She unenthusiastically opened her laptop for the third time that day to check her application status.
The same message greeted her, glaring and unchanging:
"Hello, your application has been rejected due to your inability to meet our requirements. Please apply again next year."
Genevieve read the rejection letter from the college, her heart sinking.
Her grades stared back at her like a cruel joke: Math: 30, English: 45, Literature: 27, Arts: 16.
She groaned aloud, burying her face in her hands.
"God, that's horrible," her brother George muttered, standing over her shoulder. Of course, he was blessed with everything she wasn't: brains, charm, and opportunities.
He smirked, running a hand through his annoyingly perfect hair. "If you're trying to get a scholarship, those grades are practically a death wish. You might as well not even apply—it's embarrassing."
She turned to glare at him, lips pressed into a thin line. "Get out of here before I vaporize you," she said with sickly sweetness.
George laughed and dodged as she threw her slipper at him. "I'm just being honest!" he called out, running down the hallway.
Left alone, Genevieve slumped back into her chair. She felt hollow, the rejection letter echoing in her mind like a broken record. Deciding she couldn't sit in misery any longer, she grabbed her bag and headed out to see her boyfriend.
---
They sat on a worn bus-stop bench, Genevieve sobbing softly. She hated crying in public, but everything felt like too much.
Jacob handed her a crumpled tissue and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Don't cry," he murmured.
She sniffled, shaking her head. "I can't stop crying! How am I supposed to get a proper job if I can't even get into college? Rent is due, groceries are a struggle, and my job barely covers anything. I don't know how I'm going to survive!"
Her voice cracked, and she thought bitterly of how different things might have been if her father were still alive. They wouldn't have fallen into such hard times. Her mother wouldn't have to work herself to exhaustion, and Genevieve might have actually had a chance to study fashion design in college.
Jacob shifted uncomfortably as her tears flowed. She noticed it then, a faint lipstick stain on his collar and the unfamiliar scent clinging to him.
"Jacob…" she started, suspicion rising, but he interrupted her with a quiet sigh.
"Let's break up," he said abruptly.
Her sobs stopped, her breath catching in disbelief. "What?"
He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I… Ana and I are getting married."
Her mind reeled. "Ana? My friend Ana?" she scoffed, standing up as her voice rose.
"Yes," Jacob replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We've been together for a while now."
She stared at him, horror and anger bubbling to the surface. "We've been dating for two years, Jacob! Why would you—"
He cut her off, his tone defensive. "You wouldn't give me what I needed, Genevieve. I'm a man. I need sex to function."
Her eyes widened, and her voice broke as she yelled, "We agreed to wait until marriage! You said you admired me for that!"
"Well, things change," he said plainly, avoiding her gaze.
"How long?" she asked bitterly, her fists clenched. "How long have you been cheating on me?"
His silence spoke volumes. Finally, he muttered, "Two years."
Her bitter laugh echoed down the empty street. Without another word, she took off her shoes, picked them up, and walked away barefoot.
The walk home felt endless. She could have taken a cab, but the solitude and the steady rhythm of her feet on the pavement offered a strange kind of solace.
"Some people aren't born failures," she thought grimly. "Sometimes, fate decides for you. No matter how hard you try, it keeps you in the shadow of defeat."
Lost in her thoughts, she stepped into the street, only to see bright headlights bearing down on her. She staggered back, her heart pounding as a sleek Audi sped past her.
The car stopped briefly, its tinted window rolling down to reveal a man in a crisp Armani suit. His chiseled jaw and full lips gave him an air of authority, but his voice was what struck her most, cold and sharp enough to freeze hell over.
"If you want to die, don't do it on my car," he said curtly before speeding off into the night.
Genevieve stood there, shaken and speechless, as the taillights disappeared into the darkness.