The air inside Sophie's room was thick, heavy, suffocating. She sat curled up on her bed, her notebook pressed tightly to her chest, listening to the faint tick of the clock. It was past midnight, yet she didn't dare close her eyes. Every time she tried, she saw him—Marcus on the tracks, trembling on the edge of violence, Ethan's shadow looming behind him with a smile that promised ruin.
When a tap came at her window, Sophie's heart stopped. She turned slowly, half-hoping, half-dreading. Marcus stood outside, drenched again, his hood clinging to his dark hair, eyes hollow but burning with something she couldn't name. She opened the window, pulling him in. His body was ice cold, his clothes plastered to his skin, but his hands trembled with heat when they found her waist.
"Marcus," she whispered.
He kissed her before she could say more—rough, desperate, a clash of lips that tasted like salt and fear. His hands cupped her face as if to keep her from vanishing, his breath ragged against her mouth. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed to hers, his whisper broke in the dark.
"I saw him again. Outside your house. Watching."
Her blood turned to ice. She'd thought she'd imagined it, that flicker under the streetlamp, the phantom smirk in the rain. "Ethan?" she breathed.
Marcus's jaw clenched. "He wants me to break. He's waiting for it. And Sophie…" His voice cracked. "I don't know if I can stop myself much longer."
She grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight. "Then let me stop you. Let me hold you together."
But his eyes told her he didn't believe anyone could.
They didn't sleep that night. Marcus lay beside her, one arm locked around her waist, his breath shallow against her neck. Sophie listened to the storm outside, the wind rattling the windows like skeletal fingers. She traced circles over the scars on his knuckles until dawn, silently begging the universe not to take him from her.
By morning, he was gone, leaving only damp sheets and the faint smell of smoke.
At school, Sophie walked the halls with her notebook clutched to her chest, her steps heavy. She avoided the whispers, the mocking stares, the questions that dug like claws into her skin. She didn't look for Ethan, but he found her anyway.
He cornered her by the lockers, his smirk curling like a knife. "Sleep well, Sophie?" he asked, voice low, intimate, as though they shared a secret.
She glared at him, heart racing. "Stay away from me."
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "I'm not the one you should be afraid of." His eyes gleamed, cold and amused. "When Marcus finally breaks, it won't be me holding your body together."
Her stomach twisted. She shoved past him, but his laughter followed, low and mocking, echoing long after she disappeared into the crowd.
That afternoon, Sophie skipped class. She wandered the edge of the football field, notebook pressed against her chest, the cold air stinging her cheeks. Her pen scratched furiously against the page as she poured the poison out—Ethan's words, Marcus's trembling, her own fear twisting into defiance.
He is not yours to break. He is mine to keep. Even if the fire burns us both.
Her hand ached by the time she stopped, the words a chaotic storm across the page. She hugged the notebook to her chest and closed her eyes, breathing hard, as if the ink itself might shield them both.
That night, Marcus came again. This time he wasn't just trembling—he was shaking. His knuckles were split open, fresh blood dripping down his fingers. His shirt was torn at the collar, his breath shallow, his eyes wild.
Sophie's chest seized. "Marcus, what happened?"
He didn't answer. He stumbled into her room and collapsed onto the bed, his body curling in on itself. Sophie shut the window, then rushed to him, taking his hands gently in hers. The sight of the wounds made her throat close. She grabbed tissues from her desk, dabbing carefully, her tears blurring the edges.
"Who did this?" she whispered.
His voice was rough, hollow. "Everyone. No one. It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does," she snapped, her voice breaking. "You can't keep letting them do this to you."
His eyes snapped up, furious, raw. "What do you want me to do, Sophie? Let them humiliate me? Let them corner me until I can't breathe? I fight because if I don't, they win."
Her own fury rose to meet his. "And what happens when fighting makes you exactly what Ethan says you are? When you lose yourself completely?"
He froze, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and wounded. The silence stretched, sharp and cutting. Then his voice broke, soft, almost childlike. "Then you'll leave me."
Sophie's throat tightened. She cupped his face, her tears spilling onto his skin. "No. Never. Even if you burn, Marcus, I'll burn with you."
His lips trembled against hers when he kissed her then—fragile, broken, clinging. Sophie kissed him back, her hands shaking, her heart splitting in her chest.
When they finally pulled apart, Marcus buried his face in her neck. His whisper was muffled but sharp as glass. "I dreamt of killing him again. Ethan. And this time, Sophie, I didn't wake up afraid. I woke up wanting it."
Her body stiffened, her stomach twisting. She didn't know what to say. She only held him tighter, her own fear growing claws inside her chest.
Outside, a shadow flickered under the streetlamp again.
This time, Sophie knew it wasn't her imagination.
