Crystal's POV ·
The moment the pressure lifted from my shoulders, I sucked in a sharp breath. Pain throbbed down my arms, a deep ache pulsing under my skin. For a second, I genuinely thought Ethan had dislocated my shoulders. I rubbed the sore spots carefully, wincing as my fingers brushed over the angry tenderness blooming there.
But I barely had time to breathe before I saw Liam—jaw clenched, eyes blazing—take a step forward as if he was ready to launch another attack on Ethan.
Ethan, who was on the ground clutching his nose, blood slipping between his fingers.
"Liam, stop," I whispered harshly.
He didn't hear me.
He wanted more.
He wanted to break Ethan in half.
I grabbed his arm and yanked him back with whatever strength I had left.
"Liam, no. Let's go."
His glare stayed pinned on Ethan for three long seconds before he finally let me drag him away. I didn't want a crowd. I didn't want a scene. I didn't want this to get worse.
Ethan could recover on his own.
I didn't owe him anything else.
---
Liam pulled me into an empty classroom. The door clicked shut behind us, and before I could even speak, he gently tugged down the collar of my top just enough to expose the bruised areas.
His touch was surprisingly soft for someone who had just thrown a punch strong enough to knock someone out.
He didn't say anything at first. He simply uncapped an ointment bottle from his pocket—when did he even get that?—and rubbed it carefully over my sore shoulders.
The cooling sensation stung and soothed at the same time.
"You should stay away from Ethan," Liam muttered finally.
I didn't respond.
"He's unstable," he continued. "A guy who can't control his emotions is dangerous. What if he hurts you again? What if—"
"I'm already staying away," I cut in sharply.
His hands paused.
I lifted my eyes to meet his.
"I'm doing my best to avoid certain people," I said. "But some people just don't get the message."
Pain flickered in Liam's eyes.
Because we both knew I wasn't only talking about Ethan.
He swallowed hard, stepping back slightly. The hurt was obvious, almost too raw for someone like Liam who always masked himself behind quiet control.
But I didn't have the energy to care.
Not now.
Not today.
I just wanted peace. Silence. A life without boys dragging me into their storms.
Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, yes.
When he finished applying the ointment, I straightened my top, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the classroom without another word.
The day had drained every last drop of sanity I had.
I left school halfway through and headed home.
By eight in the evening, I found myself pacing my room like a trapped animal.
Sleep refused to come.
Thoughts kept spiraling.
My heart felt heavy. My shoulders ached. My mind was buzzing like static.
Finally, I stepped out of my room and told Olivia, "I'll be back soon."
"Crystal—it's late."
"I'll be quick," I said before she could ask more.
I wasn't someone who wandered at night. I wasn't someone who took risks like this.
But today… something inside me was unraveling.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting inside a dimly lit bar on Oakridge Street—the only bar on that road.
My legs had brought me here without permission.
The bartender raised a brow when I asked for something strong.
"Sure you can handle it?" he asked.
"I need it," I said.
And I meant it.
The first shot burned like liquid fire sliding down my throat. The second made my chest warm. By the third, my mind felt lighter, floating.
But after the fourth… everything tilted.
My legs felt heavy.
The room swayed gently like a boat on slow waves.
I blinked.
Nope.
This… this was not what I expected alcohol to feel like.
I reached for my phone and called Maya.
"Maya…" I slurred, "I'm in a little problem."
"Oh my God—Crystal, are you drunk?"
"I don't know the name of the bar," I mumbled. "But it's the only one… down Oakridge Street."
"Stay where you are. I'm coming."
When the call ended, I tried standing.
Big mistake.
My knees almost buckled, and I sat right back down.
I grabbed my bag and forced myself up again, wobbling toward the exit. The cold air outside slapped my face, but even that wasn't enough to steady me.
Then a man approached.
Older than me. Maybe twenty-four or twenty-five.
"Hey," he said with a smile that wasn't friendly. "You look like you need help. I can walk you home."
"I'm fine," I muttered.
He stepped closer. "Come on, don't be shy."
"No," I said again, louder this time. "I said I'm fine."
He didn't listen.
He grabbed my arm.
Something in me snapped.
Before he could pull me closer, I raised my left hand and landed a hard, angry, echoing slap across his face.
The sound cracked through the air.
He staggered back, stunned.
His shock melted into rage.
"You little—" he snarled, raising his hand to strike me back.
But before his palm could touch my face—
Another hand caught his wrist mid-air.
A strong grip.
A shadow taller than both of us loomed behind him.
Then—
A single punch.
Clean.
Hard.
Merciless.
The man fell flat to the ground and didn't move.
Passed out cold.
I blinked up…
At a huge, tall, sharply handsome stranger I've kinda seen before.