The days after their second kiss blurred into a fever dream. Sophie drifted through her classes like a ghost, her body present but her mind lost in the shadows where Marcus Hale lived. Every word he had spoken haunted her, tangled in her veins like poison she couldn't flush out.
I'm poison. You touch me, you'll rot.
She should have listened. She should have run. But instead, she found herself searching for him in every hallway, every classroom, every shadowed corner.
And he was there. Always there.
Not always near, not always speaking. But watching. His gaze would find hers across the cafeteria, across the gym, across the library stacks. And every time, her chest burned with the memory of his mouth on hers.
Friday arrived heavy with storm clouds. The sky threatened rain all day, the air thick and restless. Sophie sat in English, pretending to follow the discussion on Wuthering Heights while her mind unraveled.
"Obsession and destruction often come hand in hand," the teacher was saying. "Heathcliff is both villain and victim, a man shaped by cruelty who in turn inflicts it."
Sophie's chest tightened. The words pierced too close, too sharp. She felt Marcus's presence two rows back without looking, the weight of his silence pressing into her skin.
When the bell rang, she nearly bolted. But he caught her in the hall.
"Meet me tonight," he murmured, so low only she could hear.
Her pulse spiked. "Where?"
"You'll know."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Sophie knew. Of course she knew.
The music shop.
That night, the rain finally broke. Sheets of water slashed across the streets as she walked, her hood pulled tight. Every step felt like a choice she couldn't undo.
He was waiting in the alley, hood low, cigarette glowing faintly in the storm. The rain plastered his hoodie to his body, water dripping from his hair, but he looked like he belonged in the chaos.
"You came," he said, voice rough.
"You knew I would."
His smirk flickered, fragile. "Maybe I hoped you wouldn't."
"Then why ask?"
His eyes burned in the dark. "Because I'm weak when it comes to you."
The confession shook her to her core. She stepped closer, the rain soaking through her clothes, her notebook clutched under her jacket.
"Show me," she said. "You told me I don't know what I'm asking. So show me."
Marcus froze, rain dripping down his face. For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his boot.
"Fine." His voice was a growl. "But you can't take it back once you see."
"I don't want to take it back."
He stared at her, fierce and searching, as if waiting for her to flinch. She didn't.
Finally, he turned, motioning for her to follow.
They walked through the rain, down winding streets Sophie had never dared to explore. The houses grew older, darker, windows boarded, graffiti clawing at the walls. Finally, they stopped before a crumbling warehouse at the edge of town.
Marcus pushed the door open, the hinges groaning. Inside, the air smelled of rust and smoke. Broken furniture littered the floor, graffiti covered the walls, shards of glass glittered in the corners.
"This is where I grew up," Marcus said, his voice flat. "Not the building. The streets. The shadows. The kind of places people like you never have to see."
Sophie's chest ached. "Marcus—"
"Don't." He moved deeper inside, his steps echoing. "You wanted the truth. Here it is. My father left before I could remember his face. My mother… well, she drowned herself in bottles until she forgot she had a kid. So I learned early—if I wanted to survive, I had to fight. Had to hurt first before anyone could hurt me."
He picked up a shard of glass, turning it in his hand. His eyes glinted in the dim light.
"You wonder why I'm cruel? Why I make people bleed? It's because the world carved that into me before I knew how to breathe."
Sophie's throat tightened. "That doesn't mean you have to be—"
"It's all I know!" he snapped, the glass shattering in his grip. Blood welled across his palm, but he didn't flinch.
Sophie gasped. "Marcus—"
He dropped the shards, crimson dripping onto the concrete. "You still want to see me? This is me. A boy raised by violence. A monster made by fire. You should run."
Her tears blurred the world. She stepped closer, reaching for his bleeding hand. "And yet I don't."
He stared at her, breathing ragged. "Why?"
"Because I see more than your fire. I see the boy still searching for air."
Marcus's chest heaved. Slowly, he let her take his hand, her fingers trembling as she pressed her sleeve against the wound. Blood stained the fabric, seeping into her skin, binding them together.
The silence between them throbbed with something bigger than fear.
"You'll regret this," he whispered, voice breaking.
"Then I'll regret it with you."
For the first time, Marcus didn't smirk. He didn't hide. He just looked at her like she was both salvation and doom.
And Sophie knew she was in deeper than she could ever escape.
They stayed until the rain eased, sitting on the broken floor. Marcus told her pieces of himself—fights, scars, nights spent in alleys, the weight of being unwanted. Sophie listened, her heart breaking with every word.
When he finally fell silent, he leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing. "You shouldn't know this side of me."
"I want to," she whispered. "All of it."
His lips curved faintly, not in a smirk, but in something softer. Almost human. "Then you're more dangerous than I thought."
And Sophie, with her heart in ashes and her veins on fire, whispered back: "Good."