The rest of the week crawled by in a haze of whispers and sidelong glances. Sophie felt them everywhere—his friends' laughter, the sharp sting of paper notes stuffed in her locker, the way eyes followed her like she was a wound they wanted to keep bleeding.
But worse than the cruelty was the silence.
Because Marcus wasn't mocking her in public anymore. Not like before. He still smirked, still played along when his friends circled, but his words didn't bite with the same venom. He watched instead—quiet, calculating, almost like he was waiting for something.
And that was far more dangerous.
Friday afternoon.
The courtyard was scattered with students waiting for rides or buses, their voices rising in waves. Sophie sat on the far bench, notebook open on her knees, trying to block it all out. Her pen scratched across the page, spilling lines she'd regret later.
I am a shadow they want to erase.I am a flame they want to smother.But the fire whispers louder every day—and I don't know if I can silence it.
"Writing about me again?"
Her pen slipped, cutting the page.
Marcus stood before her, hands buried in his pockets, smirk faint but eyes intent.
Sophie's stomach twisted. "Do you ever leave me alone?"
"Not when you look like that." He tilted his head, studying her. "Like you're about to break and burn all at once."
"Stop." Her voice trembled.
He crouched to her level, his presence overwhelming. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Sophie's breath caught. She couldn't. Not without lying.
Marcus's smirk faltered, replaced by something raw. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so no one else could hear.
"Why do you let me near you, Sophie?"
The question rattled through her like a strike. She wanted to push him away, wanted to say she didn't. But her silence betrayed her.
"You could tell me to leave," he pressed. "You could hate me. You should."
"I do," she whispered. "I hate you."
"Then why are you shaking?"
The words lodged in her throat. Because he was right. Her hands trembled against the notebook, not from fear, but from the pull she couldn't resist.
"Go away, Marcus."
His jaw tightened, but he stood slowly, gaze never leaving hers. "You don't want me to."
And then he walked off, leaving her breathless, furious, and terrified of herself.
That night, Sophie couldn't sleep. The storm in her chest refused to quiet. She sat by her window, the moon spilling pale light across her desk, notebook open before her.
She wrote furiously, the words tumbling out like blood.
He is my captor and my mirror.He binds me with silence, with fire, with lies.And still, I do not run.What chains are these?What curse makes me stay?
She pressed her pen so hard it tore through the page.
A knock on her window made her freeze.
Her head snapped up.
Marcus.
He stood on the small overhang outside her window, hood pulled low, breath clouding in the cold night. His eyes caught the moonlight, sharp and restless.
Sophie's heart slammed against her ribs. She rushed to the glass, shoving it open just enough to hiss: "Are you insane? What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep," he said simply, climbing inside before she could stop him.
Her chest seized. "Get out."
But he was already standing in her room, his presence filling the space. He looked out of place—too wild, too dangerous against her soft walls and scattered books.
"You shouldn't be here," Sophie whispered, panic clawing up her throat.
"Neither should you," he murmured, eyes falling to her notebook on the desk. "But here we are."
He moved toward the notebook, but Sophie darted in front of him, clutching it to her chest. "Don't."
Marcus's gaze burned into hers. "What are you so afraid I'll read?"
"Everything."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
His expression shifted. For a moment, the mask dropped completely. His face was raw, haunted. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Then let me carry some of it."
Her chest tightened. "Why?"
"Because I'm drowning in my own."
The confession cracked the air between them. Sophie stared, breathless, unsure if she'd misheard. But the pain in his eyes told her she hadn't.
"Marcus…" she whispered.
He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was gentle, tentative, at odds with the sharpness of his presence.
"You make me forget who I'm supposed to be," he said. "And that terrifies me."
Her throat closed. "And who are you supposed to be?"
His smirk returned, but it was weak, brittle. "The monster."
Silence pressed heavy. Sophie's hands trembled against the notebook.
"You don't have to be," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "Yes, I do."
They stood there, the distance between them charged, unbearable. Sophie's body ached with confusion, fear, and something she didn't dare name.
Marcus stepped back suddenly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I shouldn't be here."
"You're right."
But neither of them moved.
Finally, he turned, climbing back out the window into the night.
Sophie stood frozen, her notebook clutched to her chest, her pulse still wild.
Because she had seen him break.
And she knew she would never be free of him now.
She returned to her desk, flipping open the notebook with shaking hands. Her pen bled words she couldn't contain.
The monster came to me tonight.But his mask slipped in the dark.And what I saw was not a monster at all—but a boy made of chains and fire.And I think the chains are breaking.
She dropped the pen, staring at the words until they blurred with tears.
Because she wasn't just writing about him anymore.
She was writing about herself.