Sophie woke with Marcus still beside her, his arm draped across her waist, his breath uneven against her neck. For a brief moment, she let herself pretend the world beyond the four walls of her room didn't exist—that Ethan's shadow wasn't out there, that the whispers at school were only echoes of nightmares, that Marcus wasn't slipping closer and closer to a cliff she couldn't see the bottom of.
But when the morning light spilled through the window, reality clawed back. Marcus stirred, groaning softly. She turned, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. His bruises had darkened overnight, the cut on his lip raw and swollen.
"You didn't heal," she whispered.
He cracked a weak smile. "Didn't plan on it."
Her chest tightened. "That's not funny."
His smile vanished. He sat up, running his hands through his hair, his body tense. "Sophie, I don't think I can keep this up."
She pushed herself upright, heart racing. "Keep what up?"
"Pretending," he muttered. "That I can win. That Ethan isn't already inside me. That I'm not…" He trailed off, his fists curling in his lap. "That I'm not exactly what they say I am."
Her throat burned. She grabbed his hands, forcing them open, pressing them flat against her chest. "Feel this. Do you feel it?"
His eyes flicked to hers, haunted. "Your heartbeat."
"It's yours," she said fiercely. "As long as it's beating, you're not his. You're mine."
For a moment, his shoulders trembled. Then he pulled away, standing, pacing across the room. "You don't understand, Sophie. It's not just fists anymore. It's voices. It's… it's like something crawling under my skin, whispering, telling me to tear everything apart."
Her skin prickled. "That's him. That's Ethan."
Marcus laughed bitterly, a hollow sound. "Or maybe it's me. Maybe I've always been this, and Ethan just knew it first."
"Don't," Sophie snapped, tears burning her eyes. "Don't give him that. Don't let him win before the fight even starts."
Marcus stopped, staring at her, his chest heaving. "Then tell me what to do. Because I'm drowning, Sophie. And I don't think I know how to swim anymore."
Her whole body shook, but she forced herself forward, clutching his face in both hands. "Then drown with me. But don't drown in him."
His eyes burned, wide and desperate, as if clinging to her words was the only thing keeping him standing. He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. "God, I don't deserve you."
She kissed him, hard, pouring every ounce of fear and love and fury into it. He kissed her back, like a drowning man clawing for air.
The knock on her door shattered the moment.
They froze.
"Sophie?" her mother's voice called softly.
Marcus pulled back instantly, his body rigid. Sophie pressed her fingers to her lips, panicked. "Yeah?" she called, forcing her voice steady.
"Breakfast is ready," her mother said. "Are you feeling okay? You've been… quiet lately."
"I'm fine," Sophie lied quickly. "I'll be down in a minute."
Silence. Then footsteps retreating.
Marcus exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. "I shouldn't be here."
"You should," Sophie countered immediately. "This is exactly where you should be."
But when she looked into his eyes, she saw it—that flicker of doubt, that shadow crawling in through the cracks.
At school, the day bled together in a haze of whispers and stares. Sophie barely registered the classes, her mind spiraling around Marcus. When she finally saw him again, it wasn't in the safety of a classroom or hallway.
It was in the courtyard—surrounded by Ethan and his group.
Her stomach dropped.
Marcus stood in the center, fists clenched, his whole body coiled like a storm about to break. Ethan circled him slowly, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"You've been hiding," Ethan drawled, his voice carrying. "Letting her leash you like some pet."
Marcus's chest heaved, his knuckles white. "Careful, Ethan."
"Or what?" Ethan taunted. "You'll hit me? Finally show everyone what I already know?" He leaned closer, whispering something Sophie couldn't hear.
Marcus snapped.
He lunged, fist flying, but Ethan dodged easily, laughing. Marcus swung again, and again, wild and desperate. The crowd around them cheered, phones flashing, recording every second.
"Stop!" Sophie screamed, shoving through the circle, her notebook clutched against her chest like a shield.
But Marcus didn't hear her. Or maybe he couldn't. His eyes were wild, his breath ragged, his fists swinging blindly. Ethan barely fought back—he didn't need to. Every miss, every stumble, every wild swing was victory enough.
Sophie grabbed Marcus's arm mid-swing, forcing herself between them. "Stop! Please!"
Marcus froze, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His fist trembled inches from Ethan's smirking face.
Ethan leaned closer, his voice a razor. "See? She's the only thing keeping you from becoming me. And we both know that won't last."
Marcus's whole body shook. He lowered his fist, his jaw clenched, his breath breaking. Sophie grabbed his hand, pulling him away, ignoring the shouts and jeers of the crowd.
Behind them, Ethan's laughter followed like a curse.
