Suicide Edge to Revenge Win

Ophelia

Morning mist still clung to the windows of Blackwell Academy as I stood before my locker.

A nameplate was stuck to the metal door—Ophelia Blackwood. That surname carried weight at this elite prep school, but to me, it was nothing but a burden.

I spun the combination lock. Click. The door swung open.

Instantly, a putrid stench slammed into me.

Rotting sandwiches, moldy milk cartons, and grease-stained napkins came tumbling out, splattering across my uniform and scattering on the floor. The nauseating smell of decay instantly filled the entire hallway.

"Oh my God! Look at the scholarship girl's locker!"

"That smell is absolutely rank—perfect match for her!"

"Someone get their phone! We need to film this!"

Students swarmed around me like vultures, phones raised, flashes popping everywhere.

I dropped to my knees robotically and began gathering the mess, my uniform skirt absorbing the filth.

"Oh my, if it isn't my dear sister."

That familiar voice came from behind me. I turned to see Seraphina walking over in her pristine uniform, wearing a perfectly crafted expression of concern.

She planted her designer shoe directly on a soggy sandwich, creating a sickening squelch. "Ophelia, this is really bad for the school's image. What will everyone think?"

My fists balled tight, nails biting into my palms. "Did you do this?"

"Me? What are you talking about?" Seraphina blinked her innocent doe eyes. "How could I do something like this? Maybe... you just need to work on your hygiene?"

The crowd of onlookers erupted in even louder laughter. Head down, I kept cleaning, my tears mixing with the garbage.

In AP Chemistry, Mr. Weber announced group lab work.

"Please form teams of four. You can choose your own partners."

I looked around as all the students eagerly searched for teammates. I stood up and walked toward the nearest group.

"Sorry, we're full," the blonde girl said without even looking up.

I tried another group. "Can I join you guys?"

"Sorry, we already have our team set," a boy said, deliberately scooting his chair inward.

Group after group turned me away, each rejection colder than the last. Finally, I was the only one left standing in the middle of the classroom, like some unwanted leftover.

Mr. Weber cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ophelia, you'll just... work alone then."

The entire classroom fell into an eerie silence. I quietly walked to the lab bench in the corner and started preparing solutions by myself. My beakers and test tubes clinked loudly in my isolated corner, each sound highlighting my solitude.

Lunch in the cafeteria was even more of a nightmare.

I navigated the packed cafeteria, tray in hand, pathetic cold sandwich sliding across the plastic, searching for a seat. Every time I approached a table, the students sitting there would collectively turn away, giving me their backs.

"Sorry, this seat's taken."

"That one's full too."

"You should try somewhere else."

I retreated to a corner of the cafeteria, pressed against the wall, forcing down bites of my tasteless sandwich.

"Look, orphan Ophelia is begging for a seat again."

"She always eats alone. So pathetic."

"Pathetic? Isn't her family loaded? Why's she playing the victim?"

Their whispers cut through the cafeteria noise with surgical precision. I chewed robotically, my sandwich might as well have been paper.

During lunch break, in the school courtyard.

I was just looking for a quiet corner to read when I found myself surrounded. Leading the pack was Felix Summers—student body president, basketball team captain, every girl's dream guy.

"Ophelia, how's life treating you?" His smile—perfect, practiced, predatory. "Is your charity fund holding up okay?"

His friends joined in the taunting: "Yeah, we're really curious about how poor people live."

"Want us to sponsor you or something?"

I hugged my backpack to my chest and attempted to squeeze past them. But Felix snatched my bag and held it high above his head. "This ratty old backpack doesn't belong at Blackwell."

"Give it back!" Tears threatened to spill over.

"Want it? Go fish it out of the trash!"

My backpack went flying into the garbage bin, books and supplies scattering everywhere. I lunged for the bin, dropping to my knees and plunging my hands into the garbage.

"Get a picture! This angle is perfect!"

"Scholarship girl's daily dumpster diving!"

Phones captured every humiliating second. When I looked up at Felix, something flickered behind his eyes—guilt?—before vanishing.

"Know your place, Ophelia." He looked down at me like I was dirt. "You're just a charity case."

Seven PM, the dining room of the Blackwood mansion.

I sat at the far end of the long table, watching my stepmother Diana elegantly cut her steak. The fireplace cast dancing shadows across her marble-like features.

"Diana..." I worked up the courage to speak. "The kids at school keep..."

"Keep what?" She didn't even look up.

"They're bullying me, throwing garbage in my locker, taking pictures of me and posting them online..." Tears started falling. "I really can't take it anymore."

Diana finally raised her eyes, regarding me as one might a stain on expensive carpet. "Maybe the problem is you. You should reflect on your own behavior instead of complaining about others."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"Nothing?" Seraphina put down her fork and looked at me with concern. "Ophelia, I heard from classmates that you've been really emotionally unstable lately. Maybe you really do need therapy—they're all worried you might do something dangerous."

I froze, stunned by her betrayal. "You... what are you talking about?"

"I'm just worried about you." She blinked innocently. "After all, we're family."

Diana nodded. "Seraphina's right. I'll contact a therapist."

I couldn't take it anymore. I bolted from the table, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and fled to my room.

Only my mother's photograph kept me company in my bedroom. I clutched the frame to my chest, tears streaming unchecked down my face.

"Mom, you told me to be strong and keep living... but I really can't do it anymore."

My phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications from the school group chat. With shaking fingers, I opened the chat to find my day's humiliations curated like a highlight reel—me kneeling in the garbage, me digging through trash for my backpack, me crying.

The comments were even more brutal:

[LMAO this is hilarious!😂]

[How does someone like this even get into our school?]

[She should just drop out and save everyone the embarrassment.]

Mom's final words haunted me: "Be strong and keep living."

But tonight, I wasn't sure I had the strength left.

What would tomorrow bring?