My Boss Is Secretly A Softie - Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Monster?
“Elara!” A loud call brought the fashionably dressed girl with lemon-colored hair to reality.

She faced the caller with a charming smile, it was a slightly taller teen with oppressive obsidian eyes. It was also a boy.

“Yes?”

The boy blushed. “Wanna hang out tomorrow with us?”

Elara observed for a while. When he said “us,” there was no one behind him, but everyone knew X. He was vibrant and confident with an okay-looking face. Pretty much the only thing one needed for a successful social life.

And what did it mean to be successful socially? To others, it was X. Everyone knew X, but everyone also knew P.

P was the creep from the next class who had been caught more than once snooping around the girls’ locker room—that was definitely a type of popularity, but it didn’t constitute success.

…At least, the type we were talking about.

But did that mean that everyone who knew X had something nice to say? Definitely not. So what made him successful in our connotation?

It was because he was loved by most people. No one dared say a bad word openly without being labeled a gossip or something worse, which was the complete opposite of P, where the most you’d get was a glare to stop talking about ‘the creep because his name got on their nerves.’

So being known by a lot of people in a good light was success in the social life of teens. Good enough.

But going even further, a stage where X had reached was when people didn’t just like you but clamored to hang out with you. Your company was adored enough to have a special group of your own.

Now that was the most brilliant form of a successful social life. Or… That was what others thought.

“Yes, thank you!”

X flushed; it was obvious what he wanted, for even her dimwitted classmates to notice enough to tease her for it, but Elara couldn’t care less. She was getting really sick of this. Sick enough to vomit.

Which she later did. During break time.

Stepping out of the bathroom, a group of giggling girls with a rather crappy style of outfit—enough to have her pretentious classmates mock them behind their backs—crossed her.

She stared at them until they left, and a faint smile bloomed on her face. “Who even wears a face cap with that type of gown?? These girls, I guess.”

Others thought X and she, the new most popular girl in high school—perfect grades, perfect character, holding a respectable position in the student council and probably the first to be invited to any parties made by everyone, even outcasts—like P. Because she dared to tolerate them.

Little miss perfect, was it? Ridiculous. That’s what she turned into.

To others, she was a beaming example of true success in the social field, but to her, she was a sore loser.

Observe.

In a situation where one of those face cap girls absconded from school for weeks, perhaps only a few would know and worry about her, but her friends would never cease worrying and actively seeking until she was back.

But her? Her ‘friends’ would pretentiously worry for a few days, and by next week, the story would distort into some stupid story. Maybe she’d have ditched school because of her pride.

Maybe her parents went bankrupt and vanished with her, back to the hellhole Africa they came from, as they referred to an entire continent like it was some village.

Maybe she’d have gotten pregnant, after pretending to be a holier-than-thou asexual, had an abortion, and was dead or too traumatized to resume school.

And after a week of assumptions, everyone would forget Elara, like a fleeting snow that came and went in the morn.

Later, the homeroom teacher would pay a visit to find her so sick in bed she’d have to skip an entire semester. Indeed, all her ‘friends’ knew her home address, but why would they ever come visit her, after finding out it was luxurious enough to escape their gloating?

Someone like that was a winner socially? Ha! Who even made those definitions?! The same sadist who thought people would prefer to spend 12+ years of their life for some scrap of paper that could lead them to debt and quite possibly still amount to nothing after all the suffering? That explained it.

Once upon a time, she was such a loner that even her teacher often forgot and queried if she truly was part of the class. Not to mention her totally easily pronounceable Igbo name that somehow became a laughing stock for the class, but even then, people barely noticed her presence.

And she was fine with it. She was used to it. She just liked doing her things and didn’t have the patience to coax others into liking her. Her imaginary friend, Sarah, helped alleviate any loneliness she felt, and thank goodness for the net that helped her connect with others like herself.

But they say it takes only one push for a murderer to be born. For her, it was two. That event, which remained blurry yet distinct in her memory to this day, made her realize that she, in fact, wasn’t okay with being a ghost.

She just managed her situation, and she was done managing, so she let her talent flow. Funny how easy it was to do something when she really wanted to do it.

She thought she could finally be happy. Many, including teachers and students, loved her, and they finally knew her name, even suddenly gaining the ability to pronounce her unpronounceable name and criticize those that couldn’t. The irony.

She had ‘friends’ now. Though they stifled her, most especially the things she liked doing, she believed friendship came with sacrifice and was more than willing.

In this fragile utopia of hers, she constantly felt something was wrong but couldn’t put her thumb on what. She was working on thin ice without even realizing it. Until she did.

That day, before she was locked in the classroom, she had told her friends she wanted to sleep and to wake her up when they were about to leave.

Something so casual that even strangers could do. But they abandoned her and left. No, it was more accurate to say that her friends forgot about her!

The gall they had the next day to act like it was a mistake and blow it out of proportion for her to act in line.

‘Be sweet,’ ‘Be tolerant,’ ‘Forgive.’

That was the hidden message of their actions. When they apologized weepingly with hugs and pleading words, making suggestive statements that dared her to lash out before everyone, she looked down her path and realized—she was on her tiptoes on a thin slab of ice, and all around her was endlessness.

She smiled that day, eyes conviced of the decision she had made last night as she forgave them sweetly. Everything was forgotten, but was it really?

That was her second push.

She became a murderer. Cruel, wicked, with a reckless abandon that filled the void in her soul with adrenaline. The adrenaline of watching others crumble at her feet, the adrenaline of watching them obsess over her despite being treated like bugs, the adrenaline of doing whatever she wanted to them without anyone stopping her!

Turns out she was right. Trauma did root her presence in the depths of their minds. Now someone would come visit her on her sick days, even if it was to confirm she was really screwed in order to gloat.

Now people wouldn’t forget after a few days that she existed. At least her toys wouldn’t. Because she would become a sole part of their memories, forever embedded, even leading into their adulthood.

No longer invisible or forgettable—now this, in all its crudeness, was success.

True success was when one had a group that belonged just to them. That was all. It was hers, and they couldn’t forget her presence ever. And that was excellent enough…

***

[Present]

“….”

“Was it?”

Elara snapped open her eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. Surely her memories stopped at her teenage years, but it seemed even those were blurry.

She wondered why she had lashed out at those three. Why her heart was beating so fast with euphoria when she watched the chaos unleashed, and why for some reason, despite wanting to be close to these people, the twisted desire to hurt them enough to etch her wickedness into their very soul overwhelmed her.

Subconsciously, she was doing all she ever knew. Yes, she was testing them. Yes, she wanted to know if they liked her and not her sweetness as Elara…. But it seemed she, somewhere along the line, forgot what it meant to have fun with people.

And beyond everything, this was her idea of fun. So twisted.

She smiled ironically. Why was she so resistant towards her adult-self? It was clear. She didn’t want to face the truth that she, this her, this Elara, was simply a monster.