After Campus Bullies Broke Me, My Family Made Them Pay

The whole campus was doing May Day dorm cleaning. I had something come up at home, so the only job I'd handled was hanging all four of our comforters out to air. I'd barely walked through my front door when I saw ita trending post blowing up on the campus forum.

The title read: Little Princess's Trash Comforter.

The photo showed a pink comforter lying in a garbage heap, covered in footprints and vomit.

The poster claimed that some "princess" had moved her comforter to a dark corner and taken her spot for this pink one instead.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, so she decided to teach the bitch a lesson.

The move struck a nerve. Comments flooded in as students vented about every trashy classmate they'd ever dealt with.

The comforter looked familiar. I was about to zoom in when

my roommate, the one in charge of collecting the bedding, texted me

Penny, where did you hang yours?

Seeing Ruby Whitney's message, my fingers froze on the screen.

A sick feeling crawled up my throat.

No way. My luck couldn't be that bad.

I shoved down the panic and video-called her.

It was right next to yours. Can you check again?

Ruby, arms loaded with comforters, awkwardly flipped the camera around, panning across the empty drying area.

It's gonna rain tonight and everyone else already grabbed theirs. I'm telling you, your Mega Deluxe Fancy Comforter is nowhere out here.

Mega Deluxe Fancy Comforter was our dorm's nickname for my silk comforter.

I'd mentioned once, without thinking, that it was the only gift my mom had ever given me. It cost over ten thousand yuan.

All three of my roommates had gasped, then piled into my bed, saying they wanted to rub up against the smell of money.

But I didn't love how light it felt, so once the worst of winter passed, I'd packed it away.

For the May Day deep-clean, I'd put it inside one of the standard-issue pink duvet covers the school sold before hanging it out.

How could it just be gone?

Could the comforter in that post actually be mine?

But I hadn't touched anyone else's bedding.

The spot I'd used was an empty one I found myself.

I frowned, racking my brain for anyone I might have offended.

Then I heard Ruby mutter

Someone probably just grabbed the wrong one. Let me ask around for you.

I thanked her, half believing it.

After hanging up, I tapped back into the post.

The poster had updated.

A new photo showed a pink comforter draped over a drying rack.

Must have been taken before she threw it in the garbage.

My heart hammered as I zoomed in, then zoomed in again.

The oil stains near the zipperand everything inside my head detonated at once.

That was my silk comforter.

Those stains were from the time I splashed hot-sauce noodle broth on it by accident.

I'd scrubbed it forever and still couldn't get the marks all the way out. Faint traces were still there.

Fury burning through me, I clicked into the poster's profile.

Delilah Perry. Class of 2024. School of Physical Education. The rage shot straight to the top of my skull.

I was absolutely certain now.

I didn't know her, but she'd done this on purpose.

My fingers flew across the keyboard.

Hi, I'm Penelope Simmons, Financial Management Class 2, class of '24. That comforter should be mine. I never moved your beddingif you don't believe me, wait till I'm back on campus and we'll pull the security footage. But whatever the misunderstanding, you need to make this right. That silk comforter is worth ten thousand yuan and I want full compensation.

The reply went live and racked up hundreds of likes and comments within minutes.

Among the skeptics and the rubberneckers, someone spotted the real issue.

The poster's School of Physical Education was on New Campus. Financial Management was on Old Campus.

The two campuses were nowhere near each other. Even on an e-bike it took half an hour.

So how had the poster's comforter ended up drying on the financial management side?

Why would I go all the way to the School of Physical Education to claim a drying spot?

Delilah's reply was quick and vicious.

Who knows where your money even comes fromand you've got the nerve to hit me up for ten grand over some ratty comforter.

I dug up the receipt for the silk comforter, ready to slap her with it.

But the message just sat there loading. Someone had reported the post, and it was already gone.

Three minutes later, she posted again.

You sneaky little bitch, scared I'll tell everyone what you've been up to? You actually reported me!

After her endless lies and provocations, whatever patience I had was long gone.

Keep making things up and don't blame me for calling the police!

Delilah replied like she couldn't care less

Ha. If you don't want people to know, maybe you shouldn't have done it in the first place.

I told her to say it clearly. She blocked me.

I was so furious I nearly switched to a burner account to go after her.

My dad's knock on the door cut that short.

Get some sleep. You're going shopping with your mom tomorrow.

Got it.

I tossed my phone down, irritated, and turned off the light.

In the dark room, the second I closed my eyes,

all I could see was my silk comforter buried under garbage.

I woke up the next morning.

I kept yawning through breakfast.

Dad noticed first.

You seeing someone?

I could tell he'd gotten the wrong idea.

The words about the comforter were right there on my tonguebut my mom looked up, and that thin, cutting gaze of hers shut my mouth before it opened.

