Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Skylar
The final bell rings, and the whole building exhales in one desperate rush. Desks screech against the floor as bodies shoot up, every kid convinced freedom belongs to whoever gets out first.
The noise doubles once they spill into the corridor.
Sneakers squeak across the tiles. Someone slams a locker so hard the sound ricochets through the ceiling.
Laughter spikes, too loud, more hysteria than joy.
And in the corner, a freshman is already crying, face crumpled, because high school is a fucking nightmare no one prepares you for, and the cruel truth is it only gets worse from here.
I clutch my books to my chest, pressing them so tight it feels as if they might splinter. The noise chases me anyway, impossible to outrun.
Cassie finds me outside the science wing, my back against the wall, trying to make myself smaller. She is wrist-deep in her bag, dragging out scraps of paper, discarded gum wrappers, and what might be a granola bar so ancient it deserves a memorial service.
“You coming?” she asks without looking up. Her feet are already moving, confident I’ll follow.
I nod and fall into step beside her.
The noise and rush of footsteps chase us through the doors, spilling into the open air as if the halls could not contain the chaos.
Above us the sky hangs heavy, smeared in pale clouds that look soft from a distance but carry the weight of a storm.
Cassie tears open her gum wrapper and chews with the kind of spite you save for an ex-boyfriend’s voicemail.
Earlier we had pulled that beatdown apart piece by piece, dissecting every swing between Liam and Zane, dragging the asshole teacher into it too, the one who tossed me out of the classroom, pretending it was a solution instead of a punishment.
I ended up in the library, pretending to read while every page blurred to nothing, my head replaying Zane’s fury in high definition.
Liam never stood a chance.
Zane’s fists moved faster than thought, each strike carrying the weight of scars carved into his knuckles, proof they were not accidents but a history written in blood and bone.
Those scars finally make sense.
He is a storm when he moves, all muscle and violence, the kind of force that tears through anything in its path. Yet not once has it ever turned on me, not even when I ran my mouth, needling him, shoving at him just to see how far I could push before he snapped.
And maybe I should stop.
Maybe what I saw today should have been enough to scare me off, to make me pull back before I get caught in something I can’t control.
But it didn’t.
Not once has Zane made me feel small, and even after watching him break someone apart, that hasn’t changed. If anything, it only burned hotter, setting something inside me I don’t want to name on fire.
Cassie blows a bubble with her gum, tugging at my arm so I’ll pay attention as if it is the highlight of her day. It bursts across her chin, and she groans, peeling the sticky mess away with a scowl.
A beat passes.
Then another crawls by before she finally speaks.
“You sure there’s nothing going on with you and Zane?”
“For the hundredth time today,” I groan. “Cassie, I’ve already told you, there’s nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me.” Her smirk curls slow. “You sure he hasn’t crept into your room in the middle of the night? You know, just to—”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “All those bunk beds. Real romantic. Nothing screams foreplay more than rusty springs and some kid ripping one in his sleep.”
“But you’ve thought about it, right?” she presses, eyes glinting with that smugness that makes me want to shove her into traffic.
I stay quiet.
Because admitting the truth means admitting I’ve pictured it—him only a few doors down, stretched across his mattress, the silence between our rooms carrying more weight than it should. And I don’t want her to know that. I don’t want anyone to know.
Cassie cackles, head thrown back. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s fucking hot. If he looked my way, I’d climb him faster than a monkey on stolen bananas.”
“Wow.” My tone is flat, dry enough to cut glass. “Real classy. And for what? Just to be another girl he fucks and forgets?”
“At least I’d know what it’s like to have his attention,” she fires back, grin flashing.
“Trust me,” I say, shaking my head, “he doesn’t give anyone attention.”
“Except you.” Her voice slips into a sing-song, every note dragged out, sweet and cruel at the same time, just to watch me twitch.
I shake my head and lengthen my stride, but she falls in beside me without effort, her steps syncing with mine like muscle memory.
By the time we hit the sidewalk, the rhythm feels rehearsed, two shadows moving in tandem. Cassie tears open another stick of gum and shoves it between her teeth, chewing hard, working it as if she has a personal grudge to settle.
“You know one day you’ll choke on that shit if you keep stuffing your mouth the way you do,” I mutter.
