The door clicked shut behind them, swallowed by silence. No one spoke as they stepped down the stairs and slipped into the car. The engine hummed steady, but the air between them was thick—words caught and swallowed.
Nicole finally broke the quiet, pulling her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up with missed calls and texts from Dray—dozens of them, They were supposed to meet at nine at the bar. She glanced up at the clock ten thirty pm.
Her jaw tightened, but she still wanted to go.
"Jaden," she said softly, voice barely cutting through the quiet. "Can you drop me off at the bar? I'm meeting someone. I'll be fine."
He glanced over, concern flickering in his eyes. "You sure?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just… I need this."
They exchanged a look, then the car rolled on toward the bar—words left unspoken, but everything understood.
Nicole pushed the door open, the bass of the music hitting her like a wall. She scanned the crowd and spotted Dray leaning against the bar, smirking like he owned the place.
"Hey," she said, voice flat.
Dray grinned. "You're late."
She rolled her eyes. "Phone died. Big deal."
He shrugged. "Thought you were gonna bail."
Nicole crossed her arms. "Why didn't you just go home then?"
Dray laughed, shaking his head. "Waiting for you."
She smirked. "Cute."
He held her gaze. "Glad you showed."
Nicole stood near him, the noise around them fading into background. Her chest tightened, but she fought the urge to back off.
She wasn't doing great. Not even close. But she didn't want him to see that.
Her voice dropped low, almost a whisper. "I'm not good at this…"
"At what?" He asked
"This.."
she immediately closed the small gap between them and pressed her lips to his—quick, sharp, testing.
He blinked, caught off guard.
She pulled back, eyes locked on his. "Don't make this weird."
Dray swallowed, searching her face. "Nicole…"
She shook her head. "Just… don't say anything. Not yet."
His eyes searched hers—carefully, like he knew not to move too fast. He grabbed her waist and kissed her back—hard.
There was no pause. No question.
His mouth crashed into hers, and suddenly they were locked in it—hot, reckless, like the world was ending and they had nothing left to lose.
Nicole gasped against him, caught off guard by the way he responded. gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, needing something—anything—to shut off her thoughts.
Their bodies pressed together, breath tangled, mouths crashing like they didn't care who saw.
Dray pulled back just enough to look at her. His lips were parted, breathing rough.
"You wanna get outta here?" he asked, voice low, wrecked.
Nicole didn't answer. She just nodded once.
They slipped out the back, not saying a word. The night air hit her skin, but it didn't cool anything down.
Dray unlocked his car. The second the doors shut behind them, it was like the silence snapped.
The kiss was messier now, more desperate. Her hands tangled in his hair. His slid up under her shirt, warm against her skin.
she climbed into his lap.
It was heat and tension and two people trying to forget everything for one damn night.
Nicole shifted in his lap, her breath hot against his neck. Dray's hands gripped her thighs like he was trying to keep himself grounded—but he was losing it fast.
It was all hands and heat, lips and breath—fast, urgent, reckless.
She tugged at his shirt. He pulled hers over her head.
The windows were already fogged, the air inside the car thick and heavy. Clothes disappeared between kisses, tossed into the front seat like they didn't matter.
And then it happened—quick, rough, the kind of sex that didn't come from love but from something deeper.
Frustration.
Escape.
It wasn't perfect.
It was real.
<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>
The ride back felt endless—streetlights flickering past, each one a reminder of everything neither of them wanted to say.
When they pulled up in front of her house, the engine cut off with a soft click.
Nicole opened the door without looking at him. The cold night air hit her skin, sharp and real.
She stepped out, didn't wait for Dray.
No goodbye. No glance back.
Just the sound of the door shutting quietly behind her and the distant hum of the street.
Then she opened the door.
The house was dark. Quiet. Too quiet.
Nicole didn't turn on the lights. She just moved through the hallway like muscle memory, her boots hitting the floor with soft, hollow thuds.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
She didn't cry. She never did.
But something in her chest ached—tight and ugly, like guilt or maybe just exhaustion. Like she left a piece of herself in that car and didn't even care enough to go back for it.
She got to her room, shut the door, and sank onto the bed without bothering to change.
Lying there in the dark, she stared at the ceiling, expression blank.
Dray's hands.
His mouth.
The way he didn't say a word after.
She didn't need words.
She just needed sleep.
Even if it never came.
Morning came slow and rough.
