SEVENTY-EIGHT PERCENT

The library was almost deserted, with only the lazy hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional scrape of a chair on the polished floor breaking the silence.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the carpet.

Ellie was sitting across from me at the far corner table the one so deep in the stacks that most students didn’t even know it was there. She held a thin paperback in her hands, but her eyes weren’t really focused on the words.

“You’re pretty quiet today,” I remarked.

She looked up, caught between a smile and something more delicate. “I guess I’m… tired. Not just today-tired. Just… tired.”

I didn’t press her, but I kept my gaze on her. That seemed to be enough.

Ellie looked away, pretending to turn a page. “Do you ever feel like… you’re in a place where you’re meant to belong, but somehow you still feel like an outsider?

Like no matter how hard you try, the air just doesn’t feel the same as it does for everyone else?”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Every single day.”

Her lips curled into a small smile, but it faded quickly. “It’s… not that I don’t have people to talk to. It’s just… some days, I wish I could just disappear. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

There was a heaviness in her words, something unspoken pressing against them.

Before I could respond, I noticed some movement at the edge of my vision.

By the entrance of the library, three girls had strolled in loud enough to disrupt the room’s stillness without pushing the librarian’s limits. Their laughter didn’t invite anyone to join in.

Ellie noticed them too. I could see the change immediately; her posture slumped a bit, her shoulders drawing in as if she wanted to shrink away. She focused on her book like it had suddenly become the most fascinating story ever.

The girls didn’t approach us. Not yet. One of them tall, with glossy hair and a smirk sharp enough to cut glass glanced our way, and her lips curled into a not-so-friendly smile.

They wandered down an aisle, but their voices...

“Did you catch that? Looks like she’s found herself a new babysitter.”
“Wonder how long it’ll be before he gets bored of playing the charity case.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

I focused on the book in front of me, but I lowered my voice just enough for Ellie to hear. “Do they always talk like that?”

“Don’t,” she whispered quickly, almost too quickly. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

One of the girls walked by, her perfume slicing through the musty library air. She didn’t even glance at Ellie — just at me. And in that brief moment, there was a challenge.

I met her gaze without flinching.

Her smirk wavered for just a heartbeat before she turned back to her friends.

Ellie’s fingers tightened around the edge of her book. “Please don’t get involved,” she murmured, her voice softer this time.

“I’m not,” I replied. But deep down, I knew my patience was running thin.

Eventually, the girls left, their laughter echoing down the hall.

Ellie let out a breath, though her shoulders remained tense. She looked at me as if she was trying to piece something together.

“You… notice things more than most people,” she said slowly.

“It’s a bad habit.”

“Maybe.” She paused, then added, “But sometimes… it feels nice to be seen.”

She didn’t say it as a compliment, not really. But there was something in her tone that lingered — a blend of fear and trust. A quiet recognition that perhaps, just maybe, she didn’t have to fade away complete

We stepped out of the library just as the last rays of afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall hallway windows.

The school was wrapped in that peculiar in-between silence not completely empty, but the voices echoing down the corridors felt distant, almost like they belonged to another realm.

Ellie walked a half-step ahead of me, her hands tucked snugly into the sleeves of her cardigan. From behind, she looked like just another student on her way to class. But I’ve learned to pick up on the little things.

Her stride seemed to shorten every time we passed a corner where the hallway opened up, as if she was bracing herself for whoever might be waiting there.

Twice, she fiddled with her cardigan collar not because of the chill, but more like she was ensuring something remained concealed.

We walked by a bulletin board plastered with club posters. Ellie’s eyes flickered toward a trio of students laughing nearby, then darted away so quickly it was as if she’d touched something scalding.

“Which way are you headed?” I asked.

“East wing.” She smiled, but it felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. “I’ve got a few things to take care of before I head out.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes kept flitting to the side, as if she was gauging distances.

That’s when I noticed it.

As she shifted her bag to her left shoulder, the sleeve of her cardigan slipped back — just enough for a faint bruise to peek out along the curve of her forearm. She caught my gaze and quickly pulled the sleeve down, her expression remaining unchanged.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked, as if nothing was amiss.

“Yeah,” I replied, though my tone carried more weight than the word suggested.

She turned and walked toward the east wing. I stayed put, watching her figure shrink down the hall. A group of girls approached from the opposite direction, their chatter abruptly falling silent as they spotted her.

Ellie didn’t glance at them. She didn’t pick up her pace. But I could see her shoulders tense, her grip on her bag strap tightening until her knuckles turned white.

They didn’t say a word while I was there, but the way their eyes tracked her told me everything I needed to know.

My fists were itching to move.

I forced myself to look away. It wasn’t my moment… not yet.

But my heart was screaming otherwise.

The east wing felt eerily quiet now too quiet.

Her shoes clicked against the linoleum, each step echoing back like a countdown. She didn’t even reach the corner before shadows peeled away from the wall. Three of them.

“Ellie,” one of them called, her voice dripping with sweetness, like poison.

Ellie froze.

The first slap came so quickly that her breath hitched in her throat. A second blow sent her crashing into the lockers, and before she could brace herself, a kick landed hard in her side. She went down, hard.

Boots thudded against her ribs and legs. She curled in on herself, stifling a cry, but it didn’t matter — they weren’t here to show mercy.

