Read AVARD HIGH :: Cee | Tapas Community

AFTER YOU WIN, THEY START WATCHING DIFFERENT.

Not like you’re lucky.

Like you’re next.

---

I was wrecked. Bone-deep tired in a way that didn’t just sit in my limbs—it lived there. My fists still tingled from the fight, knuckles raw and red like scraped wood. My cheek throbbed with every breath, and I was pretty sure there was a forming bruise under my eye that'd bloom purple by morning. Reed hadn’t made it easy. He made sure I’d feel this tomorrow. Maybe longer.

My brain felt like static. Noise and blood and too much attention.

People at the party clapped me on the back, raised drinks, shouted congratulations. But it was like getting praised by wolves. Like they didn’t really care I’d won—just that I’d survived long enough to make the rankings shift again.

Some smiled at me even Lea- but it wasn't kind. Calculating. Maybe Jealous.

I still held both chains in my hand—my old one, and Reed’s heavier, colder one. The Number Six chain felt unfamiliar, stiff against my palm. Someone sprayed glitter in the air like it was a celebration. Another girl—some Top 10 I didn’t know by name—pressed a towel soaked in vodka into my hand like it was an award.

I didn’t take it. Couldn’t stomach the smell.

My head spun. Not from the fight, but from them. The eyes. They watched me different now.

Like I wasn’t just Camille anymore. I was something else. A problem. A threat. Maybe the next accident waiting to happen.

Penn appeared beside me like a ghost. Her eyes flicked over my face with concern, a frown cutting deep into her lipstick-stained mouth.

“Camille. Let’s go,” she said quietly. “You look like shit. No offense.”

“None taken,” I muttered. My voice felt hoarse. “I just… I need to wash my face. I’ll catch up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She lingered like she didn’t want to, then gave a short nod. “Don’t pass out in the hallway or anything dramatic. I can't carry you."

“I’ll try.”

And then came him.

Jax Mendez, of course. His timing was as annoying as it was precise. He walked up through the parting crowd, all slow swagger and trouble-in-human-form, that grin already curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Not bad for a fifteen,” he drawled, voice smooth like oil on fire. “Or should I say... a six now?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of flirting?”

He gave a short, amused laugh. Like I’d passed some invisible test. “Nah. This is.”

And then, bold as anything, he reached out and brushed his thumb across my busted lip—right over the cut.

I flinched, more from surprise than pain.

“Your blood looks better than Reed’s,” he said. “Take care of your face, yeah?”

Before I could respond, Penn smacked his hand away like she’d been waiting to. “Back off, asshole. Before I rip your tongue off."

Jax winked at her, cocky as hell, and turned to disappear back into the sea of bodies and flashing lights like none of it mattered. Like none of us mattered.

I exhaled slowly. My lip burned. My whole face throbbed.

I turned and walked away, down a long, concrete corridor lit by flickering industrial lights. The sound of the party started to fade the farther I got. People still tried to talk to me. I ignored them. Spencer stood against the wall near the drinks table, staring at me like he wanted to skin me alive. But Reed? Gone. Probably ran off to nurse his pride and his face in a hole somewhere.

After what felt like a hundred doors and stairwells, I found a grimy bathroom tucked between two rusted lockers. I pushed the door open.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—too bright, too white. Like a hospital room that forgot how to be clean. The air smelled like antiseptic and stale vape smoke. Cold tiles clacked under my boots as I walked in.

Someone had written across the mirror in red lipstick:

"GLORY KILLS QUICK."

I didn’t have the energy to care.

I leaned over the sink, both hands braced on the edge, and turned the faucet. Cool water spilled out, sluggish at first, then stronger. I cupped it and splashed my face. It stung, sharp and sudden. My lip split open again and bled into the stream.

The water swirled pink as it disappeared down the rust-ringed drain.

My reflection looked worse than I thought. Eyes dark. Blood crusting on the corner of my mouth. Hair a mess. But the Number Six chain still hung from my fingers like proof that I hadn’t imagined it.

I took a paper towel, dabbed the split on my lip. Winced. My pulse had finally slowed, but the ache in my shoulders was worse. The high from the fight was gone, and now there was only pain and noise and—

Questions.

So many fucking questions.

Did Cirrius go through this? Is this how he got to Number Five? Did he bleed like this? Did he ever stand here like this, alone, staring into a broken mirror and wondering what the hell came next?

Where’s his chain now?

The door creaked.

I froze.

But no one came in.

Through the crack, I caught a glimpse of someone walking down the hall. Not toward me—away. Quiet steps. Intentional. Steady like someone used to slipping away without being seen.

Chase.

He didn’t notice me. His hands were tucked in his jacket pockets,his shoulders tight. His head down.

He moved too fast to be aimless, too quietly to be casual.

I didn’t think. I just followed.

Back down the corridor, boots echoing soft on cracked walls. The bass from the party thudded in the distance like a second heart. I kept my distance, careful not to be seen. He pushed open a heavy rusted door at the end of a side hallway and stepped through.

I waited. One, two, three deep breaths.

Then I went in.

The room was small and abandoned—some kind of old office, maybe. The air inside was warm, almost oddly so. Dust floated through a shaft of yellow light from a bent desk lamp in the corner. The furniture was broken. Paint peeled in long strips from the walls.

But what stopped me wasn’t any of that.

It was what the lamp was shining on.

A photo frame.

Cracked on the edge. A little dusty. But set there like it meant something.

And in that photo— Four boys in a photo.

Cirrius.

I knew that smile. That lopsided, soft kind of grin he wore when he didn’t think anyone was watching. His hair was messier than I remembered. There was that faint scar on his chin I used to joke about when we were together.