Sophie's breath caught in her throat as she stared out the window. The streetlamp buzzed faintly, casting a cone of pale light onto the wet pavement. For a moment the figure was motionless, almost part of the shadows themselves, then it shifted—slow, deliberate, like a predator reminding its prey that escape was impossible. She knew that posture. Ethan.
Her body trembled. She shut the curtain quickly, heart hammering, and turned back to Marcus. He hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his hands clenched, blood still drying along his knuckles.
"He's here," Sophie whispered.
Marcus's head snapped up. "What?"
"Outside," she breathed, her voice shaking. "Watching."
Rage lit Marcus's face like a match to gasoline. He stood so suddenly the bed creaked. "I'll kill him."
Sophie jumped up, grabbing his arm. "No! That's what he wants. You can't—"
But Marcus's chest was heaving, his muscles taut like coiled steel. His eyes were dark, dangerous, filled with a violence that scared her even as it broke her heart. "I can't let him touch you again, Sophie. I can't."
Her hands tightened around his arm, desperate. "Then let me protect you from him. Please. Don't go out there."
His jaw clenched, every muscle trembling with restrained fury. For a long, suffocating moment, Sophie thought he might rip himself free, storm out into the night, and finish what had begun on the tracks. But slowly—agonizingly slowly—he dropped back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, and Sophie realized he wasn't breathing evenly. He was breaking.
She sank down beside him, sliding her arms around his trembling body. His skin was cold and clammy, his breath harsh against her hair. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, whispering his name like a mantra until finally his shaking slowed.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were bloodshot, raw, shining with something that made Sophie's chest ache. "If he touches you again," Marcus whispered, "I won't stop. I won't be able to."
Sophie cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Then I'll be there to pull you back. No matter how far you fall, Marcus, I'll find you."
His lips parted as though to argue, but no words came. Instead, he kissed her—hard, messy, desperate. Sophie kissed him back, her tears spilling freely, their bodies clinging like drowning souls in the middle of a storm.
They didn't sleep.
By dawn, Marcus was gone again, leaving nothing but bloodstains on her sheets and the hollow echo of his voice in her chest.
At school, Sophie felt the weight of a thousand eyes. Whispers curled around her like smoke, cruel and suffocating. She pushed through the halls, ignoring the murmurs, until she saw Ethan.
He leaned casually against her locker, as if he owned the space. His smirk widened when their eyes met.
"Rough night?" he asked softly, his tone mocking, intimate.
Sophie's stomach churned, but she forced her voice steady. "Stay away from me."
He chuckled, pushing off the locker, stepping closer. "Why? I'm not the dangerous one here. You know that now, don't you?"
Her throat tightened, but she glared at him. "You don't know him."
"Oh, I know him better than you think." Ethan's eyes glinted, sharp and cold. "He's already unraveling. And when he finally snaps, he'll prove everything I've said. And then, Sophie, you'll have no one left but me."
Her hand curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm. "I'd rather die."
Ethan smiled, infuriatingly calm. "You might."
Before she could answer, Marcus appeared. He slammed his hand against the locker beside Ethan's head, his body a wall of fury between them. The hallway went silent, students watching with wide eyes. Marcus's voice was low, venomous.
"Touch her again, and I'll put you in the ground."
Ethan didn't flinch. He leaned closer, his smirk unfaltering. "There it is. The monster everyone whispers about. How long until you prove me right in front of her?"
Marcus's fist tightened, his whole body trembling with rage. Sophie grabbed his arm, her heart pounding. "Marcus, don't. Not here."
For a terrifying second, Marcus didn't move. His breathing was harsh, his jaw locked, his fist hovering inches from Ethan's smirking face. Then, with a guttural growl, he slammed his fist into the locker instead, the metal denting with a deafening clang. Gasps rippled through the hallway.
Ethan only smiled, stepping past Marcus as though nothing had happened. "Tick, tick," he whispered in Marcus's ear. "You're running out of time."
Then he was gone, leaving Marcus shaking, his knuckles bleeding anew. Sophie held onto him, pulling him into her arms as the crowd whispered, their voices slicing sharper than knives.
That night, Marcus didn't come to Sophie's window. She waited, staring at the dark glass until her eyes burned, her chest aching with a fear she couldn't shake. She thought of Ethan's smirk, Marcus's trembling, the whispers that now seemed to choke her wherever she went. She thought of fire—burning, consuming—and wondered how long they could stand in its path before it devoured them both.
When sleep finally came, it was restless and cruel. She dreamt of Marcus standing over Ethan's body, blood dripping from his hands, his eyes hollow. She dreamt of Ethan's voice whispering, See? He was mine all along. She woke with a scream lodged in her throat, sweat drenching her skin, her notebook crushed in her trembling hands.
The shadows outside her window seemed thicker, heavier, alive. She thought she saw a figure again under the streetlamp, watching, waiting.
And for the first time, Sophie wondered if love could survive the silence that hunts in the dark.