The air went right out of me.

Forget it. Even if one word from her could make the school administration investigate Delilah top to bottom, so what?

She had never once stood up for me. Not once, my entire life.

Even if she found out someone had deliberately trashed my comforter, she'd just say I deserved it. Why was I the one being targeted?

I hunched over my bowl, poking at the rice with no real rhythm, and mumbled

I'm almost a senior. My advisor's been pushing me on my thesis.

My mom let out a cold laugh, and I slowed my breathing on instinct.

On the way out, she handed me a shopping bag.

Her tone left no room for argument.

Wear this.

We got to the mall.

My parents said they wanted some time alone and told me to wait in the caf.

I had barely stepped inside when a man I didn't recognize walked straight toward me.

Something flickered across his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Admiration.

Hi. You must be Penelope Simmons, from Simmons Group?

He saw me tense up and quickly explained

Sorry, I should've introduced myself first. I'm Mike Matthews. My mom's last name is Lishe's a good friend of Aunt Muriel's.

Only then did it click.

My parents hadn't rushed me home for May Day because they missed me. They'd wanted to set me up on a blind date.

Disappointment welled up inside me.

Were they really that eager to marry me off?

Didn't they want me around at all?

I told Mike I wasn't looking for a relationship. He said he understood.

He suggested we put on a show for a while, just to keep both sets of parents off our backs.

That made a certain kind of sense.

We found a table and sat down. He did almost all the talking.

I had no ideanot until he started talkingjust how much effort my parents had put into finding me a match.

We weren't just at the same school. Same year, same major.

I was in Financial Management Class 1. He was in Financial Management Class 3.

The two classes met in different buildings, though, so our paths had never crossed. We'd had no idea the other existed.

When the small talk wound down, Mike suggested we add each other as friends.

After we parted ways, I found my parents at the luxury counter.

So how'd it go? Dad nudged me with his elbow, grinning. Good kid, right?

I answered honestly

He's not my type.

Mike kept checking his phone the entire time we talked. I knewgut-levelhe already had someone.

My mom's voice turned mocking

Then what is your type? You want me to set you up with a billionaire's son? Would that be good enough?

My face went white in an instant. Insecurity and fear slammed into me at the same time, old and familiar and suffocating. My mind blanked. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run.

But she couldn't see what was happening inside me, and what she said next was worse.

Take a good look at yourself. Besides the Simmons name, what exactly do you have that anyone would like? I break my back trying to find you a match, and it turns out your standards are sky-high. This one's not good enough, that one's not to your liking.

I bit down hard on the soft flesh of my tongue, fingers picking at each other without me realizing, forcing the tears back with everything I had.

I just remembered I have something to take care of at school. I should head back.

I left the mall and bought the fastest ticket back to campus I could get.

On the train, my dad called over a dozen times and sent a string of texts.

Your mom runs that whole company by herself. It's not easy. Of course her temper's a little short.

You have to understand, no one in this world will ever love you more than your parents.

My nose stung. I turned off my phone.

And to think I'd actually believed they missed me.

On the way home I'd even hated myself for being so petty, for picking a school so far away just to put distance between us.

Now I saw it clearly. Family smells sweet from far away. Get close, and it reeks.

When I got back to the dorm, only Ruby was there.

Then I remembered Jill and Bernice were locals; they'd be home by now.

I walked closer and found Ruby hunched over her phone, muttering curses under her breath.

She caught me in her peripheral vision, shot to her feet, eyes full of worry.

Do you know a Delilah Perry?

I shook my head, then nodded, confused.

Technically, I'd only met her last night.

But how did Ruby know about Delilah? Rightyesterday's mess between me and Delilah had blown up all over the campus forum. She must have seen it.

Her voice pitched high, almost cracking.

She's telling everyone you stole her boyfriend!

The words hit like thunder.

A ringing filled my ears, and the blood in my veins seemed to freeze, cold spreading from my hands to my feet.

Ruby shoved her phone screen in front of me.

Delilah had posted under her real name, publicly accusing Penelope Simmons from Financial Management Class 2, Class of '24, of being a homewrecker. The post had already been pushed onto the trending list.

It felt like someone had their hand around my throat. I couldn't breathe.

Since when am I a homewrecker?

My reaction was too raw to be faked.

Ruby let out a long breath, the tension leaving her shoulders.

She grabbed her things, fuming

I knew you'd never do something like that. Come on, I'll go with you to file a police report.

The next second,

fists slammed against the dorm's metal door so hard the ceiling shook and dust sifted down from above.

Get the hell out here, 201!

Real tough behind a screen, aren't you? Show your face or admit you're a coward!

Open this door now, or we're coming in whether you like it or not!

I looked at Ruby, bewildered.

