You’d practically vibrated through the front doors, a giddy, electric energy in your step that had propelled you past the water fountain, past the chipped trophy case, past the cluster of freshmen huddling by the art room. The weekend had been a desert of silence, a landscape of unanswered questions. But now it was Monday, and you were about to see Eddie.

Your locker door swung open with a familiar, metallic groan. You didn’t bother with the delicate art of organization. Textbooks and binders were shoved into your bag with reckless abandon, a physics final be damned. A smile was already stretching your cheeks, a giddy anticipation warming your chest as you pictured the lopsided grin he'd give you, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners.

You turned, your sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, your gaze already sweeping down the hall toward his usual spot. And then you stopped.

The world tilted, just a little.

Eddie was there, a lanky silhouette against the dented metal of his own locker. But there was no crowd around him, no boisterous laughter echoing off the lockers. He wasn't looking for you.

He was talking to Lottie.

Your smile crumbled, the warmth in your chest turning to a cold, sour stone that dropped into your stomach. There she was, a vision of shiny, curled hair and a perfectly applied glossed smile. She stood just a breath too close to him, her head tilted back, a peal of manufactured laughter that seemed designed to be heard.

You knew that pose. You’d seen it for weeks now. The arm touching his sleeve during a story, the fake startled stumble that left her hand on his chest, the way she’d find any excuse to linger near him after Hellfire club meetings. She was a perfectly painted picture of obsession, and you were the uncomfortable audience.

Eddie had said she was nothing. Just a girl who didn't know how to take a hint. He said he loved you. He said you were the only one.

So why did it feel like there was a shard of glass in your throat?

Why did that small, treacherous voice in the back of your head—the one you hated with every fiber of your being—whisper a venomous what if?

You stood frozen in the flow of students, a stone in the river, watching the scene unfold a hundred feet away. The fluorescent light above flickered, casting a momentary, anxious shadow over the both of them.