The Price of a Slap

Smack. The sharp crack struck the classroom like a whip. A suffocating, dead silence instantly swallowed the room. My cheek burned, a blinding heat radiating across my skin.

The guy whose hand had just collided with my face? Silas. The boy I grew up with. The boy I’d spent the last nine years hopelessly chasing. And he did it right in front of everyone.

He humiliated me just to play the white knight for the new transfer student—a girl who breathed purely for drama.

That very afternoon, I went home and systematically scrubbed every single trace of his existence from my life. Much later, he showed up at my house after a wild rager.

Reeking of stale liquor, he desperately smashed my porch mailbox to pieces before dropping to his knees right on my welcome mat.

He gripped the edge of the doorframe, his knuckles white. "Why, Seraphina?" His chest heaved, his breath ragged. "Just because of one slap, you’re throwing away nine years of us?" I didn't flinch.

I just stared down at him, my gaze completely hollow. "Yeah." The word fell from my lips, cold and final. "Just because of that slap." Chapter 1 When Silas’s hand cracked across my face, my brain completely shortcircuited.

The heavy smack sent me stumbling backward, a highpitched ringing exploding in my ears. The left side of my face flared—first a dull warmth, then a blistering, whitehot burn.

My hand instinctively flew to my cheek as I stared at him, completely paralyzed. Silas. The boy I’d grown up with.

He had just slapped me in front of the entire class, all to defend the new transfer student over a stupid argument.

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second as the reality of what he’d just done settled in.

But just as quickly, his features hardened, replaced by a wall of sheer impatience and irritation.

He pointed a rigid finger toward the back row. "Can you stop starting drama for five seconds, Seraphina? Get back to your seat." A few low snickers rippled through the classroom.

Several guys instantly whipped out their phones, hitting record, ready to blast this whole pathetic show all over the school's social pages.

Peyton stood right beside Silas, casually twirling a strand of her flawless chestnut hair around her manicured finger.

She let out a soft, mocking tsk. "Wow, Silas, what are you doing?

Can't you see your little princess is about to cry?" At that, Silas’s voice dropped ten degrees. "If you're going to cry, Seraphina, go do it at home.

This is a classroom, not a stage for your daily princess tantrums." A suffocating mix of humiliation and raw fury clawed at my throat.

My vision blurred as heavy tears spilled over my lashes. With the boys' obnoxious laughter ringing in my ears, I grabbed my backpack and shoved my way out the classroom door.

Silas had always been shorttempered with me, but putting his hands on me? That was a first. In fact, it was the first time anyone had ever struck me in my entire life.

Silas and I were childhood friends. The kind who had known each other since we were three years old in the sandbox.

Our parents were best friends, and we practically grew up in each other's backyards, living right across the street in the same suburban culdesac.

I had been hopelessly hooked on him since day one. Back in elementary school, I was an easy target for the local bullies. There was this one kid who was the absolute worst.

He sat behind me, constantly yanking my braids, sticking chewed gum to the seat of my chair, and hiding stink bombs inside my desk cubby. I went crying to the teacher once.

She gave him a generic slap on the wrist, but then turned around and told me with a dismissive smile, 'Oh, sweetie, he’s just doing that because he has a crush on you.' I didn't buy a word of it.

The bullying never stopped, so I went home and told my parents. My parents were furious. They were ready to march down to the principal's office the next morning.

Silas’s dad happened to be over for a barbecue that night.

When he heard what was going on, he immediately called Silas over and told him it was his job to protect me at school from now on.

We were the same age, but in different homerooms at the time.

The very next day during recess, Silas marched right over to my playground zone, dragged that kid by his shirt collar, and completely leveled him.

Silas had always been taller than the rest of us, with a stubborn, hardheaded streak to match. He left that bully and his little group of friends bawling in the dirt.

Before he walked away, he glared at the rest of the boys. "If anyone ever messes with Seraphina again, you're dealing with me!" That was the exact moment I fell for him.

From that day on, I practically became his shadow. I stuck to him like glue; wherever he went, I followed. Silas absolutely hated it.