Nicole's eyes snapped open to the harsh light cutting through the blinds. Her head throbbed like a reminder of last night—sharp and unforgiving.
She stayed still for a moment, tangled in the sheets, the silence around her louder than any noise.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She ignored it.
Dragging herself up, she shoved her hair back and headed to the bathroom.
She caught her reflection—dark circles, tired eyes—but didn't flinch.
Today was another day.
And she was ready to face it.
Nicole got ready like she always did—fast, quiet, cold water on her face to snap herself out of it. Hair pulled back. Hoodie on. No makeup. She didn't care about looking alive. She just had to move.
Downstairs smelled like eggs and fake peace.
Her dad sat at the kitchen table with a coffee in hand, acting like nothing in the world was wrong. Mark was next to him, halfway through a bowl of cereal, tapping on his phone like he wasn't part of what they'd done.
Nicole didn't say a word.
"Morning," her dad said, like it was just another Friday.
She gave a small nod, grabbed a plate off the counter.
Jaden came down a minute later, tossing his keys in the air. "I'm taking her," he said before she could ask.
"Yeah," their dad muttered, not looking up. "Got things to do."
Nicole picked up her toast, threw a banana in her pocket, and walked straight out the door, chewing as she went.
Jaden followed, catching up on the porch. He didn't say anything either. Just unlocked the car.
The ride to school started quiet—too quiet—but something in the air said it wouldn't stay that way for long.
They pulled up to the school, the building looming like always—crowded, full of eyes.
Jaden glanced over at her, voice low. "Listen, Nicole. Just keep your head down today. No trouble. Act smart."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."
He didn't buy it. "I mean it. Don't do anything stupid. You're already on thin ice."
Nicole stared out the window, biting back the urge to snap. She knew the drill.
"Just… don't make it worse," Jaden added.
She nodded again, eyes sharp. "Got it."
The doors slid open. She stepped out into the chaos.
Nicole kept her head low as she moved through the hallway, hoodie up, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. She didn't need attention today—not from anyone.
But of course, attention found her anyway.
"Where's the funeral?" a voice drawled beside her.
She looked up to see Marcos falling into step next to her—messy hair, half-smirk, and that signature don't-give-a-damn swagger. The school's walking problem. Most admired. Definitely most hated. And unfortunately, stuck in the same punishment as her.
"Don't start," she muttered, not in the mood.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite co-star," Marcos said, stretching his hand to hug her.
She didn't even look at him. "Back off."
He grinned, cocky and smug. "Too late for that, babe. Already been on you, remember?"
She stopped dead in her tracks. "Yeah?!" Her voice cracked, eyes stinging. For a second, she felt like the slut everyone said she was. Her fists clenched, jaw tight, but the tears still threatened.
Marcos just laughed, like her pain was a joke. "Hey—relax. Jesus Christ. You're way too dramatic."
They reached Mr. Frank's office. Marcos leaned against the wall like he belonged there.
"Think we'll be cleaning toilets today?" he asked. "Or maybe picking gum off desks together? Real romantic stuff."
"Shut up, Marcos," she muttered.
The door swung open.
"Inside," Mr. Frank said, eyes already tired.
He barely looked up when they walked in. "Late," he muttered, scribbling something down in his file. "Again."
Frank finally looked up, eyes tired. "You two just can't help yourselves, huh? Keep testing me, and I'll stretch your suspension 'til graduation."
Nicole stayed quiet. She wasn't in the mood for another lecture. Marcos leaned back on the wall like he couldn't care less.
"Janitor's waiting in the west hall," Frank said. "Same drill—buckets, mops, trash. Don't give him attitude."
Then, casually, like it was nothing: "And in case you haven't heard—Angel's mom's dead. Suicide. Last night."
Nicole's stomach twisted. She stared straight ahead, her face unreadable.
Marcos raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything for a beat. Then, flatly, "Damn."
Frank shut the folder. "School's crawling with cops and rumors now. You two better keep your heads down and stay outta it. The last thing I need is your names in any more conversations."
Nicole nodded once, standing. Marcos stayed sitting, still smirking like nothing touched him.
"Get going," Frank snapped.
As they walked out, Marcos finally spoke, low so only she could hear.
"Guess she really couldn't take the heat."
Nicole didn't answer. But the way her jaw tightened said it all.
She was one wrong word away from breaking his face.
They stepped out of the office in silence, the door thudding shut behind them.
Nicole walked fast, fists tight at her sides. Marcos kept pace, annoyingly calm like he hadn't just made a comment that scraped her nerves raw.
