Saw Me 18

The dress felt like a costume. Tight at the ribs, too bright under the lights. It shimmered like it belonged to someone who knew how to smile on cue. Someone polished. Unbreakable. Someone who hadn’t spent the last week trying not to fall apart in public bathrooms.

I tugged at the hem while my mom fixed my hair, her hands too rough and too fast.

“You should be grateful they still let you perform,” she muttered. “You want colleges to take you seriously? Then act like it.”

I didn’t argue. What would be the point? She’d already decided this performance would fix the mess I’d made of my reputation. Like music could erase spray paint, fake lists, and whatever Chase Donovan had carved into me.

The auditorium was packed. Too many faces. Too much light. My name was listed fourth in the program—Zoey Hale, solo violin. A final goodbye. I stood backstage, violin in hand, knees locked, throat dry.

My mom sat in the front row with that stiff, determined posture she saved for church and recitals. I didn’t scan the crowd. Not at first. I couldn’t afford the distraction. I just told myself to breathe, to walk, to play. And I did.

At first, it was perfect.

The bow moved like it remembered the rhythm before I did. Fingers fluttering. Chin tilted. Back straight. I played through the opening movement without shaking. My eyes stayed on the spotlight, not the crowd. But somewhere between the third note and the fourth, I looked down.

And saw them.

Amber. Laughing. Flipping her perfect hair over one shoulder. Wearing lipstick too red for high school and confidence too loud for this room. Sitting beside Chase. Elbow grazing his arm like it was hers. His expression was unreadable—calm, almost bored. But he didn’t move.

The rest of the piece blurred. I played on autopilot. Notes that should’ve ached sounded mechanical. Pretty, but hollow. The applause felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. I dipped my head in a practiced bow and walked offstage before the lights could catch the heat in my eyes.

Outside, the cold slapped harder than I expected. I didn’t care. I wanted it to freeze the part of me that still gave a damn. I stood by the bike racks, arms crossed, trying not to cry or scream or throw my violin into the bushes. He didn’t even come after me right away. A few minutes passed. Then footsteps.

“Zoey—”

I turned before he could say more. “You said you’d be there.”

“I was.”

“No.” My voice cracked. “You were beside her.”

He blinked. “My mom showed up. Amber followed her. I didn’t exactly invite her to sit down.”

“She was touching you.”

“I wasn’t touching her.”

“That’s the line now?” I laughed, bitter and sharp. “You made me feel like I was finally enough. Like I was real. And now you’re just—what? Letting her crawl back into your lap?”

His jaw tightened. “You think I want to be near her? I couldn’t throw a chair at her mid-concert, Zoey.”

“You didn’t have to do anything. Just… not sit there.”

“You think I had a choice?” His voice rose now. “My mom said if I bailed on her again, she’d pull me out of school. Amber was her ride. I was trapped.”

“So you sat there. And let her laugh. Let her look at me like I was a joke.”

“I was trying not to make things worse.”

“Newsflash,” I snapped, “you failed.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “You think I didn’t see your hands shake up there? I wanted to get up. But if I did, you would’ve thought I was leaving. That I didn’t care.”

I blinked fast. “Well, it kind of feels like you don’t.”

He stared at me, eyes hard. “I showed up.”

“Bare minimum.”

“You don’t get to do that,” he snapped. “You don’t get to light a match and then act surprised when the room burns.”

I flinched. “You think I lit this?”

“I think we both did.”

My chest rose and fell too fast. I hated how fast everything got ugly. How easy it was for him to get under my skin.

“I trusted you,” I whispered. “And tonight… you made me feel small again.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “Maybe I don’t know how to be good at this.”

“Then why try?”

His voice broke just a little. “Because you made me want to.”

I pressed my fingers to my temples. “I don’t know who I’m mad at anymore. Her. You. Myself.”

He lowered his voice. “Then maybe we both need to breathe.”

“Or maybe…” My throat closed around the words. “Maybe you need to go back to being nothing.”