Chapter Text
14/09/2009
I think it’s actually funny how everyone makes it sound like I am the problem.
My parents switch ME to another school like I’m the one who started everything, like I just woke up one day and decided to ruin their lives. No one ever talks about what they did first, of course not. They never do! They get to cry in the office and suddenly they’re victims. I say one thing back and I’m "aggressive" or "unstable" or whatever. It’s so stupid. I mean, yeah, I hit that bitch, but she had been running her mouth for months. People act like I just snapped out of nowhere! Like I’m crazy for no reason.
I don’t even get why they had such a problem with me. I never did anything to them! I kept to myself most of the time. I mean, yeah, I talk back sometimes, but only when they start... It’s not my fault they’re sensitive. If you can’t handle someone being honest, that’s your problem, not mine...
And they always start it! It’s always little things first. The way I talk, the way I dress. Even the way I look at people or that damn accent thing! That’s the stupidest part. I barely even have one anymore... It’s just when I’m tired or mad or whatever, some words come out weird, but that doesn’t mean anything, It’s not like I just got here yesterday. But they act like I’m some kind of joke every time I mispronounce something.
Like, sorry I didn’t grow up exactly like you. Must be sooo hard for you!
Honestly, I think theyr just jealous. I don’t even mean that in a cringe way, it’s just obvious!!! I don’t try as hard as them and I still stand out. They copy each other all the time. Same hair, same makeup, same everything. It’s creepy... At least I have my own style. Even if they call it "weird" or "trying too hard" or whatever.
Sometimes I look at them and it’s like they don’t have to think about any of this. They just exist and people like them, no one’s watching every little thing they do, waiting for them to mess up. No one’s whispering behind their backs like they’re some kind of freak... I guess that's why they don't use their brain, not even a little bit.
Watheverr, they’re the ones who made it a big deal and couldn’t just leave me alone. And then when I finally do something back, suddenly I’m the problem!
That fight wasn’t even that serious. She touched me first, I told her not to, and she kept going, so I just defended myself. People act like I tried to kill her or something...
Mom didn’t even argue when the principal called her. She just said it was "For the best," like she actually cares about anything that happens to me. Like she even knows what’s going on half the time... She just wants less problems, that’s it. Easier to move me than deal with it.
At least my little brother won’t have to hear about it anymore.... Not that he understands anything anyway. He just stares at me like I’m supposed to fix everything. I didn’t ask for that! I didn’t ask to take care of him, or help him with homework, or make sure he eats when Mom forgets. But if I don’t do it, no one does. And somehow I’m still the bad one.
I don’t know,, Maybe this new school will be different. I'm trying to be more positive!
There has to be people there who actually get it. Like, people who don’t act like clones and listen to real music, dress how they want, don’t care about fitting in with those fake groups. People like me! Or at least… close enough.
I’m not asking for a lot. Just someone normal, someone who doesn’t look at me like there’s something wrong with me. Because there isn’t! There isn’t anything wrong with me.
The light coming through the thin curtains hit her eyes, making Nina wake up with a snarl.
The girl stood up slowly, going to look at herself in the mirror of her room first thing in the morning.
Her hair is messy from sleep—black, thick, resting on her shoulders, with that one dyed pink streak standing out. She reaches for a hair tie, then gathers it, tight enough. The pink strand falls forward anyway, framing her face.
Nina's face is still soft with sleep, acne scars along her cheeks, faint, but visible in the "wrong" lighting. She leans closer, pressing her fingers against her skin, like she could smooth it out just by force.
She pulls back, annoyed, grabbing concealer from the cluttered corner of the sink. It’s not the right shade; it's just a tad too light, but she dabs it on anyway, blending it just enough to make things less obvious.
Her eyes look tired, as always, her eye bags more visible than usual.
Her eyes are dark, almost black from far away, but when the light hits just right, there’s blue in them.
She blinks a few times, then reaches for eyeliner, the part which she does carefully. Thick, uneven lines, heavier on the outer corners and smudged on purpose. She added mascara, too much of it, until her lashes clump just enough to look a bit messy.
Her lips press together as she checks her teeth next. Crooked, slightly overlapping in a way she learned not to smile too wide about. She practices a smaller smile in the mirror, something controlled, something that doesn’t show too much.
Way better.
She pulls on a purple shirt with a faded black print, then a knee-length black skirt. She does not like how long it is, but it's not like her mom would let her wear anything shorter. But on the bright side, in a way, that skirt makes her feel at least a little more put together. The fabric hides how thin she actually is, how the angles of her body that don’t soften no matter how much she wants them to.
She added knee-high socks, tugging them up carefully, then her worn Converse.
When she finally looks at herself again, she tilted her head slightly. She didn't feel ready, at all, but how she feels isn’t really important now... She still has to go. At least the routine morning only showed her that the rest of her day couldn't be much different than usual, or at least not worse.
The school looks exactly like every other school she’s ever seen. Same groups of people, already formed like they’ve always been there.
