POV: Chase
I don’t plan to confront Scott.
I tell myself that as I cross the quad, jaw tight, hands shoved deep into my pockets like that might keep them from shaking. I tell myself I’m just trying to get to class. I tell myself I can keep my head down, stay invisible, survive the rest of the semester without blowing everything up again.
Then I hear his voice.
“Careful, man,” Scott says somewhere behind me. “Wouldn’t want another incident on your record.”
The word incident lands like a match struck inside my chest.
I stop walking.
My pulse is loud in my ears, each beat sharp and angry. I can feel the heat building, the familiar pressure crawling up my spine. This is how it always starts—small, controlled, a spark pretending it’s nothing.
I turn around.
Scott is standing with two guys from his program, leaning back against a low stone wall like he belongs there. Like he owns the space. His grin is lazy, practiced, cruel in a way that doesn’t need to raise its voice to be effective.
“Didn’t hear you,” I say flatly.
He shrugs. “Didn’t mean to be subtle.”
The guys with him glance between us, sensing something off. One of them clears his throat. “We should go.”
Scott waves him off. “Relax. We’re just talking.”
I take a step closer. “Say what you want to say.”
His eyes gleam. “You sure? Last time that didn’t end great for you.”
Something in my jaw cracks.
“You don’t get to bait me and then act surprised when I react,” I snap.
“Oh, I absolutely do,” he replies lightly. “Because you always do.”
The truth of it makes my stomach twist.
“You think this is funny?” I ask.
“I think it’s interesting,” he says. “Seeing how far you’ve fallen.”
I laugh, short and humorless. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
“I know enough,” he replies. “Still stuck here. Still angry. Still blaming everyone else.”
My hands curl into fists again, nails biting into skin. I force myself to unclench them.
“Say what you actually mean,” I tell him. “Stop dancing around it.”
Scott steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “I mean that you walked out of that place and Eli didn’t. And no amount of college classes or girlfriends is going to change that.”
The world narrows.
I see Eli’s face—too young, too trusting. I hear his laugh echoing down concrete halls, the way he used to tell me we’d get out together. The promise I didn’t keep.
“You don’t get to say his name,” I say, voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady.
“I knew him longer than you think,” Scott replies. “And he talked about you all the time.”
My chest tightens painfully. “Stop.”
“He said you were the smart one,” Scott continues, relentless. “The one who’d make it out. Guess he was right.”
Rage flares, white-hot and blinding.
“I didn’t leave him,” I growl. “You don’t know what happened.”
“Oh?” Scott tilts his head. “Then tell me. Tell me how you justified it.”
My vision blurs at the edges. I take another step forward, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to break through my ribs.
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say.
He smiles. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
I shove him.
Not hard enough to start a fight. Hard enough to draw a line.
His friends back up immediately, muttering curses. Scott steadies himself, eyes flashing.
“Careful,” he says softly. “You’re already on thin ice.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I snap.
“That’s funny,” he replies. “Because you look terrified.”
The word hits deeper than any insult.
“I’m not scared of you,” I repeat.
“No,” he says. “You’re scared of yourself.”
I freeze.
The truth lands like a blow to the chest.
“You think I don’t see it?” Scott continues. “You’re one bad day away from self-destructing, man. Always have been.”
Something snaps—not violently, not explosively. Just enough for clarity to cut through the fog.
“I didn’t survive to be your punching bag,” I say quietly. “And I’m not your redemption story either.”
Scott scoffs. “Redemption? You think you deserve that?”
I meet his gaze fully now, forcing myself not to look away. “I think I deserve to live.”
The words hang between us, raw and unpolished.
For a moment, Scott looks genuinely unsettled.
Then he laughs. “Good luck with that.”
He turns away, walking off with his friends, calling back over his shoulder, “Try not to ruin anyone else’s future on your way down.”
My legs feel weak as the adrenaline drains out of me. I stand there for a moment, breathing hard, my whole body buzzing with aftermath.
I don’t notice Zoey at first.
I only realize I’m not alone when I hear her voice.
“Chase?”
I turn.
She’s standing a few yards away, her bag slung over one shoulder, eyes wide with concern and something else I can’t quite name. She must’ve heard at least part of it. Enough.
“How long were you there?” I ask.
“Long enough,” she replies quietly.
Shame crawls up my spine.
“What was that?” she asks. “Who is he?”
I swallow. “No one.”
“That didn’t look like ‘no one,’” she says.
I look away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she insists. “He said Eli’s name.”
My jaw tightens.
“You said you wanted honesty,” she continues. “So tell me. Who is Scott?”
I shake my head. “Not now.”
“Chase,” she presses, stepping closer. “You’re spiraling, and I don’t know why. I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”
“I don’t want your help,” I snap immediately, the words sharp and defensive.
Her face falls slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” I say. “And I’m telling you to drop it.”
She crosses her arms, hurt flashing across her features. “Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not,” I reply. “I’m protecting myself.”
“From what?” she asks softly.
From the truth, I think.
From the part of me that never healed. From the guilt that keeps rotting everything I touch. From the knowledge that no matter how hard I try to move forward, the past keeps dragging me back by the throat.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I say instead.
She stiffens. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide for me what I can handle,” she says. “You keep shutting me out and then acting surprised when I feel distant.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over. “This isn’t about you.”
She flinches. “Everything becomes about me when it affects our life.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
I look at her—really look at her. She looks tired. Worn down. Like she’s been carrying weight that isn’t hers. The realization makes my chest ache.
“I don’t want to talk about Eli,” I say finally. “Ever.”
Her eyes soften. “That’s not healthy.”
“I didn’t ask for your diagnosis,” I snap.
She takes a step back, hurt and anger warring on her face. “You’re punishing me for wanting to understand you.”
“I’m trying to survive,” I fire back. “You think I don’t know how bad things are? You think I don’t hear the whispers? You think I don’t feel like a failure every time I look at you and see how far ahead you are?”
The words spill out before I can stop them.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
“I’m drowning,” I continue, voice shaking. “And every time I try to grab onto something, it slips away.”
She looks like she might cry. “Then let me in.”
I shake my head violently. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if you see all of it,” I say, the confession tearing out of me, “you’ll leave.”
Silence falls between us, heavy and unforgiving.
“I’m already halfway gone,” she says quietly.
The words gut me.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“Neither is this,” she replies. “You won’t tell me what’s hurting you, but you keep bleeding all over our relationship.”
I look away, my throat tight. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
She nods slowly, tears glistening in her eyes. “Okay.”
The finality in her voice scares me more than anything Scott said.
“I need space,” she adds. “Not silence. Space.”
I don’t trust myself to respond.
She turns and walks away, her steps steady despite the tension radiating from her. I watch her go, a hollow ache spreading through my chest.
I want to call after her. I want to tell her everything—to explain Eli, the guilt, the fear, the way Scott knows exactly where to dig the knife.
But the words stay trapped behind my teeth.