Blind Trust

I was born with dyslexia. To me, letters were a chaotic swarm of bugs; reading felt impossible. Since elementary school, I ranked at the very bottom. Kids called me stupid, retard.

Rowan always defended meshoving them away, sitting me down, promising, Serena, Ill be your translator. Ill help you read every word in the world.With his help, I reached high school and found my true gift: art.

After winning gold at the International Youth Art Biennale twice, I earned early admission to Ashton University, the nations top art school. I ran to tell Rowan first. Instead of congratulating me, he handed me a form. Sign this donation consent. Well give your old textbooks to charity.

As always, the words blurred into nonsense. But I trusted himso I signed.

Days later, our teacher announced, Congratulations to Lily for taking Ashtons early admission slotour school only had one.

I frowned. Mr. Davis, wasnt that mine?

He stared. Serena didnt you sign the waiver giving it up?

My heart stopped. Then my mind went completely blank.

The whispers of my classmates faded into static. A high pitched ringing pierced my ears. Slowly, agonizingly, I turned my stiff neck to look at Rowan, who sat by the window.

He was busy swatting a bug away from his desk mate, Lily.

His smile was as bright and carefree as ever. It was as if he hadn't heard a single word of my exchange with the teacher.

I have no idea how I survived the next forty five minutes.

The second the bell rang, I forced my trembling legs to stand and walked over to his desk.

"Rowan, why did you do that?"

My voice shook violently. I was clenching my fists so hard my knuckles were bone white.

He looked up from his textbook. He noticed my pale face, looking momentarily stunned, but quickly regained his casual composure.

He spoke in a tone you'd use to discuss the weather.

"Serena, getting into Ashton is Lily's ultimate dream. You know how expensive art is. Her family is struggling financially. You have absolutely no idea how much blood, sweat, and tears she put in just to get this far."

He shrugged. "You get first place in every competition anyway. There's another international contest in a month. Just win gold again and you'll get your spot back. What's the big deal about letting Lily have this one?"

He made it sound so incredibly easy.

As if winning a global art competition was as simple as breathing.

I ground my teeth together, feeling an invisible hand reaching into my chest and ripping my heart in two.

He knew all about Lily's hardships, but he conveniently forgot the absolute hell I had crawled through to get here.

The years of being called an idiot. A waste of space.

The years where I didn't even have the courage to step out of my front door.

Every time I opened a book, normal letters turned into hostile, crawling ants. Everyone told me I was useless, destined to be a nobody for the rest of my life.

Until that one afternoon. Rowan pointed at the chaotic scribbles in my notebook.

"Whoa, Serena, this is actually amazing. You might be a genius at this."

That single sentence pushed me to pick up a paintbrush.

At first, the whispers around me were dripping with venom and pity.

"Only the dumb kids do art. It's because she has no other options."

"Does she actually think she has talent? People are just pitying her."

I wanted to prove them wrong.

But more than anything, I didn't want to disappoint Rowan.

I painted day and night. My used brushes piled up like mountains. Blisters burst on my fingertips, bleeding into the canvas. My clothes were permanently stained with acrylic and oil.

When everyone else was partying, dating, or sleeping, I didn't dare stop for a single second.

And finally, I made something of myself.

I thought he would be proud of me. We had promised to go to Ashton together.

Instead, he took the results of my bleeding fingers and handed it to someone else.

Anger, betrayal, and a suffocating wave of disappointment clogged my throat. My eyes burned, pooling with tears.

Rowan froze. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes.

"Hey, don't cry."

He stood up, reaching out to grab my arm.

But Lily, sitting right next to him, suddenly let out a choked sob.

"I'm so sorry! I knew I shouldn't have taken it. Serena, I'll go tell Mr. Davis right now that I'm giving the spot back!"

She barely stood up before Rowan grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down.

"Give it back? Are you crazy? You earned this with your own hard work!"

He turned his glare on me, his tone laced with heavy resentment. "If it weren't for Serena, you would have gotten the gold medal anyway."

In every competition, my scores were always a few points higher than Lily's.

Rowan was right. Without me, Lily would be number one.