Nina walks through the entrance, even if her chest feels tight, like something’s pressing against her ribs from the inside.
People look, of course. Not a lot, just to see the new girl. Nothing with bad intentions, but she doesn’t have a way to know that. A glance here, a double take there, wich she notices and thinks the worst.
There is a group near the lockers that catches her attention almost immediately. A girl with black hair and striking blue eyes. Everything about her is effortless. Her posture, her expression, the way people lean slightly toward her when she speaks. Everything.
Next to her, a red-haired girl laughs at something, while a blond guy leans back against the lockers. Those other two weren't as interesting, that's obvious.
Nina’s jaw tightens slightly, but her face doesn’t change. She just keeps walking, like it doesn’t matter, or as if she hadn't noticed.
The rest of the day is... fine, surprisingly.
Classes blur together. People sit in their groups, already settled into invisible hierarchies Nina can feel but not quite map out yet.
Everyone looks... regular. Not in a bad way, just predictable. There are a few people who stand out—someone with dyed hair, someone wearing band pins, "someone who looks like they might actually have a personality", according to her—but every time Nina considers saying something, her body stops her.
Her mind runs faster than her mouth, after all.
What if they look at her like the others did? What if she says something wrong?
“What if.” So, she doesn’t.
By lunch, she’s already tired. Not physically, just tired of thinking, calculating, trying not to mess up something she hasn’t even done yet.
By the time she gets home, the silence feels like relief.
Her first instinct is immediate: to go for her computer.
She drops her bag, barely kicks off her shoes, already going to shut herself away in her room. There’s something comforting about it, the way no one in those forums knows that she is, well, herself. She can just disappear into it, without any judgment.
But then, a small, child-like voice interrupts her.
"Nina, can you help me?"
Cristobal sat hunched over the table, his legs swinging slightly, pencil gripped tightly in his small hand, worksheet in front of him.
Nina leaned over, one arm resting against the table, the other pointing at the page.
"Okay. Look," She said, pointing at a problem "This is two-digit addition. You just add the ones first. Let's try it; Eight plus seven."
Cristobal didn’t answer, for a moment, thinking. Then,"…Fifteen" he mumbled, barely looking.
"Good! So you write the five here," She guided, taking the pencil gently from his hand and writing it in the correct column, "And you carry the one."
She drew a small one above the next column.
"Then you add the tens. See? Easy. Let's go with the next one..."
Cristobal slumped further into the chair, like a kid about to throw a tantrum. Well, he was a kid, there isn't much to hope for. "I hate this!..."
Nina exhaled through her nose, trying to keep being patient, a good sister. She didn't want to be here either, teaching him, but she knew that if she didn't, no one else would. "Yeah, I know. Just do it..."
"I don’t get why we have to do it like that," He said, dragging the pencil lazily across the paper. "Why can’t I just do it in my head?"
"Because you’re getting it wrong in your head, sometimes." She replied.
He frowned, erasing something. "I’m not."
"You literally wrote twelve last time..."
"That was a mistake!"
"Yeah," She said, tapping the paper again "So this helps you not make them."
Cristobal groaned, dropping his forehead onto the table for a second before sitting up again. "It’s so stupid..."
"It’s not stupid." She said, slower now, trying her best to be a good teacher. "You just have to pay attention."
"I am paying attention!"
"Then why do you keep doing it wrong?"
He didn’t answer that. Instead, he just stared at the numbers like they were written in another language.
Nina sighed, before going on. "Okay, whatever. Try this one. Six plus nine?"
"…Fifteen."
"Good! Write the five. Carry the one."
He hesitated, then scribbled something down, as she leaned closer, observing.
"...You didn’t carry it."
"I forgot."
"You literally just—" She stopped herself, pressing her lips together. "Okay! Fine. Do it again."
Cristobal erased something once again, like he was already tired of it.
"I don’t like when you watch me like that..." He muttered.
"What?" Nina asked, her head tilting to the side.
"You’re like… staring. Staring like if i was dumb..."
"I’m helping you."
"You’re staring!"
She let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah, because if I don’t, you won’t do the homework."
He shrugged, not denying it, and silence stretched between the siblings for a moment.
"Just focus, will you." She said again, tapping the paper, a little harder this time. "It’s not that hard, Chris..."
Cristobal’s grip tightened on the pencil. "It is."
"No, it’s not."
"Yes it is!"
"It’s literally basic math, Cristobal!"
"Well I don’t get it!" He snapped, louder now, his voice cracking slightly. "And stop looking at me like if I was stupid!"
“I just showed you how, like three times! How can you expect me to not look at you like if you were dumb?!"
"I know! But I still don’t—"
"Then listen to me."
"I am listening!"
"Clearly not, not since you keep getting it wrong over and over again as if you were retarded!"
The pencil slipped from his hand, now on the worksheet.
Cristobal crossed his arms, looking down. "You’re being mean."
