---
Maya didn't sleep that night.
How could she?
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Elias's mouth on hers.
His breath. His hands. His voice in her ear, soft like a knife in velvet.
> "You're poison."
"And you're already drunk on me."
It wasn't just a kiss anymore.
It was a warning.
And a promise.
---
The next morning, she wore a turtleneck to hide the marks — not that there were any visible. No bruises. No fingerprints. But somehow, she still felt owned.
Claimed.
Her lips still tingled.
Her heart still raced.
And every time she passed a locker or corner where he might be waiting, her breath caught in her throat.
But he wasn't there.
Not in the hallways.
Not in class.
Not even near the gym where he usually lingered, too cool to care and too cold to smile.
He vanished.
And that scared her more than anything.
---
It wasn't until seventh period that she saw him again.
Not in a hallway.
Not in the courtyard.
In the nurse's office.
She'd gone to drop off some records for the office assistant, a task she volunteered for to escape class. But when she turned the corner, she saw him sitting on the cot.
Alone.
Shirt slightly unbuttoned.
And blood on his knuckles.
Her breath caught. She ducked behind the doorway, heart hammering.
The nurse was out of the room.
Elias sat perfectly still. His left hand rested on his knee, wrapped in a paper towel that was already turning red. He looked... exhausted. Pale. Beautiful in the way broken things are.
Maya stepped forward before she could stop herself.
He didn't look up when she spoke.
"What happened?"
Silence.
Then: "Why do you care?"
"I don't," she said quickly. "I just—your hand—"
"You always ask the wrong questions, Mouse."
He finally looked at her. His eyes were dull. Bruised.
"You should be asking who."
Her stomach turned. "Who?"
"Jax."
Her eyes widened. "You fought your friend?"
"Wasn't much of a fight," Elias muttered. "He ran his mouth about you again. I fixed it."
She swallowed. "What did he say?"
His jaw flexed.
"He said I wouldn't last a week before dumping you. That you're desperate. Easy. That I should get it over with and move on."
Maya's face flushed, equal parts fury and shame. "And you hit him for that?"
"I hit him," Elias said, standing slowly, "because he doesn't get to talk about what's mine."
Maya stepped back. "I'm not yours."
"You kissed me in detention," he said, voice low, approaching her now. "Twice."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means you gave me permission."
She glared at him, heart pounding. "To what? Own me?"
His expression flickered. He was close now. Close enough that she could smell the sharpness of antiseptic on his skin, the faint metallic tang of blood, the coldness that lived under his warmth.
"To protect you," he said finally.
That stunned her.
"You think this is protection?"
"I think it's the only kind of protection I know."
She stared at him, and for a moment — just a breath — he looked like the boy Mira once loved. Not the monster he'd become.
Then he touched her wrist.
And everything changed.
His thumb traced slow circles on the inside of her wrist, just light enough to make her shiver.
"You let me touch you," he whispered. "Again."
"I—"
"Your boundaries are paper, Maya. And I'm the match."
She yanked her hand back. "You can't keep doing this."
"I can."
His voice was calm now. Icy.
"You'll let me. Because you want someone to punish you. And I'm really fucking good at that."
She slapped him.
Hard.
The sound echoed in the quiet office like thunder.
Elias didn't flinch.
He just smiled.
Not because it didn't hurt.
But because it did.
"You finally touched me first," he murmured. "Maybe next time it'll be kinder."
Maya turned and ran.
She didn't stop running until she was outside, rain pouring again, thunder cracking.
And in her heart?
She knew the line between obsession and destruction had just been crossed.
---