My eyes asked the question for me.

Her face had gone pale.

Delilah and her friends were all over the internet trashing you, saying some eighty-year-old man was keeping you. I couldn't just sit there, so I hit back. I didn't think they'd actually show up.

Something detonated in my chestpure, white-hot rage.

Good. I'd been wondering how to find them, and here they were, coming straight to me.

I threw the dorm door open.

The narrow dorm hallway was crammed with gawkers, bodies pressed wall to wall.

Two girls and two guys in athletic jerseysSchool of Physical Education printed across the frontcut through the crowd like they owned it.

They swung their fists in the air, snarling at the crowd to get back to their rooms.

Anyone who dared call the cops or pull out a phone to record, they said, would regret it.

I stepped out of the dorm just as they chased the last straggler back inside.

The moment the door to 201 opened, a girl with dyed red hair whipped out her phone and checked my face against Ruby's.

Then stopped in front of me.

She lowered the phone, revealing a bony face, and pinched her nose as her eyes crawled over me head to toe.

I was wondering where that stank was coming from. Turns out it's the little slut some eighty-year-old man's paying to keep around.

The three guys let out suggestive laughs.

The other girl leaned one hand against the guy in the number-three jersey, her eyes ice-cold.

So you're Penelope Simmons?

I frowned slightly, looking up at the girl in front of me. She had a full head on me in height and hair dyed every color of the rainbow.

I nodded.

At the same time, I was already guessing. This had to be Delilah Perry, the one who'd been coming after me.

Delilah's expression turned vicious.

Crack

A slap exploded across my face so hard my ears rang.

The numbness bloomed into searing pain, and humiliated tears pooled in my eyes before I could stop them.

The hallway went dead silent for three seconds.

Then someone whistled

Get her, Delilah!

Delilah's voice cut through again.

So you're the dirty little skank who knew damn well he was taken and still went after my boyfriend, huh!

Ruby rushed to steady me.

Penny, are you okay?

I swiped at my tears and shook my head.

Delilah sneered

Playing the helpless little victim, are we?

She pulled out her phone, brought up a photo, and shoved the screen into my face.

My boyfriend is Mike Matthews, Financial Management Class 3. Go ahead and tell me you don't know him.

When I saw what was on the screen, my mind went blank.

It was a photo of me and Mike sitting together in a caf.

The angle made it look intimate. Much more than it was.

Delilah seemed pleased with my reaction. She turned the phone around and flashed it at Ruby, the one who'd been defending me.

Ruby's face changed. Her eyes darted between me and the photo.

When she saw my complicated expression and the fact that I hadn't denied it, she quietly backed into the dorm.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The red-haired girl scoffed

At least your roommate has some sense. Knows you're in the wrong, so she's not sticking her neck out for you anymore.

Delilah pocketed her phone and shoved me hard.

I freakin' told youyou think you can do shit and nobody finds out? Why do you think I trashed your comforter? To smoke you out. And you fell for it just like that. I don't even know how you hid it this long.

Each shove drove me backward until my spine hit the cold wall.

Staring into her bloodshot eyes, I felt my confidence drain away for no real reason.

I had gone on that blind date with Mike. But I was the innocent one here.

The one who was wrong was him, going on blind dates while he had a girlfriend.

I steadied myself and opened my mouth to explain

You've got the wrong person

Before I could finish, the red-haired girl seized a fistful of my hair and wrenched me in front of Delilah.

I cried out. The pain ripped through my scalp so violently that my vision went dark in flashes, and every ounce of resistance drained out of me.

Delilah smiled coldly and slapped me across the face, backhand and forehand, cursing with every blow

I knew you wouldn't own up to it.

How did your parents raise a piece of trash like you? Do they know you sell yourself for money?

I lifted my face, swollen beyond recognition, and retched. Blood came up in a hot rush, a tooth tumbling out with it.

Humiliation, terror, helplessness, rage, all of it detonated at once.

I screamed through my tears, my voice tearing itself raw

I'm not a mistress! I only met Mike Matthews once!

Delilah's patience snapped.

Still not gonna talk unless I make you, huh?

Her gaze cut over me like a blade, slow and deliberate, until it settled somewhere below my neck.

You two. Strip her.

The two guys froze for a second, then rubbed their hands together and moved toward me with ugly grins.

I curled in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my body, tears spinning in my eyes.

Please don't. I'm begging you. I'm really not a mistress. Mike can back me up.

The next second, the sound of fabric ripping echoed down the silent hallway.

Delilah pulled out her phone and aimed it at my face, her voice dripping with satisfaction she didn't even try to hide.

Every other word out of your mouth is Mike this, Mike that, and you still want to pretend you only met him once? You slut. Let's see just how big your tits are, how fat your ass is!