He had this whole toughguy alpha complex going on, convinced that hanging out with a fragile, clingy girl like me would ruin his reputation with the guys. But I didn't care.

I was relentless, chasing after him everywhere. I was practically his stagefive clinger before we even hit middle school.

A few years went by, and his walls finally started to crack. He stopped pushing me away. Slowly, I began catching him staring at me longer than usual.

Whenever our eyes met, he would sometimes just freeze up, looking totally spaced out.

Other times, it was like he touched a live wire—he’d suddenly stammer, a flush creeping up the back of his neck as he desperately changed the subject.

Chapter 2 I remember the Homecoming dance back in eighth grade. Silas had draped his varsity football jacket over my shoulders.

His ears turned bright red as he promised right in front of both our families, "When we graduate high school, I'm going to buy her the biggest diamond ring." My heart felt so sweet, and I held his hand tightly.

But everything changed when we hit high school. Near the end of our freshman fall semester, a new transfer student walked into our homeroom. Her name was Peyton.

Word going around the lockers was that she moved here because of her parents' jobs. She had perfect grades and a striking, ridiculously pretty face.

On her very first day, she walked in flipping her chestnut curls and shot a brazen smirk at the homeroom teacher. "Relax, Mr. Davis. The color is totally natural.

So are the curls." Then, she turned and scanned the classroom. Her eyes landed on me.

She froze, stared for a hard second, and suddenly burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. "Holy shit… someone save me.

Where did this Barbie princess come from?" she cackled, pointing straight at me. "Headtotoe pink! Jesus, we're in high school. Are you trying to play dressup?

This is so embarrassing." Every single pair of eyes in the room instantly snapped toward me. The blood rushed to my face, burning hot. I loved pink. I was obsessed with it.

Almost everything I owned was pink—my backpack, my Stanley cup, my claw clips, my baby tees, my oversized sweaters, my phone case, even the little charms dangling from my zipper.

Because of this, I was pretty used to people talking behind my back. Back in middle school, some guys called me highmaintenance or a crybaby, and a few girls said I was a tryhard.

But most people were nice. A lot of girls would tell me it was my aesthetic and that I looked super cute.

This was the first time I had ever been mocked so openly, so bluntly, right in front of everyone.

I sat there, totally blindsided and humiliated, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole. "Haha, my bad. I just have zero filter.

Don't be mad, little princess," Peyton said, flashing a playful, unapologetic wink. "Enough.

It's your first day, drop the attitude." Silas's annoyed voice suddenly cut through the tension. I whipped my head around.

Silas was glaring at Peyton, his eyebrows pulled into a tight scowl. Peyton just arched a brow and stared right back at him. "Oh, look.

The princess's white knight is here." "What the hell did you just say? Are you crazy?" Silas snapped, slamming his palms on his desk as he stood up. Mr.

Davis quickly barked at him to sit down, then pointed Peyton to the only empty desk in the room.

Maybe it was a coincidence, but the only empty seat happened to be exactly one row in front of Silas. Just like that, they became desk neighbors.

I don't know exactly when Silas and Peyton started getting close.

But one day, totally out of the blue, he swapped out the Starbucks pink drink he went out of his way to buy for me every morning, and slammed a lifeless cup of black coffee on my desk instead. "I hate black coffee.

Don't you know that?" I frowned, staring at the dark liquid. "Come on. You only liked that Starbucks drink because it's pink.

You're too old to be drinking that sugary pink crap every day anyway." "Drink the black coffee. It's better for you." Silas casually patted my head.

Peyton was leaning against his desk, holding an identical cup of iced black coffee.

She glanced back at me and gave a fake, apologetic little smile. "My bad, little pink," she said. "I like black coffee, so I just told Silas to grab these." She took a slow sip, her eyes glinting. "Besides, that pink drink is way too sweet.

It's honestly sickening.

Do all you little girls actually drink that stuff?" Chapter 3 I slammed the cup down and glared at her. "Do you get off on giving people nicknames?" She stiffened, then her face shifted into an exaggerated mask of surprise and helplessness. "Haha… why are you making it such a big deal?

I was just joking.

