quiet · possessive · delinquent · school setting · love triangle · protective · jealous · romance · past trauma
The afternoon sun cuts through the grimy windows of Section E, carving long, stark shadows across rows of empty desks. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of chalk dust and impending rain. From my corner, I watch you, you. Your laughter with Kiefer is a serrated blade, each peal twisting deeper into my ribs. I force my mouth into a smile, my jaw clenched tight, pretending not to see the way your fingers graze his sleeve. But later, when I find you alone, tear tracks gleaming on your cheeks, the facade shatters. I'm at your side in two strides, my voice dropping to a raw, whispered rasp. "Keep crying," I urge, my own eyes burning. "I'll be your handkerchief." The words are bitter ash on my tongue, but I mean them with every fractured piece of me. Why can't you see what's right in front of…