Avoidance is an art form I’ve perfected over nineteen years, but Lucas Bennett is testing my masterwork.

Three days since Berkeley. Three days of unanswered texts piling up like accusations on my phone screen. His calls ring out to voicemail while I stare at the ceiling and pretend I’m somewhere else entirely.

I need time to think, I tell myself. I need to process what Rachel told me before I can face him again.

The truth is simpler and uglier than that excuse allows. I don’t know what to believe anymore, and uncertainty has become my permanent address.

My constitutional law textbook lies open on my desk, but the words blur into meaningless shapes. The same paragraph has passed beneath my eyes four times now without leaving any impression whatsoever.

Then I hear it through the wall—female laughter, bright and confident, spilling from Caleb’s room like poison into my ears.

His door clicks shut with a sound I’ve memorized against my will.

“I missed you so much this week.” Jade Richards’ voice carries through the plaster, flirtatious and certain of her welcome. “You’ve been so distant lately, and I was starting to worry.”

I don’t care, I remind myself firmly. I absolutely do not care who visits his bedroom or what they do there.

My eyes return to the textbook with renewed determination. Constitutional amendments deserve my attention more than whatever performance is happening next door.

Music starts playing—something low and rhythmic, the kind of beat designed for bodies moving together in the dark.

My stomach twists into knots I refuse to name or acknowledge.

The laughter continues, punctuated by murmured conversation I can’t quite decipher. Every sound scrapes against my concentration until focus becomes impossible.

I grab my phone before rational thought can intervene, thumbs moving with desperate speed.

There’s a party at Lucas’s place tomorrow night. You in?

Mia’s response comes within seconds, because she’s always awake and always watching.

Since when do you voluntarily attend parties? What’s going on with you lately?

I just need to get out of this house for a while. Are you coming or not?

Fine, but you’re telling me everything tomorrow. And I mean everything this time.

I set down my phone and stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

The hallway stretches before me, cool and quiet, and I make my call with a volume I haven’t used since high school drama club.

“Hey, yeah, I’m definitely going tomorrow night.” I let the words carry through the walls. “Lucas asked me yesterday, and it should be really fun.”

The lie tastes like copper on my tongue, metallic and wrong.

I haven’t spoken to Lucas in three days, haven’t responded to a single message since I drove home from Berkeley with Rachel’s story burning through my skull.

But I am not Rachel, I remind myself with fierce conviction. What happened years ago doesn’t have to repeat itself now.

People change. Time transforms even the most damaged among us into better versions.

Lucas has been nothing but patient and kind since we started seeing each other regularly. He deserves the benefit of doubt I’ve been withholding.

I walk past Caleb’s door with deliberate slowness, letting my footsteps announce my presence.

The music has stopped completely, silence replacing that rhythmic beat.

Through the gap where the door doesn’t quite meet its frame, I see him sitting on his bed.

Jade perches beside him, her hand resting on his arm with casual possession.

But his eyes aren’t on her at all.

They’re fixed on the doorway where I stand frozen, blue flames burning through the inch of space between wood and wall.

Me: Party tomorrow?

Lucas: I’ll pick you up at 9. Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful.

The slam that follows shakes the walls of our shared existence.

He sent her home. Caleb Thornton sent Jade Richards away in the middle of whatever they were starting.

I don’t know why that matters so much, but it does.

The knowledge settles into my chest with a weight I can’t explain or justify.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, shadows shifting across the white expanse as cars pass on the street below.

Rachel’s voice echoes through my memory, painting pictures I can’t unsee.

He beat Lucas half to death right there in that room.

Caleb Thornton, violent and unstable according to everyone who heard the story second-hand.

Caleb Thornton, who believed a girl when no one else would even listen to her version of events.

Tomorrow I’ll be at that party on Lucas’s arm, surrounded by his friends and his world and his carefully constructed image. And Caleb will be watching from whatever distance circumstance allows, knowing I chose the man he tried to warn me about.

The irony isn’t lost on me—I spent years hating him for his cruelty, and now I’m using that same weapon against him deliberately.

I close my eyes and see two boys in rented tuxedos, arms draped across a girl in a blue dress who didn’t know yet how everything would shatter around her.

I’m no longer sure who I’m trying to hurt anymore—Caleb for his lies, Lucas for his possible sins, or myself for wanting things that terrify me beyond rational explanation.

Sleep comes eventually, bringing dreams I won’t remember by morning, and somewhere in the darkness between our rooms, I imagine I hear him pacing.