They ran until the school was far behind, until they collapsed in an alleyway, Sophie's lungs burning, Marcus bent over with his hands on his knees.
"I almost did it," he rasped. "I almost—"
"You didn't," Sophie cut in fiercely. She grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to hers. "You didn't."
"But I wanted to," he whispered, broken. "God, Sophie, I wanted to so badly."
Her chest cracked, but she didn't let go. She pressed her forehead to his, tears streaking her cheeks. "Then let me want for you. Let me carry it. Just—don't give it to him."
He collapsed against her, his body shaking, his arms wrapping around her as if she were the only thing keeping him alive. Sophie held him, her notebook pressed between them, her words smudging as the ink bled into the paper.
She didn't care. Words could be rewritten. But Marcus couldn't.
And she refused to let Ethan write him into the shadows.
Marcus didn't come back to class that afternoon. Sophie sat at her desk with her notebook open, the ink blurred from her tears, her hands trembling too hard to write. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him in the courtyard—wild, desperate, one heartbeat away from losing himself. One heartbeat away from proving Ethan right.
When the final bell rang, she slipped out quickly, avoiding the stares and the whispers. She found Marcus behind the old bus garage, slumped against the rusted wall, his hood pulled low. His knuckles were raw, his chest rising and falling in harsh bursts.
"Marcus," she whispered, kneeling in front of him.
His head lifted slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale beneath the bruises. "I almost killed him."
Her stomach twisted. "But you didn't."
His jaw clenched. "That doesn't matter. I wanted to. God, Sophie, I wanted it so badly I could taste it."
She reached for his hands, pressing them between hers. "Then that means you stopped. That means you're stronger than him."
Marcus laughed bitterly, a sound that sent shivers through her. "Stronger? I'm hanging by a thread, Sophie. And every day, it feels like the thread is thinner. One day soon, it'll snap. And when it does…" He trailed off, his gaze distant, hollow.
Her tears spilled. "Then let me be the one who ties the thread back together."
He stared at her, his breath ragged, his whole body trembling. "Why? Why would you even want to save me?"
"Because you're worth saving," she said fiercely. "Because I see you. Not just your fists. Not just your fire. You."
Something in his eyes broke then. He pulled her into his arms, clutching her so tightly it hurt. Sophie buried her face against his chest, listening to the wild beat of his heart, as if she could memorize it, hold onto it forever.
They stayed like that until the sun dipped below the horizon, the alleyway drowning in shadow. Marcus finally pulled back, his voice low, rough. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"Does it matter?" His eyes burned. "Anywhere that isn't here. Anywhere he isn't."
Sophie's chest ached. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to leave it all behind—the whispers, the stares, the weight of Ethan's shadow pressing down on them. But she thought of her mother, of the life she would abandon, of the danger that would only follow.
"Marcus," she whispered, "we can't just run."
His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening. "Then what do we do? Sit here and wait for him to break me? To take me?"
"No," Sophie said firmly. She reached into her bag, pulling out her notebook. She flipped it open to a page she had written in the night before. Her words stared back at them, raw and jagged.
He is not yours. He never will be. Even if he burns, I will burn with him. Better the fire than the silence.
Marcus's hands trembled as he traced the words. His eyes lifted to hers, something fierce flickering within them. "Then I'll fight. Not for me. For you."
Her heart broke and healed all at once. She pressed her forehead to his, her hands clutching his. "Then we fight together."
That night, Marcus climbed through her window again. But this time, there was no exhaustion in his movements, no collapse into her bed. He stood in the middle of her room, his eyes shadowed but sharp.
"I need you to promise me something," he said.
Sophie's throat tightened. "Anything."
"If I lose," he whispered, "if Ethan gets inside me and I can't find my way back—don't follow me into the dark. Don't burn just because I do."
Her tears blurred her vision. She shook her head violently. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare ask me that."
Marcus stepped closer, his hand cupping her face. His touch was gentle despite the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. "Please. Promise me."
"I can't," she whispered.
He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against hers. "Then I'll just have to make sure I never lose."
They held each other in silence, the storm outside lashing against the windows, the night heavy with threat. Sophie lay awake long after Marcus drifted into uneasy sleep, her notebook open on her lap. She wrote until her hand cramped, words spilling onto the page like blood.
He is breaking. But so am I. And if we both shatter, maybe the pieces will still fit together. Maybe that's enough. Maybe love isn't saving—it's holding the broken shards and bleeding anyway.
She closed the notebook, tears dripping onto the page. She curled against Marcus, clutching him as if her arms alone could shield him from the darkness clawing at the edges of his soul.
And outside, beneath the flickering streetlamp, Ethan stood again.
This time, he wasn't smiling.
He was waiting.