The glass crunching beneath Sophie's knees was the only sound in the room after Ethan vanished into the night. Her hands were still trembling, streaked with blood that wasn't hers. The shard she had held to his throat lay useless beside her, catching the pale moonlight like an accusation.
Marcus was on the floor, rocking, his fingers buried in his hair. His breaths came in jagged gasps, each one like he was drowning. Sophie crawled to him, ignoring the sting of cuts on her legs and palms. She pulled his hands away from his hair and pressed them against her chest.
"Marcus," she whispered, her voice fierce. "Breathe with me. Just breathe."
His eyes lifted to hers, and for a moment, she saw nothing there—just hollow darkness. Then, slowly, painfully, he matched her breath, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with hers.
When his trembling finally eased, Sophie kissed his knuckles, one by one. "He doesn't win. Not tonight. Do you hear me?"
Marcus closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. "But he will. It's only a matter of time."
"Then let time be damned," she said, her voice raw. "We'll fight him until there's nothing left of us."
He looked at her, and for the first time, there was something other than despair in his eyes. Something fragile. Something like hope.
But it didn't last.
By morning, Sophie's room was a graveyard of shattered glass and overturned furniture. Her mother knocked on the door, but Sophie shoved a dresser against it, whispering lies through the wood—"I'm sick, I just need sleep"—until the footsteps retreated. Marcus remained by her side, silent, his hoodie pulled tight, as if trying to disappear into himself.
At school, the whispers spread faster than wildfire. People glanced at Sophie with wide, fearful eyes. Some avoided her altogether. And in the corner of every hallway, she swore she saw Ethan, bruised but smiling, watching.
She tried to shield Marcus from it, but he felt the weight of every stare, every rumor. He walked with his hood up, hands jammed in his pockets, jaw clenched. By lunch, he hadn't spoken a word.
Finally, Sophie slammed her tray down beside him. "Talk to me."
His eyes flicked to hers, dull and haunted. "There's nothing left to say."
"There's everything left to say," she shot back. "If you stop talking to me, he wins. If you shut me out, he wins. Don't you see? Silence is what he wants."
Marcus's hands trembled. "I don't know how to be anything but him anymore."
Her chest cracked. She grabbed his hand under the table, gripping it tight. "Then let me remind you who you are. Every second. Every breath. Until you believe it again."
For a moment, his eyes softened, but then a voice cut through the cafeteria like a knife.
"Hey Marcus," Ethan called from across the room.
The crowd went silent. All eyes turned as Ethan rose from his table, his bruises on full display, his smile sharp as glass. He walked toward them slowly, deliberately, like a predator savoring the kill.
Sophie's grip on Marcus's hand tightened, nails digging into his skin. "Don't listen. Don't look at him."
But Marcus's head turned anyway, like he couldn't stop himself.
Ethan stopped a few feet away, his grin wide. "Rough night? You should've seen your face when you almost crushed me. You looked just like me."
Marcus flinched, his breath catching.
Sophie shot to her feet, standing between them. Her voice shook, but she forced the words out. "Leave him alone."
Ethan tilted his head, eyes glittering. "Why? He doesn't want me gone. Not really. Deep down, he knows I'm the only one who understands him."
Marcus's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists under the table. Sophie bent down quickly, pressing her hand over his, whispering urgently. "Don't. He wants you angry. He wants you to break."
Ethan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper Sophie barely heard. "One day, Sophie, he'll come to me willingly. And when he does, I'll make sure you're there to watch."
Before Sophie could respond, a teacher stormed in, shouting at Ethan to sit down. Ethan smirked, retreating with mock obedience, but not before winking at Marcus.
The damage was done.
Marcus sat frozen, sweat beading his forehead. Sophie clutched his hand, whispering over and over, "You're not him. You're not him."
But she wasn't sure Marcus believed her anymore.
That night, he didn't come to her room. Sophie sat awake by the window, waiting, the silence thick and suffocating. At three in the morning, she opened her notebook and began to write, her pen tearing the paper with the force of her desperation:
He is not yours. He is not yours. He is not yours.
But no matter how many times she wrote it, the words looked less like a promise and more like a prayer.
And in the silence between her scribbles, she thought she heard laughter, low and familiar, echoing from the dark outside her window.
The notebook page tore beneath Sophie's pen, the words he is not yours dissolving into jagged ink scars. She pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes, trying to block out the laughter she swore still echoed from outside.
When she lowered her hand, Marcus was there.
Not in the flesh, not through the window—just in her mind. His face, broken and terrified, the way he had looked after Ethan whispered in his ear. She couldn't shake it. Every time she blinked, she saw him slipping further into Ethan's shadow.
The next day at school, Marcus wasn't in class. His chair sat empty, the desk untouched. Sophie's chest tightened with every tick of the clock.
By lunch, panic clawed at her throat. She scoured the hallways, the stairwells, even the gym. Nothing.
Finally, she found him outside, sitting alone at the far edge of the football field. His hood was up, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold into himself.
"Marcus," she breathed, running to him.
He didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where storm clouds gathered low and heavy. "You shouldn't be here."
Her heart cracked. She dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing his wrists. "Don't you dare push me away."
His eyes finally met hers, and they were glassy, fractured. "You don't understand, Sophie. I see him when I close my eyes. I hear him when I breathe. It's like he's living under my skin. And the worst part? Sometimes I don't hate it. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to just… let go."
"No," she whispered fiercely, tears burning her cheeks. "Easier isn't better. Easier is him. You're not allowed to give up."
His lips trembled, his voice breaking. "I'm so tired."
She pressed her forehead to his, gripping his wrists tighter. "Then rest against me. But don't you dare let him in."
For a long moment, Marcus didn't move. Then, slowly, he let his forehead press into hers, his hands trembling under her grip.
But Sophie knew it wasn't enough. Ethan was inside him, threading through his veins like poison. And Sophie had no idea how to cut him out without cutting Marcus apart.
That night, Sophie dreamed of Ethan. He stood at the foot of her bed, his grin carved deep into his bruised face. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The silence between them was louder than any scream.
She woke with a start, sweat soaking her sheets. Her window was open, the curtains swaying.
Her notebook lay on the floor, pages torn open. Words she hadn't written covered them in black ink:
He is mine. He has always been mine.
Sophie's scream caught in her throat. She snatched the notebook up, ripping the pages out, shoving them into the trash. But even when she burned them in the sink, the words lingered, etched into her skull.
The next morning, Marcus was waiting at her locker. His hood was down, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot. "We need to talk."
Her heart raced. "What happened?"
He leaned in, voice raw. "I think I hurt someone last night."
The ground dropped beneath her feet. "What do you mean?"
"I woke up with blood on my hands," Marcus whispered. His voice cracked. "But I don't remember. I don't remember anything."
Sophie's stomach churned. She grabbed his hand, pulling him close. "Then we figure it out. We don't let him use you like this. Do you hear me?"
Marcus's jaw clenched. "What if it's too late?"
"It's not," Sophie said, her voice fierce. "As long as you're standing here, as long as you're with me, it's not too late."
But when she looked into his eyes, she swore she saw Ethan grinning back at her from somewhere deep inside.
That night, Marcus didn't come to her window. Sophie waited until the moon sank low, her heart hollowing with every passing hour.
When dawn broke, she found a note slipped under her door.
Don't wait for him. He's with me now.
Sophie's scream shattered the silence of her room. She tore the note in half, in quarters, in pieces too small to hold meaning. But no matter how many times she ripped, the words stayed burned into her mind.
And for the first time, Sophie wasn't sure if Marcus would ever come back.