But I never expected him to paint me as the villain who stole her glory.

A million tiny needles pierced my chest, the pain radiating outward. The boy who once swore to protect me from the world had quietly, seamlessly, crossed over to the enemy lines.

It wasn't just him. The guys hanging around our desks chimed in, eager to play the hero for the crying girl.

"Yeah, Serena, you can win awards in your sleep. It's just one admission spot. Don't be a bully."

"Do you know how stressful it would be for Lily to repeat a whole year? Have some empathy for once."

Lily kept up her soft, pathetic whimpering, playing the perfect victim.

Rowan pulled a tissue from the box on his desk and gently wiped her tears, shooting me a look of deep dissatisfaction.

As if I was completely out of line for questioning why he forged my signature.

Silence hung heavy in the air.

I took a slow, jagged breath and finally found my voice.

"Keep it. If you want it that badly, it's yours."

Lily blinked, stunned.

Rowan's face lit up with absolute relief.

"Serena, you finally get it?"

"I knew you'd understand where I was coming from!" he beamed. "I'll be cheering for you at the competition next month. You're going to crush it, get the gold, and we'll all go to Ashton together!"

Lily broke into a fragile, watery smile.

"Good luck, Serena. I know you can do it."

I didn't say a single word. I just turned around and walked away.

My expression was ice cold.

I would win that competition.

But I was absolutely done with Ashton University.

For the next few weeks, I practically lived in the art studio.

The blisters on my fingers burst, bled, and hardened into thick calluses until I couldn't feel the pain anymore.

Rowan dropped by occasionally.

He proudly announced that his early admission letter had arrived. Ashton, of course. He was a STEM prodigy, sweeping national math and physics olympiads since middle school. His admission was a given.

"Serena, we promised to go to Ashton together. I haven't forgotten," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Don't hold a grudge about that paperwork thing. Lily's situation is just complicated. She's the oldest of three. Her parents basically told her if she didn't get a full ride to Ashton, they'd cut off her tuition. They wouldn't let her do a gap year."

I put my brush down and stared at him, truly baffled by his logic.

"And why exactly am I expected to foot the bill for her life?"

Rowan looked genuinely confused.

"I thought... you'd get it. You both had it rough."

I let out a harsh laugh, picked up my brush, and went back to my canvas, ignoring his existence entirely.

Watching my freezing response, a weird spike of panic hit Rowan's chest.

"Serena, look, I..."

He stepped forward, desperate to say something, but was cut off by Lily prancing into the studio.

"Serena! I brought you food!"

She held up a plastic takeout bag from the cafeteria.

I told her I wasn't hungry.

She ignored me, pulling out the containers one by one and setting them right on top of my cramped desk, completely ignoring the expensive supplies scattered everywhere.

As she lifted a bowl of hot soup, her hand conveniently twitched. The greasy broth splashed right onto my brand new, premium watercolor paper.

She did it on purpose. It was painfully obvious.

My patience snapped. "I said I don't want it!"

My shout made her jump. Hot soup splashed onto her own hand, and she let out a dramatic shriek.

She let go of the bowl completely. It tipped over, flooding my desk.

My brushes, my imported paints, my sketches. All soaking in greasy, steaming liquid.

Panicking, I reached out to salvage my work. The boiling broth scalded my raw fingertips, sending sharp jolts of pain up my arm.

"Serena, it's just a bunch of cheap paper! Are you insane?"

Two hands shoved my shoulders hard.

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the heavy metal bucket I used to wash my brushes. I crashed to the filthy floor.

The murky, black wastewater spilled over, instantly soaking into my jeans and shirt.

The moment my back hit the floor, a montage of memories flashed through my mind.

Fifth grade. The first time I seriously took up art.

The bullies from my class would sneak into the studio just to mock me.

"Look at the retard trying to paint!"

"A retard is a retard. Thinks she can draw just because she can't read. Hilarious."

"Let's rip her stuff up!"

A group of boys had rushed in, ready to tear my canvas to shreds.

Suddenly, Rowan flew out from behind a shelf, tackling the ringleader to the ground.

It turned into a massive brawl.

Later, sporting a black eye and a busted lip, Rowan gave me his solemn promise.

