Chapter Thirteen: The Fight
Evan's POV - Age 15
I tried to staying away from Fabiola after that day in the stairwell.
I really tried.
I stopped going to the library at lunch. Started leaving school immediately after final bell. Avoided our usual spots, our shared paths, anything that might put them in close proximity.
Because I meant what I said: she was destroying me.
Every time she looked at me with those warm, dark eyes every time she smiled like me was worth something I felt the walls I'd built cracking. Felt the hunger growing stronger.
And it terrified me.
But Fabiola Morales was nothing if not persistent.
She found me anyway. Left notes in my locker. Sat beside me in our shared classes. Smiled at me in hallways like she didn't care what anyone thought.
And me weak, selfish, starving, I couldn't resist forever.
It was a Tuesday in November when everything went wrong.
I was at my locker after school, alone, when I heard the voices.
"Hey, Harlow."
I didn't need to turn around to know. Marcus Webb and his friends football players who'd made tormenting me a hobby since freshman year.
"Heard you've got a girlfriend now," Marcus continued, his voice dripping with mockery. "The little charity case. What's her name? Fabiola?"
My hands stilled on his textbook.
"She's pretty, I guess. In an exotic way." Marcus laughed. "Tell me, does she know you're a psycho? Does she know you let your brother die?"
I closed my locker slowly. Carefully. My face was blank, but inside, something was screaming.
"Leave her out of this," l said quietly.
"Oh, so you do talk." Marcus stepped closer, his friends flanking me. "We were starting to think you were mute. Or maybe just too crazy to form sentences."
I didn't respond. I tried to walk away.
Marcus grabbed my shoulder.
And that's when it happened.
Something inside me snapped.
I spun around and shoved Marcus. Hard. The bigger boy stumbled backward, shocked.
"Don't touch me," I said, my voice low and dangerous.
Marcus's expression darkened. "Oh, so the freak has some fight in him after all."
He shoved me back. Harder.
My control already fraying, already stretched thin broke.
I swung.
My fist connected with Marcus's jaw with a crack that echoed down the hallway. Pain exploded in my knuckles, but I didn't care. Didn't stop.
I hit Marcus again. And again.
All the rage I'd been holding inside the grief, the guilt, the hunger, the loneliness poured out of me in a torrent of violence.
Marcus tried to fight back, but I was possessed. Feral. I couldn't stop couldn't think couldn't
"EVAN!"
Hands grabbed me, pulled me back.
Fabiola.
She was there, somehow, her arms around my waist, dragging me away from Marcus's bleeding face.
"Stop! Evan, stop!"
I blinked. Looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood Marcus's blood. My knuckles were split, bruised, shaking.
What had I done?
Teachers were running toward us. Students were staring, phones out, recording.
And Fabiola was holding me, her face pale, her eyes wide with something between fear and concern.
"Let me go," I said numbly.
"No."
"Fabiola..."
"I said no." Her grip tightened. "I'm not letting you go."
Principal Hendricks arrived, face red with fury. "My office. Now. Both of you."
"She didn't do anything.." I started.
"I said now, Mr. Harlow."
We sat in the principal's office while Marcus was taken to the nurse. Fabiola in one chair, I in another, neither speaking.
I stared at mu bloodied hands and felt nothing.
Empty.
Like I'd used up every emotion and had nothing left.
"Mr. Harlow," Principal Hendricks said, his voice hard. "You want to explain what happened?"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"He was defending me," Fabiola said suddenly.
My head snapped up. "Fabiola..."
"Marcus was saying horrible things. About Evan's brother. About..." She hesitated. "About me. Evan asked him to stop and Marcus shoved him first."
"That doesn't excuse violence, Miss Morales."
"I know. But it explains it." She looked at me, and her eyes were fierce. "And it matters."
Principal Hendricks sighed. "Mr. Harlow, you're suspended. Three days. And you're lucky Mr. Webb's parents aren't pressing charges."
I nodded. Expected it.
"Miss Morales, you're free to go."
Fabiola stood. Walked to the door. Stopped.
"He's not a bad person," she said quietly. "He's just in pain. And maybe if people stopped treating him like a monster, he wouldn't feel like one."
Then she left.
I sat there, stunned.
She'd defended me. Lied for me. Stood up to authority for me.
Even after seeing me lose control. Even after seeing the violence I was capable of.
She was still on my side.
God, she was going to get hurt because of me. He knew it with bone-deep certainty.
But I couldn't let her go.
I was too selfish. Too hungry. Too desperate for what she gave me.
Even if it meant destroying us both.
Fabiola's POV
I found Evan in the parking lot after being dismissed from the office.
He was leaning against the brick wall, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground.
I walked up to him without hesitation.
"You shouldn't have defended me," he said before I could speak.
"Too bad. I did anyway."
"I could have hurt him worse. I wanted to." His voice was flat. Dead. "I wanted to keep hitting him until he stopped breathing. And that's not... that's not normal, Fabiola."
"He provoked you."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"I know." She stepped closer. "But it makes it human. You're allowed to be angry, Evan. You're allowed to snap sometimes."
"No, I'm not." He finally looked at me, and his eyes were hollow. "Because when I snap, people get hurt. Lucas got hurt. Marcus got hurt. And one day..." His voice cracked. "One day it'll be you."
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that." I reached out, took his bloodied hand in mine despite the mess. "Because I know you. And you would never hurt me."
"I'm not so sure about that anymore."
I brought his hand to my face, pressed it against my cheek. His skin was cold, knuckles swollen and split, but I didn't flinch.
"Then I'll be sure for both of us."
Evan stared at me like I was something holy. Something he didn't deserve.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why do you keep choosing me?"
"Because someone has to." I smiled softly. "And I want it to be me."
He pulled me close then, wrapped his arms around me, buried his face in my hair.
And scented me like always deep, desperate pulls of breath that seemed to calm the storm inside him.
"You're too good," he murmured against her hair.
"And you're too hard on yourself."
"We're both right."
I laughed despite everything, and I felt Evan's lips curve against her hair.
A smile.
We stood there in the parking lot as the sun set, holding each other, two broken kids trying to figure out how to be whole.
And neither of them noticed the shadow watching from the school window.
Dark. Patient. Angry
Hungry.
Waiting for the right moment to take what it wanted.
Waiting for the girl who smelled like summer to get close enough to claim.
Waiting.
Always waiting.