A song imprinted on every edge of my mind. In every dark corner of my soul. A song sung often, but every time you listen, you discover a little more. Resent a little less.
And Mason Ross, you were that song. You were the most haunting song of all.
Did we ever really know you at all?
The rest of the melody you carried with you to the grave. All your secrets. All the parts of you we never touched.
It’s easier to be furious than to admit you’re broken.
With that in mind, I exhale slowly, my breath shaky but steadying. I push myself to my feet, ignoring the physical discomfort.
I can’t change what’s already happened, but I can choose how I move forward from here. With another heavy sigh, I make my way to the bathroom.
I don’t know how long I’m there for, or how much longer I will remain. I take all the time I need to gather the pieces of myself before leaving—one broken shard at a time.
I welcome them home like they’re old friends.
***
The fall will leave bruises—I already know that. Probably more than a few. But bruises are easy to hide. It’s simply a matter of what clothes to wear.
As the train pulls into the station near my school, I brace myself for what’s coming, already feeling the regret settle low in my gut. I’m screwed. I grit my teeth as I stumble onto the platform, my knees wobbling under the pressure. Each step is like a damn shockwave rushing through my body.
It hurts like hell, to say the least.
By the time I reach the school, I know I’ve missed most of the first lesson. The hallways are eerily quiet, and it makes me feel significantly more exposed to everything else. Vulnerable.
Deciding that facing a classroom full of curious eyes is more than I can bear, I opt to avoid the inevitable. Instead, I promise myself I’ll apologize to the teacher after.
I pass by lockers upon lockers. So many, and I don’t even know where my own is.
Finally, I stop and lean against one. The cool metal presses into my back. Once again, it doesn’t do much. My body’s exhausted, worn down in ways it never has been before. Even from starvation and sleep deprivation. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt this wrecked.
Before I know it, I’m sinking to the floor. My knees give out, and I fold in on myself, resting my forehead on my arms.
I just need a minute, I promise myself.
One moment to block out the noise in my head.
Although I don’t get much of that time, because one moment it’s completely silent, and the next I hear footsteps. I freeze. The footsteps draw closer, each one making my pulse quicken.
When I lift my head, I see Will Carson walking toward me, his pale hair catching the harsh fluorescent light, making it seem even whiter than usual.
Is that really his natural hair?
Not just his hair, but his skin reminds me of marble in this light. Of course, there really isn’t anything else that’s light or fragile about him.
His gaze already is locked on me like he’s been watching for a while, and I stay still, hoping he’ll keep going, but I know better.
He’s not the kind of person who lets things slide.
I push myself upright, ignoring the sharp pain that flares in my legs. My breath is ragged, but I force it to slow. Will doesn’t speak as I steady myself. He just watches, his expressionunreadable, his eyes are lined with black eyeliner today, and it makes him all the more intimidating as they drill into me.
I meet his gaze, and my muscles tense. “How long have you been standing there?”
He tilts his head, his mouth twitching like the beginning of a grin. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn from a face that doesn’t know it’s being watched.”
His eyes drop to the scar on my cheek. Slowly, he raises a hand and touches the edge of it, his fingers light. Light but not tender, and his rings are cold against my skin. His gaze narrows as he traces the line like he’s testing the shape of it. His expression doesn’t change. It’s like he’s cataloguing it, trying to decide what it means.
