Wake Me When It's Over

Mom always said I was dead to the world when I slept. I would suddenly doze off in the middle of class, while eating, even halfway across the street. My homeroom teacher suggested I get checked at a hospital, but Mom brushed it off with a scoff. "She just stayed up all night on her phone!" After that, my phone was confiscated, the lock on my door was removed, and every time I showed the slightest sign of drowsiness, I got slapped awake. I did not want to be hit, and I did not want Mom to get angry, so I started pinching my thighs, yanking my hair, even downing medicated oil just to stay awake. But when that wave of sleep hit, nothing could stop it. On the day of the final exam, Mom happened to be assigned as one of the proctors. I bit through my lip, silently begging myself, 'Just this once. Just hold on.' But in the end, I still couldn't fight it. The desk was suddenly flipped over. I went down with my chair, crashing hard onto the floor. My head struck the edge of the desk, and darkness swallowed everything in an instant. Mom stood beside me, furious and disappointed. "Cecelia Thorne, are you really so obsessed with sleeping that you don't even care about your final exams? If you're that lazy, then lie there and keep sleeping!" I lay sprawled over my exam paper, my vision dimming bit by bit. Mom, this time, I might really sleep for a long, long time. Chapter 1 The Girl Who Wouldn't Wake "How much longer are you going to keep this up, Thorne?" Mom's voice rang across the dead-silent exam hall, sharp enough to cut through the stillness. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked, step by step, toward where I had fallen. My cheek was pressed against the cold concrete. A warm trickle slid down from where my head had struck the desk. "Ms. Collins, I think Cecelia might've actually fainted," a boy nearby said quietly, his voice hesitant. "Fainted? Don't be ridiculous! This is just her laziness acting up!" Mom grabbed the back of my collar in one swift motion. Her grip was shockingly strong as she hauled me up off the ground. My head lolled limply, and the back of my hand scraped against the rough floor, tearing the skin open in a streak of red. "You sleep in class, you sleep while eating, and now you're sleeping during your final exam too?" Mom hissed under her breath, her teeth clenched tight. "You have no shame, but I do. I'm the dean of discipline." She dragged me toward the exit. My toes trailed uselessly across the floor, leaving behind two long gray streaks. "Ms. Collins, maybe we should take her to the infirmary?" The younger proctor, Olivia Zanetti, stood up, worry written clearly across her face. "The infirmary? Ms. Zanetti, don't let her fool you." Mom did not even turn back. She only let out a cold laugh. "She was up all night on her phone, and now she's putting on a show for me." "But she looks really pale. Something's not right," Olivia said, stepping down from the podium as if to stop her. "She's faking it. I know my own daughter." Mom yanked the front door of the exam hall open. "Keep working on your exams. Anyone who looks around again will have their paper voided." With that, the room fell into instant silence. … Mom dragged me all the way to a spare classroom at the end of the corridor. It was used to store broken desks and chairs, and the air carried a sharp, musty smell. Without the slightest restraint, she flung me onto the ground. The back of my head slammed hard against the door with a dull thud. And in that exact moment, something shifted. My body suddenly felt light. I drifted upward, hovering in midair as I looked down at myself. The girl on the ground lay motionless, her eyes shut tight, her face frighteningly pale. Her limbs were twisted at unnatural angles. Mom crouched down and grabbed my chin roughly. "Cecelia Thorne, open your eyes." Seeing that I didn't respond, my mom let out a cold, irritated laugh, her gaze dropping to the blood near my ear. It had flowed from my temple, tracing down along the curve of my ear and into my neck. She frowned in disgust and pulled out a tissue from her pocket. "You even prepared red ink in advance just to fake this?" She scrubbed harshly at my ear. The rough paper tore at the skin, smearing the blood even further. "Disgusting. Just like your useless father—always resorting to cheap tricks." Mom crumpled the bloodstained tissue into a ball and threw it straight at my face. "Stay here and lie all you want. I'll see how long you can keep this act up." Then she stood, brushed the dust from her hands, and walked out of the spare classroom without another glance. Chapter 2 Locked Away My soul hovered near the ceiling, straining desperately to call out to her. 'Mom, that's not red ink. That's my blood. Mom, my head hurts so much… Please, save me.' But she could not hear me. All she left behind was her cold, unyielding back as she walked away. A rush of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. It was Olivia. She held a stack of scratch paper in her arms, using it as an excuse as she quickly made her way to the door of the spare classroom. Peering through the glass panel, her brows knit tightly together. "Cecelia, can you hear me?" Olivia knocked gently on the door. The girl on the floor did not move. The blood that had just been wiped away began to seep out again, trickling down from her earlobe and staining the collar of her uniform. Olivia's expression changed immediately as she reached for the doorknob. "Ms. Zanetti, what are you doing?" My mom's icy voice came from the other end of the corridor. Startled, Olivia jerked her hand back. "Ms. Collins, I… I don't think Cecelia's in good condition." "She's perfectly fine." Mom strode over and shoved Olivia aside without hesitation. "Ms. Zanetti, don't interfere. If you want to