Jamie
My heart flutters all night.
I barely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I'm there again, in the woods with Adrian. I can't get the way he looked at me out of my head.
Adrian's face, sharper in the dark, carved from something older than stone. His voice when I was on my knees, low and rough. Brushing against my skin like it belonged there. The look in his eyes.
Fuck.
There's more to this feeling inside of me, and I can't explain it. I don't even understand it. It shouldn't matter this much. It shouldn't make my chest ache or my hands shake when I remember how near he'd been.
But it does.
The taste of him.
The way his eyes glowed in the dark.
The way he touched me until I couldn't stop myself.
By morning, my head is a wreck of what-ifs and half-formed questions. I have always known I was gay. I mean, this isn't some awakening. I've always known what I am, so why does this seem more than it is?
I drag a pillow over my face, groaning into it. None of this makes sense. Adrian Hale is not the kind of guy you obsess over after one night. He's untouchable. The track star with the world at his feet, the kind of person who doesn't even see people like me. I've seen women squeal when he's around. I see the way they all look at him. He could never want me.
But then last night...
He looked at me like he wanted me. Like he couldn't get enough of me. I saw that and I felt seen. I felt special, even though it was just a weird encounter in the middle of the woods.
And now, I can't stop replaying it.
I press my palms to my face, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest. I should be scared. I should be running in the opposite direction. But all I can think about is the pull, the invisible thread that yanked me into the woods, straight into him.
And if I'm honest with myself, brutally honest, the worst part isn't that I'm terrified of what's happening to me.
It's that I'm terrified of how much I want him to be part of it.
Even with all my turmoil, I drag myself out of bed anyway, because I've been slacking a lot. Just as I'm about to leave my room, my phone rings with a call from Mom.
I hesitate. It's been about a week since we last talked. My thumb hovers over the screen because her name always comes with the shadow of him.
Still, I swipe. "Hey Mom,"
"Jamie," she says, too quickly, too warmly, like she's afraid I'll hang up before she gets the word out. "Hi, honey. How are you?"
I pressed my back against the wall. "I'm fine. Busy. Classes, you know."
There's a pause, and in that pause, I hear it. The edge of that guilt that she always carries. "I'm glad you're keeping up. I just... wanted to check in."
I almost say you mean check that I'm still alive, but I bite it down. She doesn't deserve that. Not at all. It's not her fault that her husband is a major asshole.
"How's…" I stop myself, jaw clenching. I can't say his name.
She hears it anyway. "He's… the same," she says carefully. Which means awful. It always means awful.
My chest tightens. Memories flash. His words, sharp and cutting, the way he made me feel like I didn't belong in my own house. And Mom, standing on the sidelines, trying to hold the peace but never really protecting me.
"You don't have to pretend with me," I say quietly. "I know how he is."
Another pause. Then softer, "Jamie… I try. You know I try."
I squeeze my eyes shut. That's the worst part. I do know. She tries, but never enough. "I know."
The silence between us stretches. It's not empty, though; it's heavy with everything we've never said, everything I've stopped expecting from her.
Finally, she clears her throat. "I'm proud of you, you know. For sticking it out. For… being you."
That catches me off guard. My throat goes tight. "Thanks."
It's awkward, messy, and unfinished. Like every call we've ever had. But when I hang up, I linger on the screen a second longer before tucking the phone into my pocket.
No matter how much distance I put between us, the weight of home follows me.
And today, it feels heavier than ever.
By afternoon, I'm planted in the library, hoping the quiet will help me think. At first, I think it's going well. I get a couple of pages in. I answered a couple of test questions for my chemistry class. I think the quiet is helping.
Until it gets worse.
Suddenly, there's a shift. Every sound is too sharp: pages turning, shoes hitting the floor, the tap-tap-tap of someone's keyboard across the room. My pen scratches too loudly against paper, and my hands wouldn't stop trembling.
That same feeling is back, and this time it feels worse.
And then the smell hits me.
Ink. Paper. The faint bitterness of coffee in someone's travel mug two tables away. Dust on the shelves. Even the tang of metal from the staples in my notebook. They flood me all at once, overwhelming.
I choke on a breath, pressing a hand to my chest. My pulse is racing like I've run ten miles.
No one else notices, but I feel it in my skin, crawling, nails sharper than they should be, vision flickering at the edges.
And then, in the dark reflection of my laptop screen, my eyes flash gold.
I slam the computer shut, shove back from the table, chair legs shrieking against the floor. A couple of students look up. My breath stutters, too fast, too shallow. My bones feel like they're splitting in two.
Not here. Not now.
I stumble for the exit, palms sweating, jaw aching like something inside me wants to tear free. The door feels miles away, and I swear people are staring not at me, but through me. Like they can sense it too.
I push out into the hall, gasping, and stop dead.
