face. Tsk, tsk. I guess they didn't hit you hard enough last night." "Haha, maybe she's just thick-skinned. She's so ugly and gross, if she wasn't shameless she would've killed herself by now!" "No wonder her name is Emily. Sounds like 'lowly.' Lowly and tough as a pig!" Her friends chimed in with a chorus of insults as one of them scooped up a bucket of filthy toilet water and dumped it over my head. The stench and the cold, wet feeling of it soaking through my clothes made me want to vomit. "Tsk, tsk, Emily. You really are as ugly and filthy as a pig," Tiffany sneered. She grabbed my hair, slapped me twice across the face, then washed her hands as if she'd touched something dirty before sauntering out. I slid down the tiled wall and collapsed onto the floor, burying my face in my knees, fighting to hold back the tears. Tiffany locked me in there for the entire morning. I wasn't let out until the lunch bell rang. I thought that would be the end of it for the day. But she wasn't finished. For the rest of the week, my desk was constantly vandalized, my homework would mysteriously disappear. After a few times, the teachers stopped believing me. Tiffany was a ghost haunting my every step, taking pleasure in my humiliation. That evening, I stayed late at the library, hoping to avoid her on my way home. It was no use. She was waiting for me at the entrance with her crew. She knocked my thermos out of my hands. It clattered to the ground, and the coffee I'd brought to help me stay awake splashed all over my legs. My new white pants were instantly stained. I glared at her, furious. As I opened my mouth to speak, I caught Edmund Carter’s warning gaze from where he stood beside her, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his expression full of contempt. "Tsk. Got a problem, Emily?" Tiffany shoved me, and I fell backward. I landed right in the puddle of spilled coffee and dirt. The earthy, bitter smell was sickening. Her friends erupted in laughter, mocking me, saying I looked like a pig wallowing in slop. They even tried to force my face down into the puddle, to make me drink it. My cheek was inches from the grimy floor when the librarian came to lock up. "What are you all doing!" Tiffany and her cronies finally let me go, turning to the librarian with fake, cheerful smiles. "We're just playing truth or dare with Emily!" "Yeah, Emily lost, so she has to drink the coffee on the floor!" "No, that's not true," I pleaded, shaking my head and looking desperately at the librarian. "Ma'am, they're forcing me." The librarian frowned, about to speak, but Tiffany quickly cut in with a sycophantic grin. "Ma'am, don't listen to her. She's just trying to get out of the dare!" "Yeah, Emily, don't be a sore loser! You lost, fair and square. Why are you tattling to the teacher?" Tiffany twisted the truth, painting me as the bad guy. Her friends all chimed in. "Yeah, Emily, you're being so petty." "It's just a game. You don't have to tell on us just because you don't want to do the dare!" There were too many of them, and their stories all matched. Predictably, the librarian believed them. She gave me a disapproving look, then turned to Tiffany. "Alright, that's enough. You're in school to learn, not to play these silly games." And with that, the librarian left, clearly wanting nothing to do with it. Tiffany looked down at me, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "See, Emily? They're all on my side. No one will ever believe you." "Tattling to the teachers is useless. I have a hundred ways to get out of trouble. You, on the other hand, won't be so lucky." 03 My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I barely even heard what they said after that. I sat there on the cold library steps for a long time, so long that all the campus lights went out. It wasn't until a security guard on patrol kept calling my name that I realized I'd been staring into space for hours, sitting in a puddle of cold coffee. I walked home in a daze. My mother was in the kitchen, slamming dishes around in the sink. "You're old enough to know better than to get your clothes so filthy. I don't have money to buy you new ones." "Instead of focusing on your real studies, you had to go and pick this ridiculous art hobby. Do you know how much extra that costs us? You're a curse. Why can't you be more like your cousin back home? She's hardworking and sensible." I was so used to my mother's complaints that I was usually numb to them. But tonight, I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. I ignored her and locked myself in my room. My phone was blowing up. It was Edmund. [Emily, are you out of your evening class yet?] [Answer me!] [Baby, did I do something wrong? You've been so cold these last two days.] [Don't ignore me. You'll break my heart.] He'd be heartbroken? Yes. He would be. Even though our relationship was purely online, I knew how much he needed me. He wanted to talk to me 24/7. He was a person starved for affection, crippled by insecurity. His toxic family life had shrouded his childhood in darkness. After his mother died, he'd become a deeply negative and gloomy person. I had appeared in his life right at that moment, pulling him through that dark time. After that, he became like a puppy showing its belly, offering me his entire heart on a platter. He used to say: [Baby, you are the only light in my life.] [Baby, I'm trying to become a better person for you. I'm studying hard, eating properly, turning into the kind of gentle, charming boy you like...] [Baby, I love you more than anything. Please stay with me forever...] I thought about his words, then I pictured his face as he helped Tiffany torture me. My fingertips trembled. [Edmund, if someone bullied you, what would you do?] I asked him. [I'd get revenge, of course. I'd make their life a living hell.] [Why are you asking, Emily? Did someone bully you? Who was it? I'll take care of them for you!] [It's nothing.] There's no need. Edmund, I already have a plan to make the person who bullied me suffer. 