One arm was thrown casually around Chase’s shoulders.

Levi was on the other side, flashing two fingers in a lazy peace sign like he didn’t care. And Jax? Smirking like he ran the whole damn universe.

They looked younger. Lighter. Real. Like they didn't know what Avard was going to take from them.

I didn’t realize I’d stepped fully into the room until Chase spoke.

“You followed me.”

He didn’t turn. His voice wasn’t harsh or sharp. Just quiet. Worn down.

“I didn’t mean to,” I said honestly.

A pause.

“But you did,” he murmured.

I stood there for a moment. The dust tickled my nose. I felt stupid and tired and like this was more than I was supposed to see.

I took a slow step forward, eyes still on the photo. “That’s you. Jax, Levi... and who?”

I already knew the answer.

But I asked anyway.

Chase didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The silence said everything. The weight in the air shifted.

I looked at the picture again, trying to stay casual—but it hit like a sucker punch to the ribs.

Four boys in the photo. My throat burned. I stepped closer to the frame like it didn’t matter. Like it was just any photo.

I kept my face blank. Casual. Just some curious girl. Not someone looking at the ghost of her brother and trying not to fall apart.

He finally turned a little, his eyes flicking toward me, guarded as he took in my expression mostly looking at my bruised face.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

I shrugged. “You all look... different.. You all smile a lot here. That's new."

He snorted, bitter as he straightened himself.“Yeah."

His tone was dry, like the words had splinters. He looked down at the photo again, thumb brushing the edge of the glass. It was cracked in the corner. Smudged like someone kept holding it even when they weren’t supposed to.

“Who was he?” I asked. “The one in the middle.”

I kept my voice light. But it didn’t feel light. It felt like razor wire under my skin.

Chase hesitated.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Should I?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked back at the photo, eyes darker now.

“He wasn’t like the rest of us,” Chase muttered. “He didn’t play the game the way we did. Always trying to help. Always in the wrong places at the wrong time. Too brave for his own damn good. His name is Cirrus."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep steady as I heard his words- this was the longest he spoke today.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

Chase’s jaw clenched,"Wrong question,” he said.

My heart started thudding again. But I pushed. Just a little.

“I heard he died. Jumped or something, right?” I asked, eyes fixed on the cracked edge of the frame. “That’s the rumor.”

Chase let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. That’s what they say.”

I glanced up at him, watching the way he didn’t quite meet my eyes.

“But not what you believe?”

He stared at the floor for a moment, then said.“You ever met someone who’d rather burn down the system than jump from it?”

I swallowed hard. “Maybe.”

Chase didn’t smile. He just said, quietly, “Yeah."

That confirmation didn’t land like relief. It landed like concrete. Heavy. Cold. Final.

I exhaled slowly, like maybe that would let the weight off my chest.

“He had a chain, right?” I asked. “High rank?”

Chase nodded once. “Number Five.”

I tried to keep my face still.

“And now?”

“He gave it up,” Chase muttered. “I don't know where it is. Why are you even asking me all this questions?"

"Why are you responding?"

He looked at me like he was trying to figure out the answer to the question -or figure me out.

Chase finally looked at me. Really looked.

Something flickered across his face. Caution. Recognition.

“Who are you?” he asked softly.

My stomach dropped at his words “Camille.”

“No,” he said. “I mean really.”

I held his gaze. My skin itched. “Just another student. Like everyone else.”

But we both knew that wasn’t true.

The silence thickened again. My head buzzed with it. I could feel the photo frame between us like it was still glowing, still pulling pieces of the past into the room.

He didn’t ask again.

Chase didn’t argue. He just looked back at the photo one last time.

“He tried to save people who didn’t want saving,” he said. “It ruined him."

Then, just like that, he moved past me—barely brushing my arm—as he headed to the door.

I didn’t follow.

I stood in that room alone, the air smelling like dust and old electricity, the photo frame staring at me like a dare.

And I realized something that made my knees weak:

If Chase ever really found out who I was…

He was almost at the door when he stopped.

His hand hovered over the handle. His back to me. But I could feel the weight of the words he was still holding back. Like they were hot in his throat and cooling fast.

“Don’t let yourself dip into the shit here, Camille."He said finally.

My chest tightened.

He said my name differently than other people did. Slower. Like he was making sure he didn’t slip and say something else. Something closer.

“Why?” I asked, my voice low.

He turned halfway, eyes shadowed. “Because you’re already bleeding. And Avard... it doesn’t stop once it smells blood.”

I swallowed hard. The chain in my pocket felt heavier now. Like it knew things I didn’t.

Chase’s eyes flicked toward the photo again, just once. “Cirrius would've liked you.”

I blinked. "What?” I asked.

He didn’t repeat it. Just kept looking at me like he regretted saying anything at all. His jaw tightened like he was trying to bite the words back.

“You should go back,” he said. “The car’s still waiting.”

That made me pause.

“The... car?”

He nodded, looking at my face once again.“It’ll take you to your dorm with Penelope. You’re hurt, and you shouldn’t be walking around here after what you pulled.”

I frowned, confused. “Lea said she sent it.”

His expression shifted—just slightly. A flicker of guilt. Or amusement.

“She didn’t,” he said with a light smirk

“I did.”

He looked at me one last time before saying,"Take care, Cee.."

And I froze .

He stepped out into the hallway before I could answer. The faint clink of chains echoed down the corridor again as his footsteps faded.

Take care, Cee...

No one called me 'Cee' except Cirrus. That was the special nickname he usually called me even though I hated it but he kept calling me that.

But now... Chase had called her that.

Cee.

I stood there, breath caught somewhere between a question and a curse.