"You just keep painting, Serena. I swear I'll protect your stuff with my life."

From that day on, he treated my art supplies better than I did.

He would carefully wash out my brushes until the water ran clear. He would neatly arrange my paint tubes. He would gently blow the eraser shavings off my sketches.

As for my hands, he practically kept them under twenty four hour surveillance.

He refused to let me do anything that might risk cutting or burning my fingers.

He always said he was guarding the hands of a future Picasso.

The sharp, stinging pain in my palm violently yanked me back to the present.

I lifted my right hand. A jagged piece of gravel on the studio floor had sliced a deep gash straight across my palm.

Crimson blood was bubbling out, dripping onto the floor tiles.

But Rowan's eyes were entirely glued to Lily.

He was cradling her hand, frantically asking if the splash of soup had burned her.

Then, he shot me a look of pure disgust.

"Serena, she went out of her way to bring you food. If you don't want it, fine, but did you have to scream at her?"

"Do you have any idea how precious her hands are for her art?"

I slowly picked myself up from the dirty floor. My clothes were heavy with toxic black paint water, clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

My right hand hung by my side, blood steadily dripping from my fingertips.

He didn't notice at all.

His eyes held nothing but disappointment.

It was in this exact moment that the truth finally settled into my bones. The fiercely loyal boy who once swore to protect me against the world was dead.

He had been gone for a long time.

My chest felt entirely hollow.

Using my bleeding hand, I silently bent down to pick up my ruined brushes from the puddle of soup and dirty water.

Rowan finally caught a glimpse of the red.

He froze. The icy anger in his eyes melted into sudden dread.

"Your hand..."

"Rowan, my hand burns so badly. Do you think it's going to scar?"

Lily's voice was thick with tears. She sounded soft, helpless, like a wounded puppy.

She was a master at using fragility to monopolize attention.

Rowan had been my desk mate since elementary school. Because of my severe dyslexia, he would read the textbooks aloud to me, translating the chaotic letters into a language I could understand.

He always said he didn't trust anyone else to sit next to me.

But in our junior year, Lily murmured something about struggling with math and hoping Rowan could tutor her.

Rowan immediately asked the teacher for a seat change.

His excuse to me was that Lily needed his help more than I did.

Just like right now. The second she whined about her pain, Rowan's attention snapped away from my bleeding palm.

He grabbed Lily's uninjured wrist and hurried toward the door.

"Come on, let's get you to the nurse."

He didn't hesitate. His strides were long and purposeful, looking exactly like the boy who used to carry me on his back to the emergency room.

Only this time, the person he was carrying in his heart wasn't me.

A cold breeze blew through the studio window, passing right through my chest, carrying away whatever lingering affection I had left for him.

I walked to the hospital alone to get my hand stitched up.

Walking out of the clinic, I scrolled through my phone and saw Lily's latest post.

[Our Future.]

The photo was a side by side shot of two Ashton University early admission letters.

Their names were placed closely together. It felt like a needle stabbing directly into my retinas.

The comments were blowing up.

[Damn, power couple alert!]

[Have mercy on us mortals! We're still grinding for finals, keep your PDA out of the classroom please!]

There were a few snarky ones too.

[Flexing a stolen spot? Classy.]

Within seconds, Rowan replied to that specific comment.

[She earned every bit of it.]

I let out a dry chuckle.

Earned it.

Right. So I totally deserved to have my spot stolen. Got it.

I locked my phone.

I went home and picked up my brush again.

The doctor had strictly forbidden me from using my right hand for at least a week.

But I couldn't sit still.

If I stopped moving, the suffocating noise in my head would drown me.

So I painted. I painted until the stitches tore, until fresh blood seeped through the bandages.

The dark red smeared across the pristine white canvas. It was a shocking, violent contrast.

I finally stopped. Looking at the finished piece, the corner of my mouth tipped up.

A month later, my painting Awakening absolutely obliterated the competition.

I took home the undisputed, unanimous Gold Medal.

I stood on the podium, deafened by the applause.

The camera flashes blurred into a sea of stars before my eyes.