A hand yanked her up by the collar. “You think you can just walk past us without a word?”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t her mouth felt dry, her heart racing.

The bathroom door swung open, and they dragged her inside. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and cheap perfume.

They shoved her toward the sinks. One girl cranked the tap wide open. Cold water burst forth, splashing her face and soaking her hair.

“Let’s wash away that attitude,” someone sneered.

Ellie gasped, trying to twist away, but a hand on the back of her neck forced her under again. The water roared in her ears, sharp and suffocating.

When they pulled her back up, she was coughing so hard she could barely stand.

Something cold and rough slipped around her throat. She looked down a leash.

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t—”

“You will,” the leader said, her tone flat. “Or maybe you’d prefer we try this instead?”

Ellie’s eyes went wide as one of them pulled out a cigarette, its tip glowing softly in the dim light.

“Don’t,” she begged. “Please—”

Her plea was abruptly cut off by a choked sound as they forced it into her mouth, the heat searing against her cheek before they yanked it back out.

Tears blurred her vision, and the leash yanked hard.

“Walk.”

Her legs moved on instinct, each step feeling heavy and humiliating.

The sound of phones unlocking and camera shutters clicking trailed behind her.

A command rang out, sharp and icy: “Bark.”

She hesitated — just for a heartbeat — but the leash snapped tight again, pulling her forward.

“…woof,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

“Louder.”

Her throat felt raw. “…Woof.”

They laughed. She kept moving. Each bark felt like a piece of her slipping away, bit by bit.

And somewhere in the fog of shame, her thoughts drifted uninvited to Sylvester.

If he saw this… would he turn away? Or would that calm voice of his finally take on a dangerous edge?

CUT TO SYLVESTER

The kettle clicked off. Steam spiraled lazily upward as I poured hot water into my mug.

I stirred slowly, watching the cream swirl and dissolve into the dark coffee.

A thought flickered at the back of my mind about the east wing. Ellie had gone that way.

I shook it off, took a sip, and settled down at my desk. The papers in front of me waited patiently, but my gaze kept wandering to the window, where the fading light spilled across the floor.

Somewhere out there, trouble was brewing. I just didn’t know it yet.

BACK TO ELLIE

The corridors were deserted now. The only sounds were the squelch of her drenched shoes and the soft click-click of water dripping from her hair onto the floor.

Her uniform felt cold and heavy against her skin, the musty smell of mildew and cheap tap water invading her senses. She could still feel the phantom pressure of the leash around her throat.

The laughter. The ringing phones. The echo of her own voice barking.

Without a second thought, she climbed the stairwell. Past the third floor. Past the fourth. Until the heavy metal door to the rooftop creaked open.

The evening air hit her like a slap — cold, sharp, and undeniably real.

She stepped forward, her shoes scraping against the gravel. Below her, the school sprawled out, a patchwork of red brick and grey asphalt. Beyond that, the city faded into the twilight.

Ellie walked to the edge and peered down.

From this height, people looked like tiny, insignificant dots. All so busy, so convinced that the ground beneath them would always be there.

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Pathetic,” she murmured. “The strong prey on the weak… and the weak just let it happen.”

Her fingers curled into fists. She could still feel the cold water pouring over her, the sting of the cigarette. The snap of that leash echoed in her mind.

Yet, amidst the storm of humiliation, one image kept surfacing — him.

Sylvester.

She wasn’t sure why he came to mind now. Maybe it was because he was the only person in recent memory who didn’t look at her like she was invisible.

BACK AT THE CAFE TWO DAYS AGO

They sat across from each other, steam rising from their drinks. Sylvester had rolled up his sleeves, and the light caught the glint of his watch on his wrist.

Ellie had been rambling about random stuff classes, the weather until a question slipped out.

“So… what’s your type?”

Sylvester blinked, clearly taken aback. “…My type?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back with a casual air. “You know. In a girl.”

He rested an elbow on the table, deep in thought. “Someone who knows who they are. Strong, but not overly loud about it.

Smart enough to read the room, but not afraid to call me out. Loyal — even when it’s tough. And…” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Someone who can stand in my world without flinching.”

Ellie froze. She wasn’t sure why her heart raced at that. But as he listed each trait, it hit her about seventy-eight percent of what he’d just described… was her.

“Brace yourself,” she said suddenly.

“For what?”

She leaned across the table and kissed him. Quick, deliberate, unapologetic.

When she pulled back, her expression was hard to read. “Friendship kiss.”

Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “Is that even a real thing?”

She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, scrolling until she found an article to shove in his face. “See? Totally real. Now stop looking at me like that.”

He smirked. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Believe what you want,” she replied, trying to suppress a smile.

They ended up lingering longer, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing laughs over silly jokes. For a brief moment, she completely forgot what the world outside the café felt like.

Ellie’s feet were now resting on the ledge.

The memory glowed brightly and warmly in her chest, pushing back against the chilly air surrounding her.

So this is what it’s called, she mused. Life flashing before your eyes.

She shut her eyes. The wind whipped at her drenched clothes. Her grip on the edge began to slip.

And she let herself fall.

The air rushed past her, swift and unforgiving. The school windows became a blur.

And then —

Nothing but the sound of the ground racing up to meet her.