I walked into Briarwood like a ghost in my own skin.
The corridors echoed with voices, laughter, gossip, footsteps, everything felt too loud.
Too alive.
While I was still trying to remember what it felt like to be human.
I could feel them before I saw them.
The stares.
The smirks.
The pity in some eyes, the cruelty in others.
"That's her."
"Didn't you hear? She blacked out in the senior house."
"They say she was begging for it."
"Freaking mess, man."
"That bitch, she's for the streets"
"slut"
My fists clenched around the straps of my bag. I didn't cry. I refused to. Not in front of them.
I hugged my books to my chest as if it would protect me from the bullets of their nasty words.
I kept my eyes straight ahead, heart thudding like it was trying to beat its way out of my system..
Classroom 3B. Math. First period. I slid in just before the bell rang.
Of course the only seat left… was the one in front of him.
Daniel Cruz.
The boy who was always too perfect. Too rich. Too charming. Too unreadable.
He looked up from his notebook as I approached. Our eyes met briefly. He didn't flinch. Didn't laugh. Didn't do what everyone else had done since Saturday night.
He just looked.
And something about that bothered me more than the whispers.
I sat down, pulling my hoodie tighter. My skin still felt tainted. Like his hands were still on me.
Whoever he was.
The teacher's voice was distant, like background noise in a movie I wasn't part of. I couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe right.
And then…
"You okay?" a voice behind me whispered.
Daniel.
I froze.
Why the hell was he talking to me?
I said nothing. Just kept my head down. But he didn't stop.
"Ignore them. They're assholes."
"You don't look okay."
"If you need help catching up, I've got last week's notes."
I turned slightly, eyes narrow.
"Why do you care?" I whispered back
He paused.
"Because no one else does."
His voice was soft. Too soft. Like he knew something. Like he was trying too hard not to show it.
I turned away before I said something stupid. Or cried.
The rest of the class dragged on like hell on slow motion.
When the bell finally rang, I bolted. But of course, he followed.
"Ava, wait."
I stopped halfway down the hallway, spine stiff, heart racing.
"Were you at the party?" I asked before he could say another word.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah… but I didn't stay long. You looked like you were having fun though."
I stared at him.
There it was again, that smirk. Too calm. Too polished. Too... wrong.
He remembered how I looked?
I felt a flicker of nausea crawl up my throat.
"I don't remember much." I muttered.
He tilted his head.
"Maybe that's a good thing."
What the hell did that mean?
"Anyway," he added, stepping back, "if you ever wanna talk… I'm around."
Then he turned and walked away.
And I stood there in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by people, yet feeling completely alone.
But I noticed something.
He never asked me if I was okay again.
He just said he was there if I wanted to talk.
As if he already knew what I might say.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, lazy circles like it was mocking me. Aunt Grace had gone quiet again after our last fight.
it was her way. Explode, then pretend nothing happened. No apology. No concern. Just silence thick enough to drown in.
I hated it.
I rolled over, clutching my pillow like it could protect me. But nothing could.
Because every time I closed my eyes… I was back there.
Not fully.
Just… flashes.
My dress bunched up.
Laughter.
The strobe lights blinding.
A hand over my mouth.
His cologne strong, spicy, foreign.
My throat burning from the drink.
Pain.
Pressure.
Darkness.
I gasped and sat up, soaked in sweat.
It wasn't a dream.
It was a memory.
My body remembered what my mind refused to see
I dragged myself to the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared at my reflection.
Eyes dead.
Lips chapped.
Skin pale.
I didn't recognize her anymore.
As I leaned over the sink, I smelled it, his cologne.
That exact scent.
Not in my head this time.
I whipped around.
There was nothing there.
But it clung to the air like smoke.
It haunted me the entire night.
Next morning. Briarwood High.
I walked into school like I was walking into a crime scene.
Because maybe I was.
My locker door creaked open. I reached in and froze.
There was a note inside.
No name.
Just one line:
"You looked beautiful that night."
I stood still, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear the hallway noise.
What the Fuck!?
Who the fuck put this here?
I looked around. Dozens of faces. Boys laughing. Girls whispering. But none of them looking at me.
Then I saw him again. Daniel Cruz.
Leaning against the wall near the vending machine, his eyes locked on mine like he'd been waiting.
I slammed the locker shut and walked away.
I couldn't breathe.
Was he playing some sick game?
Was he just watching me fall apart for fun?
Later at the cafeteria.
I sat alone. My tray untouched. Hunger was a foreign language now.
Daniel approached slowly, with a bottled drink in hand.
"Peace offering," he said, placing it in front of me.
I didn't touch it.
He sat across from me.
"You looked pale this morning."
"You keep watching me," I snapped.
He smiled. "Maybe I just care."
"I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to."
I leaned in, voice low. "Someone left a note in my locker."
His smile faded.
"Anonymous. Said I looked beautiful that night," I added, staring hard.
Daniel didn't flinch. Just tilted his head.
"What night?"
"Don't play dumb."
He paused. "Lots of guys were at that party, Ava. Could've been anyone."
"Were you there when I passed out?"
Silence.
Then he said softly, " Even If I was… what difference would it make Ava?"
It sounded rehearsed.
Like he'd practiced it.
And yet… a part of me wanted to really believe him.
Because the alternative was terrifying.