Chapter 15
Jul 18, 2025
The message came just before lunch. Just five words.
Can we talk after school?
No name. No emojis. But I didn’t need any. I knew that number like a scar—healed over, but never forgotten. I stared at it for too long, phone clutched tight enough to crack. I didn’t reply. We both knew I would show up.
When the final bell rang, the halls emptied too slowly. Voices blurred together. Lockers slammed like gunshots. My feet carried me to the theater room on autopilot, back to a stage that used to feel like a home and now felt more like a grave. The place where we first kissed. Where he called me his. Where he broke me without caring.
The lights were off when I stepped in. Dust hovered in the sunbeams slicing through the curtains. Faded posters clung to the walls like memories I didn’t want.
Miles stood by the edge of the stage—casual, composed, hands in pockets like he hadn’t ripped me open and walked away.
“You came,” he said, voice lower than I remembered. Or maybe just heavier.
“You texted,” I answered, arms folded so tightly across my chest I could feel my nails digging into skin.
His eyes dragged over me like they had a right to. “You look different.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Miles didn’t flinch. “I mean it. You look… grown.”
I tilted my head. “You mean less obedient?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.”
He stepped closer, slow, like I was a wild animal he didn’t want to scare off. “I miss you.”
“No,” I said, heat curling beneath my ribs. “You miss control.”
He blinked, caught off guard.
“You miss the version of me that worshipped you. The one who made you feel like a man just for existing. That girl’s dead, Miles. You buried her.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, I think it is.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t let it fall. “You didn’t want me until I stopped needing you.”
He took another step. “I didn’t know how to handle you.”
“You didn’t want to try.”
“That’s not—” He stopped. Frustrated. “I made a mistake.”
“No, Miles. You made a choice.” My voice lowered. “You chose Amber. You chose excitement. You chose easy.”
He reached out like he could still touch me. Like his hands hadn’t turned cold the second people were watching. “I just want to fix it.”
“You can’t fix what you never understood.”
“Zoey—please. I—”
“You don’t miss me,” I said, soft but steel. “You miss the girl who did whatever you wanted.”
His face crumpled. For a second, I thought he might cry. But he didn’t. Because that would require him to feel something deeper than regret. And he’d never been that brave.
“Let me prove—”
“No.” My voice landed like a slap.
He blinked, stunned silent.
I turned, walked down the aisle like I hadn’t just set fire to every version of us. The air felt heavier with each step, but I didn’t slow.
Outside the classroom, I leaned against the wall for a second. Just breathing. Just trying not to fall apart in the hallway like some cliché.
And that’s when I heard it—footsteps, low and steady. I looked up.
Chase.
Hands in his pockets. Hoodie on. Eyes already locked on me like he knew the exact second I stopped pretending I was fine.
Of course he showed up now.
He always had perfect timing—for better or worse.
He leaned against the locker bank, arms crossed like he’d been there all along. Watching. Waiting. Eyes locked on me like I was the last honest thing in a world full of plastic smiles.
“You always this dramatic?” I asked, stopping just short of him.
“I read the fake list,” he said, like it was the weather.
My throat tightened. “Okay.”
“Didn’t believe it.”
The tension snapped in my chest. “Why?”
He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “Because the real one was already unhinged enough.”
A breath escaped—somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”
“You like that about me.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “I don’t.”
“You sure?” he asked, closing the space. “Because you’ve been looking at me like I’m the answer to a question you don’t want to admit you’re asking.”
My heart thundered in my ears. “And what question is that?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “What happens when you stop pretending you’re not already mine.”
The words landed like a punch.
And then he kissed me.
In the open. In full view of whoever might be lurking around the corner. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t sweet. It was a confession. A war cry. A middle finger to every whisper that said I wasn’t allowed to want.
My back hit the lockers with a thud. His hands found my waist. Mine buried in his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me upright. Our mouths moved in sync—desperate, tangled, reckless. There was nothing patient about it. No caution. Just heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that burned everything else to ash.
Someone down the hall coughed.
He didn’t stop.
Neither did I.
By the time we pulled apart, my lipstick was gone and my knees barely worked. His forehead rested against mine, breath ragged.
“Still think I’m pretending?” I whispered.
His lips curved against mine. “Not anymore.”
