My glasses arethe perfect distraction at school on Monday. Everyday objects look fresh and new, details magnifying or retreating at a single nod or shake of my head. Walking is a breeze and so is finding my locker without feeling for the raised numbers.
I don’t have time to relive the sharp shot of jealousy when Damien suggested he find another girl. Not when I’m training my glasses to read the teacher’s scribbles from the electronic whiteboard. I can’t dwell on my insistence he use me instead when I’m memorising touch commands.
During the change for second period, I pass Damien in the hallway and almost stop walking. His wide-set eyes sparkle with cold intelligence; curls of dark hair fall across his forehead.
My gaze follows the precise line of his jaw.
Before, his attractiveness was abstract just like anything beyond my standard visual range. Now it captures my attention.
It’s only when I’m eating lunch alone that I think about how Damien set me up on Saturday night. He set me up good, but it only worked because I already wanted him that way.
Now I can’t get it out of my head.
The mindlessness of his pure animal pursuit… each flashback leaves my body trembling. The raw panic of sprinting through the forest, footsteps closing in, branches whipping my face or catching in my hair like they were in partnership with my pursuer.
My fingers curl like they’re clawing into the mulch of dropped needles again, every muscle shaking.
Damien’s already seated when I arrive at music class and slip into the next desk along. When he turns my way, his ribs brush against the desk edge and he winces. There’s a mottled shadow under his jaw.
“Are you okay?”
“Always, Snowflake.” He wears a gentler smile than usual. “Just got more exercise than expected over the weekend.” His eyes cut across to mine. “Thought I might take up running.”
Despite the humour, he remains subdued throughout class, enough that when the bell goes, I wonder again what he’s going home to.
Rather than bus, I walk through the park, amused by Cam’s clumsy footsteps following behind me. And instead of heading straight home, I drop into the dingy pawn shop again. The guy behind the counter is the same and doesn’t question me when I ask for a replacement canister of spray.
“And do you have anything small for recording video? Like a wire or something?”
He holds up a finger and disappears out the back, returning with a small array of electronics. “This one clips to your collar,” he explains, pushing it forward as the best option. “And it’s self-contained. You sync the files to your phone or laptop later.”
A perfect option since Damien will check my phone again. “I’ll take it.”
On Tuesday, a finger drags across my hip when I pass Damien in the corridor, but the touch is so light, I’m half convinced it’s my imagination.
When we pair off in music, analysing Penderecki’s Threnody, my senses react as much to his proximity as the nerve-tightening score. His promise from last week echoes on repeat.I’ll put you on your knees for this.
By lunchtime Wednesday, my body is chaotic with anticipation.
Again, I hide in the condemned bike sheds, past the flapping tarpaulin. The corrugated iron roof sags above me, rust blooming through peeling strips of light green paint. Probably leaded.
I methodically eat my sandwich, not tasting anything while my new glasses sharpen features I’d rather not see. Black mould, cigarette butts, the brittle skin of a used condom.
I’m doomscrolling on my phone when his footsteps crunch across the gravel.
My spine goes rigid. I’d recognise his gait anywhere.
Damien fills the doorway, blocking most of the light. “There you are, Snowflake.” He glances around, face scrunching in revulsion. “Remind me to never let you select a picnic spot. This is disgusting.”
He steps inside, and the shed shrinks around us. “Phone.”
“Why? It’s not recording.” I show him the screen.
“Because I said so.”
His eyebrow arches and his air of menace is far more effective now I see more clearly. I can’t look away from his pursing lips, tracing the upper line until it’s cemented in my memory.
“Unless you want to renegotiate our deal again in light of Saturday? Something tells me I’d get a much better deal today.”