cure this child's laziness, you have to be ruthless. Let her go hungry for a couple of meals." At that, she pulled out a heavy ring of keys from her waist and picked out a brass one. "Ms. Collins, it's winter. There isn't even any heating inside," Olivia tried again, her voice tight with concern. But the lock shut with a sharp, dreadful click. "When she freezes enough, she'll know to get up and finish her exam." … The bell signaling the end of the final exam rang out. The corridor instantly came alive, students spilling out in clusters, chattering as they compared answers. My soul drifted outside the spare classroom, watching as my mother stood at the office entrance. Avery Thorne stood beside her, obediently handing over a cup of hot coffee. "Mom, you must be tired from proctoring. Have something warm," Avery said sweetly, a smile lighting up her face. Mom took the coffee, the frost on her face melting instantly. "You're as sweet as ever, Avery. Did you solve the last math question?" "I did. I checked it twice—I should get full marks." Avery looped her arm through Mom's and gave it a light shake. "Good. Not like that useless thing in there, playing dead the moment she stepped into the exam hall." Mom took a sip of coffee, her gaze flicking sharply toward the spare classroom. Avery followed her line of sight, a faint glint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes. "Mom, don't be mad at Cecelia," Avery said softly, her tone full of concern. "She probably just didn't rest well yesterday. She's always hiding under the covers with her phone reading novels. I've told her not to so many times." The words were light, almost casual, but they landed exactly where they would hurt the most. Mom's expression darkened instantly. "I knew it. Those dark circles didn't come from nowhere." She slammed the coffee cup down onto the desk. "I already had her door lock removed, and she still dares to sneak around behind my back? She's completely out of control." I stood beside them, my soul lingering, a dull ache spreading through me. I remembered the night Mom tore the lock off my bedroom door. That day, she had failed her professional evaluation at school, and when she came home, everything seemed to irritate her. She kicked my half-closed door open and found me dozing off at my desk. Without a word, she grabbed her tools and removed the entire lock right in front of me. "From now on, you don't get privacy in this house." Mom threw the lock onto the floor and pointed straight at me. "Let's see if you still dare to hide behind closed doors and slack off." I had not cried that night. I had only stared blankly at the inside of my thighs. They were covered in tiny puncture marks from a compass—dense, overlapping wounds. Some had already scabbed over, while others still oozed a faint yellow fluid. To cover the lingering metallic scent of blood, I had to douse my legs in medicated oil every day. But when Mom smelled it, she decided it was something else entirely. "So young, and already picking up bad habits. Using cheap vape smoke to cover the smell, is that it?" Chapter 3 A Promise Written in Blood At the time, she had slapped me hard across the face and confiscated my phone. From that moment on, I did not even have the right to set an alarm to wake myself up. I could only stab deeper—deeper each time. And even after I died, I still did not blame her. I knew it had not been easy for her to raise two children on her own. I knew the pressure from her job was overwhelming. I only felt regret. Regret that I would never get the chance to prove to her that I had not been slacking off. … At noon, the school dismissal broadcast echoed across campus. Students gradually filed out of the building, and the corridors returned to a suffocating silence. There was no heating in the spare classroom. The girl on the floor had gone completely stiff. The sun had climbed to its highest point in the sky, yet not a single ray could reach through the window, half-sealed with metal plating. My soul silently kept track of the time. Three hours had passed since I fell. The golden window for saving someone with a brain hemorrhage had likely long slipped away. Just then, a beam of harsh light appeared at the end of the corridor. The school's security guard was making his rounds, checking doors and windows one by one. The flashlight swept past the spare classroom window, then stopped. On the floor was my hand, pale and cold. My fingers were locked in a death grip from the final spasms before I died, clutching a torn piece of my exam admission slip. The guard paused, then leaned closer to peer through the glass. "Hello? Is there a student inside?" He knocked on the window and reached for the walkie-talkie at his waist. "Academic office? There seems to be a student lying in the spare classroom on the third floor. She isn't moving." My soul lunged toward the window, staring desperately at the device in his hand. 