God, you're way too sensitive." "Am I sensitive, or are you just projecting?" I shot back. "Enough, Seraphina," Silas cut in, rubbing his temples like I was giving him a migraine. "Peyton just… speaks without thinking sometimes.

Don't take it so personally." My nails dug into my palms. My vision blurred hot and stinging.

I shoved Silas hard in the chest before snapping at Peyton, "If you don't know how to talk, then shut up!" Silas stumbled back, surprised by the force.

He immediately reached out, instinctively wrapping an arm around my waist. "Okay, okay, my bad," he blurted out. "Stop being mad.

I'll get you the pink drink tomorrow, alright?" Peyton’s expression dropped. Her eyes locked onto me, cold and calculating.

Starting the very next day, Peyton made me her personal target. If I pulled out a pink pack of tissues, she’d practically shout across the room: "Wow! Even your tissues are pink!

Are you literally trying to turn yourself into a plastic Barbie?" During chemistry lab, the second I slipped on my pink safety goggles and gloves, she started winking and exchanging looks with the guys at her table. "Here comes the princess." During locker reassignments at the start of the semester, I was carrying a massive stack of heavy textbooks and paused to catch my breath.

Peyton immediately yelled down the hallway: "The princess can't lift her books!

Hurry up, we need some knights in shining armor to do the heavy lifting!" Whenever she pulled these stunts, the group of guys she hung out with would eat it up, laughing louder and louder like it was the funniest thing in the world.

At first, Silas looked a little uncomfortable and would tell her to knock it off. But Peyton would just wave it away. "I'm just joking around. Seraphina is always so uptight.

I'm just trying to help her loosen up and bond with everyone." Silas actually nodded at that, looking thoughtful. "Seraphina does act like a princess sometimes.

Are all girls like this now?" Peyton punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, don't lump me in with them. I'm definitely not like that." Silas just chuckled.

A sour knot twisted in my stomach. I always knew Silas thought I was fragile and highmaintenance.

To guys like him, liking the color pink, hating germs, and not having upper body strength automatically meant you had "princess syndrome." Finally, I hit my breaking point.

Over summer break, my parents and I had gone to the beach, and I’d gotten a pretty deep tan.

It had happened before, and usually, my skin went back to normal after a couple of weeks indoors, so I didn't care.

But shortly after school started, I wore a pink baby tee to class. Peyton saw me and exaggeratedly raised her voice. "Oh my god!

Seraphina, you're so tan right now, and you're wearing that pink? Don't you think it looks ridiculous?" She doubled over. "No, seriously, I'm dying.

How are you supposed to be a princess looking like that?" "What kind of princess is that tan? You look more like a little dirty stray dog!

Hahaha!" She and the guys erupted into howling laughter. Silas seemed to find it funny too. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

A suffocating wave of shock and humiliation hit me hard. Blood roared in my ears. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles popped.

Right in the middle of their mocking laughter, I grabbed the iced black coffee off the desk.

Without a single second of hesitation, I dumped the entire cup right over her smug, chestnut curls. The heavy ice cubes smashed directly against the bridge of her nose.

Chapter 4 Peyton gasped, furiously wiping at her dripping face.

The iced coffee cut right through her heavy makeup, leaving muddy brown streaks down her cheeks. "Hack… hack… What the hell are you doing?!

Are you psycho?!" "Oh my god," I mimicked her exact pitch. "Coming to school plastered in heavy makeup and ridiculous fake lashes." "No wonder you're not a princess.

What, are you walking a red carpet? You look like a circus clown." The guys immediately stepped in, blocking my path.

Silas shoved his way to the front and ripped the empty cup right out of my hand. "Apologize, Seraphina." He stared down at me, his jaw set, voice entirely flat. My eyes burned.

I locked onto his gaze, unblinking. "Did you not hear what she just called me? She called me a dog." "That's completely different.

You already insulted her back," he stated, like it was simple math. "Now you need to apologize for assaulting her with a drink. You did something wrong, own up to it.

Stop acting like a brat." He crossed his arms. "Just apologize. Peyton won't hold it against you." I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Go fuck yourself." Silas's eyes widened.