Because he's there.
Adrian. Leaning against the wall like he's been waiting for me. Dark shirt, arms folded, eyes locked on me with that steady, impossible calm that makes my insides knot.
"Jamie," he says. Just my name, but it cuts through the chaos like a command.
My knees nearly give out. I can't hide it from him, the shaking, the heat crawling up my skin, the way something feels like it's clawing to the surface.
"What's happening to me?" I whisper. My voice cracks on the last word.
His jaw flexes. For a second, I think he might finally tell me. But instead his voice drops, low and certain:
"Not here. Come with me. Before you lose it completely."
And even though I should be terrified, even though my body feels like it's breaking apart when he looks at me like that, I know I'll follow him anywhere.
The walk to his car is a blur. Every step feels wrong, too heavy, too light, like I'm floating and sinking at the same time. My nails won't stop lengthening, my jaw aches, and I swear my skin is buzzing. I shove my hands deep into my hoodie pocket so no one sees.
Adrian doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. The weight of him at my side is enough to drag me forward, steady and unshakable, while I'm falling apart. When we reach the car, he opens the passenger door for me, like I'm not seconds away from exploding.
The silence is unbearable. I want to ask where we're going, but I can't; my throat is too tight, my tongue heavy. He drives fast, hands clenched on the wheel, jaw set like stone. Streetlights blur past the windows. My reflection flashes in the glass, eyes flickering gold before I blink it away.
"Adrian," I rasp.
"Almost there," he says, voice firm, but softer than I expect.
We leave campus, weaving through roads I don't recognise, until the trees thicken and the houses get bigger. His house appears at the end of a long drive, not flashy, but strong, old, solid. The kind of place that feels like it's been standing for centuries.
He kills the engine, and for a second, we just sit there in the dark. My chest heaves, every breath shaky, every nerve screaming to break free.
He finally looks at me. "Can you walk?"
I nod, but when I step out, my legs almost buckle. His hand is suddenly at my elbow, steadying me. The heat of his touch sends a shiver down my spine, not fear, not exactly, but something deeper.
Inside, the house smells like pine and smoke. Warm, lived-in. But I can barely take it in. My vision blurs, splitting between human and something else. I stumble, catching myself on the wall.
Adrian shuts the door behind us and turns, his eyes sharp. "Breathe, Jamie. Focus on me."
"I'm trying," I grit out, teeth aching like they're too big for my mouth. "It feels like I'm—"
"Splitting apart," he finishes quietly.
I stare at him, chest heaving. "How do you know?"
His eyes darken. "Because I've been where you are."
The words shake something loose in me, but I can't hold onto it. My knees give. Adrian is there instantly, catching me before I hit the floor, holding me against his chest like I weigh nothing.
My pulse pounds in my ears, but under it I can hear his heartbeat. Steady, relentless. The sound anchors me, even as the heat inside me claws higher, threatening to tear me open.
"Why are you helping me?" I whisper, not sure I want the answer.
His grip tightens. His jaw works, like he's fighting the truth back down his throat. Then, finally, he says it.
"Because I can't not."
The admission steals what's left of my breath.
I should feel relief. Instead, I feel cracked wide open, because the way he says it isn't calm or reassuring. It's desperate. Dangerous. Like he hates himself for it.
And still, pressed against him, body shaking, breath caught in his shirt. I don't want him to let me go.
My body feels like it's breaking apart. Heat licks under my skin, bones aching, nails too sharp, vision swimming between gold and human.
Adrian's arm is solid around me, holding me steady, but my ears are ringing until another voice cuts through the haze.
"Adrian."
I blink, trying to focus. There's someone else in the doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding even in my blur. Luca.
"What the hell is this?" His voice is sharp, clipped.
Adrian doesn't flinch. "Not now."
"He's shifting." The words slice through me. My chest jerks, a ragged breath tearing out of me.
"I know," Adrian snaps back, voice low, vibrating against me where his chest meets my shoulder. "I've got him."
"Adrian," Luca warns. There's something heavy in his tone, suspicion, worry, maybe both. "This isn't—"
"Enough." Adrian's voice cracks like a whip, sharp enough that my vision clears for a second. His grip on me tightens. "Not in front of him."
The words sting. In front of him. Like I'm a problem. A secret.
Their voices blur after that, slipping in and out of focus as my head lolls against Adrian's shoulder.
"… dangerous …" Luca says.
"… not his fault …" Adrian answers.
"… elders will find out …"
"… over my dead body …"
My pulse hammers. The floor tilts under me, and I'm weightless for a second before Adrian lowers me onto something soft, a couch, maybe. My vision tunnels, golden light flashing at the edges.
I hear Adrian's voice one last time, closer, rougher, meant for me. "Stay with me, Jamie. Don't give in."
Then the darkness pulls me under.