This year's competition was unprecedented. Scouts and professors from top tier international art institutions had flown in to judge.

An older professor with sharp blue eyes walked up to me, smiling warmly.

"Miss Serena, it would be my absolute honor to see you walking the halls of The Royal Academy in London this fall."

I smiled back. "The honor would be mine."

All the agonizing nights, the bleeding fingers, the shattered trust. It had all amounted to this. The tight coil of anxiety in my chest finally unspooled.

I felt lighter than air.

Walking out of the exhibition hall, a familiar figure was waiting by the entrance.

Rowan was leaning against a concrete pillar, aimlessly twisting a Rubik's cube.

He caught sight of me and pushed off the wall, a massive grin spreading across his face.

"Serena. Congrats on the gold."

"Told you. I knew you could pull it off."

"Now we can finally go to Ashton together."

I looked at him, my expression perfectly serene. "Yeah."

Hearing my response, a visible wave of relief washed over him, and his smile grew even wider.

A few days later, the official acceptance letter from The Royal Academy of Arts arrived in my mailbox.

I asked Mr. Davis to keep it entirely off the record.

When I walked into the classroom, my classmates swarmed me, cheering for the "genius painter."

I caught the ugly flash of pure jealousy in Lily's eyes before she looked down.

Someone chimed in, "Serena, I heard all the fancy European schools were practically begging you to enroll. You're not going abroad, are you?"

Rowan's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he confidently interrupted.

"Serena's only ever wanted to go to Ashton. It doesn't matter how good those foreign schools are. She's super picky with her food, she'd starve over there."

He turned to me, his tone suddenly incredibly soft. "Right, Rena?"

My mind drifted for a second.

How long had it been since he called me Rena?

Probably since junior year, when Lily first transferred.

His voice carried a hint of desperate pleading, a cautious test of the waters.

I couldn't be bothered to start drama, so I just gave a noncommittal "Mm."

Rowan instantly reverted to his goofy, relieved smile.

Lily kept her head down, her face dark and stormy.

Shortly after, nasty rumors started spreading like wildfire through the school.

Everyone was whispering about how Lily had manipulated her way into stealing my admission spot.

Because of the recent gold medal, I was practically a local celebrity. Naturally, public opinion heavily favored me.

Whenever Lily walked down the hallway, she was met with side eyes and blatant disgust.

The toxic whispers followed her everywhere.

She looked more miserable with every passing day.

I, on the other hand, was practically living in the studio, entirely oblivious to the high school drama.

Until one morning. The second I stepped into the classroom, Rowan marched toward me, his face a mask of furious thunder.

"Serena, you actually disgust me."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stopped in my tracks.

I stared at him, genuinely lost.

"Excuse me?"

"I was the one who tricked you into signing that form. If you're pissed, take it out on me. Why the hell are you organizing a witch hunt against Lily? Do you get off on stabbing people in the back?"

A friend quickly rushed over and whispered the context in my ear.

It clicked.

Rowan assumed I was the mastermind behind the bullying campaign.

Looking at his hateful glare, and then at Lily cowering pathetically behind his broad shoulders, a laugh bubbled up in my throat.

I didn't even want to defend myself. I just looked at him with absolute indifference.

"Whether I started it or not, are they lying?"

Rowan glared at me, his jaw tight.

"So what if you have talent, Serena? With a heart as toxic and dark as yours, you will never be half the person Lily is!"

He shouldered past me aggressively, grabbing Lily's hand and pulling her out of the room.

I stood there in the middle of the aisle.

My heart was terrifyingly calm.

From that day until graduation, we didn't exchange a single word.

In August, holding my acceptance letter from The Royal Academy, I boarded a one way flight to London.

A few days later, Rowan rang the doorbell of my house.

My mom opened the door to find him standing awkwardly on the porch.

"Hi, Mrs. Davis. Is Rena home? I... I really need to apologize to her."

My mom looked at him, completely baffled. "Rena didn't tell you? She left for campus a few days ago."

Rowan blinked. "She's already moved into Ashton?"

My mom let out a confused laugh. "Ashton? What are you talking about? She's in London. At The Royal Academy."

Rowan froze.