04 During art class, Tiffany "accidentally" knocked over my paint tray as she walked by, smearing paint across my finished canvas. "Emily, does someone as poor and pathetic as you really deserve to study art? It's so expensive. Can your family even afford it?" She smirked and sashayed away. I silently cleaned up the mess. Half my paints were gone, and my brushes and other tools were ruined. I salvaged what I could and took the dirty brushes to the washroom to clean them. I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around. It was Edmund Carter. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his teeth, his eyes full of the same mocking contempt. He was looking at me like I was a clown. I gripped the paintbrush tightly in my hand. He made no move to leave. When I tried to exit the washroom, he blocked my path, pinning me against the wall. "Go apologize to Tiffany tomorrow." His tone was absolute, his eyes a clear threat. "But I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't break her bag." I summoned 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 thirty-thousand-dollar bag. All you have to do is say you're sorry. Don't be an idiot." "My patience is wearing thin. If you don't apologize, you know what will happen." Edmund left. I clutched my burned arm, hot tears finally falling. That night at home, my mother started in on me again, trying to convince me to quit art, telling me a family like ours couldn't afford my dreams. Eventually, my dad told her to stop. Before I went to 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's hair, already graying though he wasn't old, and at his prosthetic eye. My heart ached. A neighborhood bully had blinded him in one eye when he was a kid. Now, on rainy days or when he was overtired, the socket would ache relentlessly. But he still bore the weight of our family without complaint. "Dad, I'll get a part-time job. I promise, I can earn my own money soon." My dad just shook his head, a proud, sad smile on his face, telling me not to worry. Then he asked, "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, telling him not to worry. They had been through enough. They didn't need to carry my burdens, too. For years, I had grown up wild and resilient on my own. I always found a way. Tiffany thought I was some weak little mouse she could crush. Just because I was poor, did that mean I had to swallow every humiliation in silence? The moment Tiffany demanded thirty thousand dollars from me, I had already secured the security footage of her falling and damaging her own bag. After all, a poor person's greatest fear is being framed. I had documented the injuries from the alley and the bathroom. I had also managed to get a copy of the security footage from the library entrance. I'd barely responded to Edmund's messages these past few days, and he was starting to spiral, flooding my phone with notifications. 99+ unread messages. I clicked on them, reading one by one. [What are you so busy with, Emily, that you don't have time for me?] [Emily, did I do something wrong?] [I'm sorry, baby. Whatever I did, please just tell me. I'll change. Just don't ignore me.] [Emily, are you... leaving me?] By the last message, I knew he was panicking. So, Edmund, you really can feel hurt. Don't worry. The real pain hasn't even started yet. 05 Before I could finish reading, my phone started ringing. It was him. I didn't answer, just texted back. [I'm not leaving you.] [Really?] He clearly didn't believe me. He had no security, no trust. [Then please don't ignore me anymore, Emily. It hurts my heart.] My fingers trembled. For a second, I hesitated, then I replied: [Okay.] His tone immediately brightened. [You're the best, Emily. Emily, I want to see you. Soon. Can I come find you?] We had agreed to meet after our college entrance exams, but now he was clearly getting impatient. Maybe he could feel it. That I was slipping away from him. [Emily?] [You said you'd always be with me. You won't break your promise, right?] I could hear the fear in his voice, the desperate need for reassurance. A pang of something sour twisted in my gut. I had been so determined to make him suffer, but for a split second, I wavered. I asked him: [Edmund, you said you were trying to become a better person for me, right?] [Yes, Emily. I'm trying.] He answered without a moment's hesitation. As if the person who tormented and abused others wasn't him at all. He truly had two faces. [Then you have to be a just and kind person. At the very least, you can't do bad things,] I replied. I'm giving you a chance, Edmund Carter. You'd better keep your word. ... Tiffany's crusade against me wasn't over. To force my apology, she took the fight public. She posted her version of the broken bag story on the school's gossip blog. Overnight, she transformed from aggressor to victim. She played the part perfectly, claiming all she ever wanted was a simple apology. She painted herself as the righteous one, accusing me of being a poor, jealous girl who coveted things she couldn't have. She said my vanity was a burden on my family, that I was ungrateful and inconsiderate of my parents' struggles. Her "righteous" act won her a wave of sympathy. The comments section was flooded with vitriol directed at me. "If you're poor, just stay in your lane!" "If you can't have it, destroy it! That Emily girl is pure evil!" "Yeah, get that bitch out of our school!" "I heard Tiffany's boyfriend, Edmund Carter, beat her up a few days ago." "Good. I'd take a beating to get out of paying thirty grand!" "Emily must apologize!" On the post with the most comments demanding my head, I uploaded the video. The one showing Tiffany tripping on her own, scuffing her own bag, and then blaming me. The cascade of angry comments stopped instantly. I had planned to release the video today anyway. Tiffany's post just gave me the perfect stage to humiliate her. With that done, I went to school with a calm heart.
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