Cassie acts as if she didn’t hear me, her gaze drifting to the cars that blur past, her jaw working slower now, just enough to show she did. Then she turns back, one eyebrow arched, eyes sharp with the kind of curiosity that never lets go.
“You know you can’t change the subject. He almost knocked that guy’s teeth out.”
A knot forms in my gut, because she’s right. I have no fucking idea why Zane lost it, why his fury went nuclear in the span of a single breath. Especially when it was over me.
“Cass…”
She doesn’t stop.
“Jesus, Sky. When a guy starts throwing hands over you, that usually means something.”
I halt mid-step, the weight of her words pinning me in place.
The street keeps moving around us, alive with its own noise and rhythm—cars tearing past, dogs barking from behind fences. I turn and face her head-on, pulse climbing.
“Don’t.”
Her eyebrows arch high. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t twist it into something it’s not. Don’t make it sound pretty. It’s not cute, Cass. It’s not some fucked-up fairytale. He’s not a broody hero fighting for the girl. He’s… he’s Zane.”
She studies me in silence, lips pressed so tight they turn pale.
When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, but it cuts sharper. “And you’re acting like that’s not exactly why you’re spiraling.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
My throat locks around every word. So I shove my gaze forward instead, eyes on the cracks splitting apart the sidewalk, praying Zane’s name will fade out of my head if I just keep staring hard enough.
Cassie sighs, dramatic as always, then flicks her gum into a drain with a flourish only she could make look intentional. “For someone who insists it’s nothing, you sure talk about him a lot.”
“I don’t talk about him.”
Her smirk blooms, slow and merciless. “You breathe him.”
She stays smug in her silence, wearing it like a crown. Because she knows she’s won. She always does. And even though I hate her being right, she’s my best friend. The only person who can throw shit like that in my face and still walk away.
The worst part… she’s not wrong.
Zane isn’t just someone I think about. He’s something I feel, a bruise I can’t stop pressing, gravity I never signed up to orbit.
“Can you just drop it, Cass, for fuck sake.”
Her grin only widens, stretching until it’s all teeth. She pulls me into a quick hug, her whisper brushing my ear. “One day you’ll open up and tell me the things you’re too scared to fucking say.”
“Not today.”
“Love you, girl.” She waves, peeling off two streets before mine, her figure darting across the road.
I plaster on a fake smile and watch her go, her hair snapping in the wind, her body shrinking against the sprawl of houses that all blur into the same tired shape.
Only when she vanishes on the far side do my feet start moving again.
And the problem is Cassie’s right. She is always fucking right.
The closer I get to the house, the slower my steps drag. That familiar weight starts sinking in my stomach long before I reach the gate. I already know what waits for me on the other side.
The front door gapes open, same as always. Privacy doesn’t live here. It never has. I force myself up the steps and shove through, shoulders braced, lungs locked, waiting for the hit.
And it comes.
A kid is screaming about wanting cereal from the kitchen.
Someone else is crying near the entrance, a high-pitched wail that scratches against my nerves.
Down the hall, the older boys are locked in another argument, this one over who fucked with the batteries in the remote. Their voices spike, sharp enough that I know punches will fly if Dolores doesn’t step in. Which she won’t. Not soon enough anyway.
The air is thick with the stench of dirty socks, stale spaghetti, and the sour tang of too many bodies pressed into a space never meant to hold them.
A sock flies across the hall and lands at my feet, damp and reeking.
On the wall to my right, a streak of tomato sauce is splattered like blood, drying into cracks that will never be scrubbed clean. Muddy footprints trail across the boards, proof no one cares about wiping shoes.
One of the twins barrels past me, butter knife raised, chasing his brother down the hallway with murder in his eyes.
No one bothers to say hi to me. That’s the rule here. The less you interact, the safer you are.
My bag slides down my shoulder as I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the shouting that echoes up from below. The walls are too thin to hold any secrets. Every slammed door is another reminder that there is no such thing as peace.
My room waits at the end of the hall, though calling it mine is a stretch. The door doesn’t lock and the roof leaks every time the sky decides to cry.
I drop my bag onto my mattress.
The noise from the house seeps through the walls, every shout and slam bleeding into the room until it feels as if the chaos has followed me here on purpose.
I last less than a minute before it crushes me.