Something in Nina’s chest tightened at that, but it didn’t soften her. If anything, it made her more irritated. "I’m not being mean," She said, quickly. "I’m trying to help you."
"You’re yelling."
"I’m not yelling!" She said, with an incredulous laught.
"You are!"
She let out a frustrated sound, running a hand through her hair. "Oh my god, okay, fine—Maybe, but only because you’re not even trying."
"I am trying!"
"Then why does it look like you’re not?!"
The kid didn’t answer. His eyes were glassy now, but he blinked hard, like he didn’t want her to see. Nina noticed. And instead of stopping, she pushed anyway.
"You’re just giving up before you even do it..." She said, her voice barely holding back. "You do that all the time."
"That’s not true..."
"It is."
"No it’s not!"
"Then prove it!" She shot back, pointing at the paper again. "Do the problem and prove that you aren't as stupid as I think you are."
Cristobal grabbed the pencil again, his movements rough now. He wrote quickly, numbers uneven and too big.
Nina leaned in... It was wrong. Again.
She stared at it for a second, something building behind her eyes.
"…Chris."
He didn’t look up.
"You didn’t—" She had to stop herself, her hand covering her eyes, taking a second to breathe.
"I forgot," he said, his voice small again.
"That’s the whole point!" Her hand hit the table harder this time, the sound sharp and sudden. "You can’t just forget every single time! Are you doing this on purpose?! Annoying me on purpose?!"
He flinched, and silence crashed down between them. Cristobal stared at the paper, completely still now.
For a second, Nina looked like she might say something else, but instead she just shook her head, stepping back.
"…Whatever," she muttered, her voice softer now. "Forget it."
She pushed the worksheet slightly away from him, not hard, but enough to make it clear she was done. Cristobal didn’t move nor speak.
Nina turned away before she had to look at him any longer, her hands clenching at her sides as she walked out of the room.
Nina hated acting like that, but she couldn't help it. At least that's how she thinks about it.
Seeing herself every morning, her dark hair and eyes with traces of those who fathered her, only reminded her of the inherent violence that existed in her being, that no matter how hard she tried, she could not prevent it from existing.
She couldn't help but feel bad for his brother, Cristobal. Nina knew that their mother was irresponsible and that it was better not to run into their father, but Nina was not the one who should take care of him either. She didn't know how, she didn't know how to turn Chris into a good person, or even how not to be like their father every time she spoke to him.
She didn't want to cry, even though she felt a knot of guilt forming in his neck. It was better to be distracted. Feeling guilty now, when everything's already done, wouldn't fix anything.
So, Nina locked herself in her room, the four walls a childish and worn pink. She would hide there for hours, like that until soon, she would hear the front door open.
Dinner made everything worse.
Her father talked the entire time. About work, mostly, and no one interrupts him. The man was...boring. With delusions of grandeur, he thought that everyone liked him, almost as if he were better than everyone.
Her father didn't even have the decency to ask her or her mother anything about their day. His properties were clear; Himself, his work.
Even seeing him talking about something harmless, or making casual conversation, caused an inexplicable rage in Nina. How could the same man, who made the family suffer so many times, act like this? Almost like a normal and exemplary man. Even when he seemed to be a decent man, Nina knew the truth, the whole family did, and she couldn't help but hate him. She didn't understand how no one else did feel that hatred for him. How her brother couldn't get out of his childhood illusion, or how her mother simply accepted it all.
Nina kept eating, slower now, pushing food around more than actually finishing it.
She felt so... small. Powerless.
And by the time dinner ends, she had barely eaten anything.
Back in her room, the computer waits where it always is.
This time, she doesn’t hesitate, going to sit in front of it with no interrumptions.
The screen lights up her face as she scrolls, clicking through familiar sites, threads, usernames she recognizes. It’s easier there.
Eventually, she lands on something she’s seen before. A conversation about a teenager serial killer, a boy from a seemingly normal family, who suffered from brutal bullying, and one day, he simply... exploded, so to say.
She leaned closer, reading again, even though she already knows what people say.
She remembers the details of the story, the violence of it. The way people describe him, like he’s something more than just a person. Like he’s... inevitable, almost some kind of monster rather than a teenage boy. That, or just "misunderstood". She lingers on that part, thinking.
He didn’t just let it happen to him, he did something about it... Thinking, her lips press together, something restless flickering behind her eyes.
It’s stupid. Obviously it’s stupid. But still, there’s something about it, something that feels familiar.
Nina would never accept it, but she fell into fanaticism. Everyone finds those serial killer fans stupid, and at one point, Nina thought the same thing, until she saw herself in those girls' shoes. She never thought she would see something so human in such a monstrous being, to the point of almost feeling understood...
It was stupid, but she had even already sent a few letters to the places where she knew that this murderer had been held for a while. He had been detained on several occasions, but he had never really been caught, he always escaped. It was such a strange case... She couldn't help but feel intrigued, wanting to know more.
And so, Nina would spend the rest of the night reading and writing, in the same old forums, places where the girl could hide until next morning.