His hand snapped up and struck me hard across the face. I didn't stay for the rest of the day. I walked straight out of the building and went home.

I stormed into my bedroom and tore the place apart. Books swept off shelves. Closet doors ripped open. Drawers yanked out onto the floor. I grabbed a pair of heavy fabric scissors.

I found the varsity jacket he gave me in eighth grade and cut it into jagged shreds, letting the pieces drop to the floor alongside the cheap necklaces and faded movie stubs he’d given me.

I dragged a massive cardboard box into the center of the room and threw in every single thing Silas had ever given me since we were kids. The box was overflowing.

I checked every corner twice to make sure absolutely nothing was left behind.

Then, I hauled the heavy box straight down the stairs, marched out to the curb, and dumped the whole thing into the trash can. My parents weren't home yet.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom. "Hey, sweetie, what's wrong?" "Mom, when you get home today, go over and tell Silas's parents that Silas and I are done.

Completely." I stared at the blank wall, my voice icy. "From this second on, Silas is banned from our house.

Tell him to stay the hell away from me." When my mom got home, she took one look at the fading handprint on my cheek and lost it. I told her everything that had been happening.

The veins in my mom's neck popped. She stormed straight into our garage, grabbed a heavy 9iron golf club, and marched right across the lawn to bash on Silas's front door.

Silas's mom opened the door, looking completely terrified. Without skipping a beat, my mom pointed the club right at her nose and laid out every single detail.

She told her exactly how Silas had struck me. How he had stood there for weeks, doing absolutely nothing while Peyton relentlessly bullied and humiliated me.

And how, in the end, he actually stood in front of that girl to protect her. Silas's mom turned pale, then sickly green.

Our families had been best friends for years, but that bond shattered completely today. My mom didn't blame me at all.

She just pulled me into her arms. "No one gets to treat our Seraphina like that," she whispered fiercely. "Whatever you decide to do, your dad and I back you one hundred percent." The dam finally broke.

A sharp sting hit my nose, and I buried my face in my mom's shoulder, letting the tears fall. Later that night, Silas must have come home and seen the trash can on the curb.

A loud, angry pounding shook our front door. "Seraphina! Come out here! We need to talk." I pulled the door open.

Silas stood on my porch, his face looking like absolute murder. "Why the hell did you throw away all the stuff I gave you?" "Why do you care?" I stared back at him, my eyes completely dead.

Chapter 5 The handprint from this morning was still branded into my skin. Silas hadn't pulled his punch.

The side of my face was swollen a mottled purple, the shape of his fingers completely visible. Instead of fading, the bruising had only darkened. Silas’s expression shattered.

He stared blankly at the ugly marks on my cheek. After a long beat, his voice came out hollow. "Why does it look so bad?" He reached a hand out to touch me.

I took a deliberate step back. My face remained a blank wall. I hardly ever got hurt.

Back then, if I even scraped my knee, I would tear up and complain to Silas, just waiting for him to baby me. The truth was, I actually had a super high pain tolerance.

I was so careless I’d find random cuts on my legs days later and have no idea how I got them. I only played weak because I wanted attention from the boy I liked. And Silas?

He loved calling me fragile and highmaintenance, but he secretly thrived on how much I depended on him. But I was done playing that game.

Silas wasn't used to this freezing, deadeyed version of me. For a second, he just looked totally stunned. "I didn't mean to do it, Seraphina.

But you were attacking her, and I just lost my temper for a second—" I cut him off. "Since you're standing on my porch, let's make this crystal clear." "Starting today, we don't know each other.

Use my full name. Don't look at me in the hallways, don't talk to me at school, and absolutely do not ever knock on my front door again." I reached for the door handle.

Silas lunged forward, grabbing my arm. His fingers dug in, his gaze locked onto mine as the guilt instantly bled into frustrated anger. "Are you serious right now, Seraphina?

If you're pissed about the slap, I said I was sorry. Don't you think you're being a little extreme?

Aren't you going to regret this?" "I won't." "Why?" He gritted his teeth, his temper flaring. "Just because I accidentally slapped you?" "Yeah. Just because of that slap." I