I woke up with the taste of smoke in my mouth. Not real smoke—memory smoke. The rooftop party still clung to me like a second skin. My clothes smelled like liquor and strangers' perfume. My lips were raw from his kiss. My head wasn't aching, but my chest was.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for my pulse to slow, but it wouldn't. Every time I blinked, I saw his face, his stupid grin when he pulled me closer in front of everyone, as if I belonged to him already. My stomach turned. I hated myself for not stopping him. I hated how part of me didn't want to.
The sheets felt rougher than usual. I'd twisted them during the night, tossing like I was trying to fight something off in my sleep. My arms ached, as if they'd held on too tight.
I told myself it was just a kiss. A moment. Nothing more. But the lie was too weak. I knew better.
I dragged myself up, my body heavy like I'd been carrying someone on my back. The mirror didn't lie. My eyes were red, not from tears but from sleeplessness. My skin looked pale under the bathroom light. I pressed my palms against the sink, staring at the stranger staring back at me.
"What are you doing?" I whispered. My voice was hoarse. I didn't answer myself.
The day didn't let me breathe. School was waiting, sharp and unforgiving.
I walked into the lecture hall with my hood up, but whispers move faster than footsteps. I heard them—the girls who'd been there last night, the ones who watched me get pulled into his orbit. Their eyes tracked me like I was carrying stolen gold. Their smirks said they already knew everything.
I sat in the back, trying to shrink into the chair. My notes blurred. The professor's words were noise. I couldn't hear him over the replay in my head—his hand on the small of my back, his breath brushing my ear.
Every time I looked down, my phone buzzed. Messages from unknown numbers, pictures from the party already circulating. Him holding me. My face tilted up toward his. Frozen moments that made it look like I was his, like I wanted it. I wanted to smash the phone against the wall. Instead, I locked the screen and shoved it into my bag.
At lunch, I didn't sit in the cafeteria. I hid outside, on the steps near the library. The cold concrete bit into me, but at least it was quiet. I unwrapped the sandwich I'd made at home, but I couldn't swallow. My stomach felt like it was tied in knots.
That's when his shadow fell across me.
"You're avoiding me."
His voice was casual, but I heard the edge underneath. I looked up, and there he was—Jamie, perfect as ever, standing against the sun like he owned the ground beneath him. His hair looked like it had been touched by light itself. His smile was smaller now, cautious, almost curious.
I hated how my throat went dry.
"I'm eating," I said flatly, taking a bite I couldn't even chew properly.
He sat down anyway, too close. His cologne was still the same as last night—sharp, expensive, and impossible to ignore.
"You left early," he said.
"I was tired."
He leaned back on his elbows, watching me like I was something on display. "You didn't look tired."
The bite of sandwich sat like a stone in my mouth. I swallowed hard and stared straight ahead. "What do you want?"
He chuckled softly. "You make it sound like I'm chasing you."
"You are."
He didn't deny it. His silence was worse.
The day dragged on. Every corner of campus seemed to hold his shadow now. Every whispered laugh felt like it was about me. I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself I was stronger than this. But when I got home, I closed the door and slid down against it, my chest heaving as if I'd just outrun something.
I thought about calling someone, but who? My foster family would only ask why I'd been at a party like that in the first place. They'd scold me, not comfort me. I had no one else.
So I sat there on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, trying to breathe.
Night came too quickly. I tried reading, but the words blurred. I tried studying, but the cases slipped away from me. Everything circled back to him. His grin. His hand. His kiss.
It wasn't just that he kissed me. It was that he kissed me like I was his, like I didn't get a choice. And I hated myself for not pushing him away hard enough. I hated the warmth that still lingered on my lips.
I went to bed early, but sleep didn't come. Every sound outside made me sit up. A car door. A dog barking. Footsteps that weren't there. I felt watched, even in my own room.
And then my phone buzzed again. A new message.
Did you think you could hide from me?
No name. No picture. Just words. But I knew who it was.
My chest tightened. My hands shook as I typed back: Leave me alone.
The reply came instantly. I can't.
I threw the phone across the bed and buried my face in the pillow. My heart hammered so hard it hurt.
....
The next morning was worse. I walked into school and it felt like the air itself had changed. People didn't just look at me—they stared. Some smirked. Some whispered. I caught pieces.
"She's with him now."
"Did you see the pictures?"
"She doesn't look like his type."
"She looks like a project."
I clenched my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms.
By the third class, I couldn't take it anymore. I left. I didn't even pack my things. I just walked out of the building and kept walking until my legs burned. The city moved around me, loud and indifferent. Cars honked. People brushed past me without a glance. I wanted to scream just to prove I existed.
I ended up in a small coffee shop, the kind no one cool ever goes to. The air smelled like burnt beans and old wood. I ordered tea and sat in the corner, staring at the steam until it disappeared.
For a moment, I almost felt invisible again. Safe.
But the door opened, and the bell above it chimed. My body stiffened before I even looked up. I knew.
He slid into the seat across from me without asking.
"You're running again," he said.
I stared at him, anger boiling under my skin. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
His smile was faint, almost sad. "Because I don't want to."
The words hung there, heavy, dangerous. My pulse raced. My tea went cold.
That night, I didn't cry. I thought I would, but I didn't. I sat at my desk, staring at my notes, forcing myself to breathe steady.
I told myself this was temporary. That he'd get bored. That the whispers would fade. That I'd go back to being invisible soon enough.
But deep down, I knew I was lying. Nothing about him felt temporary. He was a storm, and I was already caught in it.
And I wasn't sure I'd make it out alive.