After class, she deliberately lingered by her locker, hoping he would pass without stopping. She told herself she didn't need the confrontation, didn't want the exchange.
But Jason didn't pass.
He stopped.
He leaned against the locker beside hers, the casual posture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "You didn't like the note?" he asked quietly.
Her heart hammered, but her voice came out steady. "I don't like being toyed with."
Jason's lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but into something sharper. "Neither do I."
The words struck deeper than she expected.
For a moment, they just stood there, inches apart, the hallway bustling with students who didn't notice the storm brewing in the silence between them.
Lily forced herself to close her locker, snapping the door shut harder than necessary. "Stay out of my way, Jason."
She tried to walk past him, but his voice followed her, soft and calm:
"You don't want that."
Her steps faltered, but she didn't turn. She couldn't.
Because he was right.
That night, Lily wrote furiously in her diary, her pen nearly tearing the paper.
He's dangerous. He sees too much. He pushes too close. I should end this. I should cut him out before he exposes me.
Her hand trembled. She forced herself to keep writing.
But when he looks at me, I feel alive. When he speaks, it feels like a confession—like he's handing me the blade to my own throat. And I want it. God, I want it.
She slammed the diary shut, shoving it into its hiding place beneath the loose floorboard. She pressed her palms against the wood, forcing herself to breathe.
Control yourself, Lily.
But the truth pulsed in her chest: she no longer wanted control.
The following week, Lily avoided him as best she could. She sat at the far side of classrooms, changed her route between periods, even skipped lunch once. Every step was resistance, every choice a way of clawing back her power.
But Jason didn't chase her. He didn't corner her or leave her notes.
He waited.
And his silence was worse than his words.
By Thursday, her nerves were frayed. Every shadow in the hallway felt like him, every glance in class felt heavier without his eyes on her. The absence gnawed at her until she realized, with horrifying clarity, that she missed it.
That night, she dreamed of him—his voice, his stare, his words curling like smoke in her ear.
When she woke, her body ached with longing and rage.
Friday.
She found him in the library, sitting alone at a corner table, a book open in front of him. He didn't look up when she approached, didn't acknowledge her until she sat down across from him.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Finally, Jason closed his book and looked at her. "Done resisting?"
Her jaw clenched. "I'm not resisting. I'm choosing."
His eyes studied her, calm, unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. "And what are you choosing?"
Lily leaned forward slightly, her voice low, sharp. "To decide when this game ends. Not you. Me."
Jason's lips curved, but this time it wasn't sharp. It was faintly amused. "Then decide."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to reach across the table, to claw at him, to kiss him, to tear him apart just to see what he looked like broken.
Instead, she whispered, "I hate you."
Jason's gaze darkened, but his voice was steady. "No. You don't."
The silence after that was unbearable. Their eyes locked, neither willing to break, neither able to step back.
In that silence, Lily realized the truth she had fought against for weeks.
She had already given in.
When she finally left the library, her legs felt unsteady. The night air outside was cool against her flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her.
Her mask had cracked—not in front of the world, but in front of him. And instead of fear, she felt something far more dangerous.
Relief.
Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't hiding alone.