'Please, save me. Please open the door.' Static crackled through the walkie-talkie. Then Mom's voice came through, cold and authoritative, leaving no room for defiance. "I locked that classroom myself. It's disciplinary confinement. Leave it." The guard hesitated. "But Ms. Collins, the kid's posture looks… strange. Should I go in and check?" "I said leave it. No one is to open that door today." Mom's voice rose sharply, absolute and commanding. "Let her reflect in there. She isn't going to starve." The guard let out a quiet sigh and switched off his flashlight. "Alright then. You're the authority. You have the final say." … Across the street from the school, a small restaurant buzzed with warmth and steam. It was the day the final exams ended, and Mom had booked a private room to celebrate. The table was filled with Avery's favorite dishes—barbecue ribs, garlic butter shrimp, and baked salmon. The only thing missing was my favorite—grilled cheese and tomato soup. "Here, Avery. Eat more shrimp. It's good for your brain." Mom picked up a shrimp, carefully peeled it, and placed it into Avery's plate. "Thanks, Mom." Avery smiled sweetly, then placed a piece of ribs into Mom's plate. "You should eat too. You worked hard proctoring today." "As long as you get first place in your grade, it's all worth it." Mom looked at Avery with nothing but warmth in her eyes. "Once your results are out, if you rank first, I'll grant you one wish. Go ahead. What do you want?" Avery tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "I want to go to Disneyland. All my classmates have been." "Alright, it's a deal. I'll take you next week." Mom agreed without hesitation, her smile widening as even the lines on her face softened. My soul stood in the corner of the private room, watching the two of them laugh and talk. And suddenly, I felt cold. I remembered the half-finished note still tucked inside my uniform pocket that I had stayed up late writing the night before. 'If I can place in the top fifty on this final exam, I hope you will reinstall the door lock.' That piece of paper was now soaked through with my blood, the ink long smeared beyond recognition. I would never live to see the day she kept that promise. … After lunch, Mom returned to school to grade papers. The afternoon was reserved for teachers to mark exams together, with time compressed and every schedule tightly arranged. The grading room was filled with nothing but the faint scratching of red pens across paper. Mom was assigned to grade language papers. She worked quickly—until she flipped to a completely blank answer sheet. Chapter 4 Zero-Mark Paper My name, Cecelia Thorne, was unevenly scrawled across the name field. It was what I had forced myself to write at the very start of the exam, clinging to the last thread of consciousness I had left. Right after that, I collapsed to the floor. Mom stared at the blank answer sheet, the muscles at the corner of her eye twitching violently. "Not only are you lazy, but you've even learned to hand in a blank paper just to provoke me." She gritted her teeth, gripping the red pen so tightly it looked like it might snap. "Ms. Collins, what's wrong? Why are you so angry?" The head of the language department leaned over to take a look. "Well, would you look at that. Whose paper is this? Not even a single word in the essay. That's practically a direct challenge to the teacher." "My useless daughter, of course. Who else?" Mom let out a cold laugh and picked up the red pen, slashing a massive X across the paper. The mark took up nearly the entire sheet, pressed so hard it bled through to the back. "She's getting more outrageous by the day. Sleeping through class was bad enough. Now she's pulling this during finals." Mom abruptly stood up, her chair screeching harshly against the floor. "I'm going to deal with her properly today." She grabbed the zero-score paper covered in red ink and strode out of the grading room. The wind in the hallway lifted the hem of her coat, carrying a trace of her simmering anger. At four in the afternoon, the sun had already begun to sink. The corridor outside the spare classroom was dim, washed in fading light. My mom's heels struck the tiles in crisp, echoing clicks. When she reached the door, she did not even bother with the key. She kicked it hard instead. "Cecelia Thorne, the sun's about to set. Haven't you slept enough yet?" The door didn't open. Inside, there was only silence. Mom let out a cold snort, pulled out her keys, and jammed one into the lock, twisting it sharply. The door swung open with force. A gust of cold air, thick with the smell of mildew, rushed out. Holding the zero-score paper, Mom strode into the room. "Cecelia Thorne, get up and take a look at the excellent score you earned—" Her voice cut off abruptly. I lay on the floor in the exact same position as four hours earlier, completely unmoving. "Still pretending to be dead?" The slanted sunlight cut into the room, illuminating dust drifting through the beam. My body remained curled in an unnatural position. My fingers, locked in the spasms before death, were still clutching the torn admission slip. My nails had turned a dark bluish-purple, embedded deeply into my flesh. The blood that had flowed from my temple had long dried, forming a dark red stain on the concrete. Mom walked over and nudged my stiff foot with the tip of her heel, her expression full of disgust. "What kind of act are you putting on now?" She rolled the zero-score paper into a tube and struck my shoulder with it. "You think a bit of fake blood is going to get you out of copying this paper a hundred times?" There was no response. I didn't move at all, letting her kick and hit me. "Cecelia Thorne, my patience has limits." Mom's voice rose, anger tightly restrained beneath it. "Get up right now and go to the office to redo this paper." She reached down to grab my arm, but the moment her fingers made contact, she froze. My skin was cold—completely devoid of the warmth of a living body. My limbs were rigid. "Why… Why are you so cold?" She recoiled as if shocked, a flicker of panic flashing through her eyes. But just as quickly, it was smothered by her ingrained certainty. "You're lying on the floor dressed like that. Of course you're cold." She let out a cold laugh and straightened. "That kind of trick won't work on me. Even if you freeze to death here today, you're still finishing that paper." At that moment, Olivia passed by the corridor. She was holding a few sheets of unused scratch paper. When she leaned in and glanced into the spare classroom, she froze. Just one look, and the papers slipped from her hands, scattering across the floor.