The silence that followed the video was almost insulting.
Claire sat beside her like she'd forgotten how to breathe, her hands clasped tightly, her knuckles white, eyes glued to the screen that had just broadcasted a fifteen-year-old version of Regina flipping a girl's desk over and snarling, "Try me again and you won't have teeth next time."
The shaky phone recording. The headlines. The captions dissecting her teenage face with clinical cruelty, calling her a "ruthless aggressor," a "classic bully," a "CEO raised on violence." All of it felt like acid poured over a scar that hadn't healed but had just learned to scab over.
Regina clicked the phone shut like she was sealing a coffin. "Turn it off."
"It's already off," Claire whispered. She looked like she wanted to say more but didn't dare.
Her throat felt scorched. A migraine was already forming, digging claws behind her eyes, curling around her skull.
Claire cleared her throat. Carefully. "We need to get ahead of this."
