Tom's POV
"Oh." Her smile slipped, quick as a candle flame snuffed out. "Why not?" she asked, trying hard to mask it, but I saw it—disappointment leaking through the cracks in her tone. Because I'm not fucking stupid. Because I know Tyler, and I know I'm not supposed to believe this. Because I can't let myself want something that isn't real.
"I'm busy," I muttered instead. The lamest excuse in the book, but it was all I could manage. I slipped my wrist out of her grip, her fingers falling away like they'd never been there at all, and started walking. Each step away felt heavier than the last, but I didn't stop.
Still, I couldn't help it, I glanced back once. Her face was soft, open in a way I hadn't seen before. Not the confident, bubbly Imogen everyone else saw. This was something smaller. Sadder. Like for a moment, even she believed it was real. And that flicker, disappointment, maybe sadness, hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
Made me want this whole fucked-up thing to be real.
When I reached the gate, I didn't even have a chance to breathe before Tyler was on me. His hand shot out, grabbing my collar, and he slammed me back against the cold metal bars. The impact rattled down my spine, the clang echoing in my ears as kids still hanging around turned their heads but didn't dare get involved.
His nostrils flared like a fucking bull about to charge, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath. His eyes were wild—pure, unfiltered fury, boring into me like he could rip me apart with just his stare.
"What the fuck do you want now? I won't fall for your bullshit," I spat, my words sharp enough to cut my own tongue. My chest heaved, but I refused to look away. If he wanted to intimidate me, he'd have to do better than this.
His expression twisted, rage tightening every muscle in his face. He leaned in closer, his glare so intense I swore it burned.
"I'm warning you, Fisher," he snarled, his voice low, venomous, "your big fucking mouth is getting on my nerves. And it's taking everything in me not to fuck you up right now."
I clenched my jaw, my pulse hammering, and forced the words out through the fire in my throat. "Then what the fuck is stopping you?"
For a second, I thought he'd do it—that he'd slam me harder, swing his fist, make good on the threat that had been hanging between us since forever. My body braced for it, every muscle tight, ready to take the hit.
But he didn't.
Instead, with a rough shove, he let go of my collar. The sudden release nearly knocked me off balance, and I stumbled a step forward as he turned his back on me, storming away without another word.
The anger boiled in me, hot and bitter, until it felt like my skin could split open. I hated him. Hated the control he thought he had, hated the games, hated the way he poisoned everything around me.
I hated Tyler more than he'd ever know. More than I'd ever admit and even more than I could stand.
After that run-in with Tyler, I made myself a promise—a vow—that I'd steer clear of both of them. Tyler, who's made it his life's mission to hate me for reasons I'll never fucking understand, and Imogen, the sweet-faced little devil who, whether I wanted to believe it or not, was just another pawn in Tyler's sick game.
And to think I almost fell for it. Almost believed she wanted me. Almost convinced myself she was real. Not anymore. I'm smarter than that. I have to be.
The first week was easy enough. Avoiding her wasn't exactly rocket science when she barely showed up. Every day she was out, I told myself I was lucky. Safe. One less battle I had to fight.
By the second week, she was back around more—but I kept my distance like she was the fucking plague. No eye contact, no words, nothing. I'd see her in the halls, and I'd turn the other way, shove my hands deep in my pockets, keep my head down. Didn't matter if my chest felt hollow every time I walked past her—better hollow than stupid.
But the bruises… the bruises were harder to avoid.