"Too soon" he asked, grinning.
She stopped walking and turned on him. "Say one more thing about her and I swear—"
"What?" he said, stepping closer. "You gonna cry?"
Nicole didn't blink. "You think this is a joke? Her mom is dead, Marcos. Dead. That's not something you run your mouth about."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Damn. Sensitive much?"
Nicole shoved past him.
They reached the supply closet in the west hall, the same one they'd been reporting to from now on. A mop bucket was already waiting, along with a grimy cart stacked with gloves, rags, and cleaning spray.
The janitor—a grumpy guy in a faded hoodie—barely looked at them. "You know the drill. Lockers, bathrooms. Try not to break anything this time."
Nicole grabbed gloves without a word. Marcos, of course, dragged his feet.
"You good?" he asked her, voice suddenly different. Not nice—just… less smug.
She didn't answer. She just shoved the mop into the bucket and started down the hall.
lost in her own thoughts, when Sky stepped into her path like a storm.
"We need to talk," she said, eyes cold but voice low.
Nicole raised a brow, but before she could answer, Sky added, "Now. Bathroom."
She didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked down the hall.
Nicole followed.
The bathroom was empty, faintly echoing with the hum of school chaos outside. As soon as Nicole stepped in, Sky shut the door and locked it.
Then she turned around, her mask cracking.
"I can't sleep," Sky whispered, stepping back against the sink. "Not since what we did to her."
Nicole froze.
"I told myself you dragged me into it, but I was there. I threw the first punch," Sky said, her voice shaking. "And now Angel's in a coma… and her mom's dead. Dead, Nicole."
She paused, wiping her face quickly like she hated showing tears. "You were at her house, weren't you? Don't lie to me."
Nicole's jaw tensed.
Sky shook her head, bitter. "You don't have to say it. I know how far you'll go to protect yourself."
She looked up at the ceiling, then back at Nicole, her voice cracking. "Angel has no one, Nicole. No mom. No siblings. Just her. she's alone in a hospital bed… and I can't even look in the mirror anymore."
Nicole leaned against the stall door, quiet.
Sky wiped her face again, trying to pull herself together. "I'm not gonna rat. I won't say anything to the cops. But don't come near me. Don't look at me. Don't even breathe near me."
Nicole didn't answer. Just nodded once—tight, cold.
Sky stared at her a moment longer, then turned to unlock the door.
Her voice dropped to a whisper one last time before she stepped out. "I hope you see her face every time you close your eyes."
Then she left, just like that—leaving Nicole in the silence with the weight of every word hanging in the air.
hanging in the air.
Nicole stood frozen, staring at the bathroom door after it clicked shut behind Sky.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful—it was suffocating.
Just stood there, in the middle of the tiled floor, hands hanging at her sides.
Sky's voice kept echoing.
"Angel has no one… and now she's alone in a hospital bed."
Nicole clenched her jaw.
This wasn't guilt. Not exactly.
It was something else. Something tighter. Something uglier.
She turned toward the mirror, looked at her own face like it belonged to someone else.
For a second, just one, her chest caved in and the weight dropped.
One hand pressed over her mouth like she could choke the sound down before it escaped.
She gripped the porcelain harder. Her reflection blurred.
Tears burned, silent and fast. She hated them. Hated herself for letting this crack through.
This wasn't who she was.
She turned away from the mirror, backed into the wall, fists clenched, heart hammering like it was trying to escape her chest.
Her breath hitched once.
Then again.
And then everything spun out.
She dropped to the floor fast—knees folding, back sliding against the cold tile, gasping like air was running out.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid jerks.
She clawed at her hoodie, pulling at the collar, fists beating against her chest. Her lungs weren't working. Her throat was closing. She was suffocating.
No air. No air. No air.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't stop.
She hit her chest harder—once, twice, three times—like that would force the breath back in. Her eyes were wide, wild. Her mouth opened and closed, gasping, choking.
Panic swarmed her body like fire ants, crawling under her skin. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Her vision blurred.
Then—
Bang bang bang.
"Nicole!"
A voice. Marcos.
But it was muffled, far away, like she was underwater.
Another bang.
"Open the door. Nicole, come on!"
She couldn't move. Couldn't answer. Her head thudded back against the wall as her breaths came faster, shallower, out of control.
Then—CRACK.
The door burst open.
Marcos stormed in, and the second he saw her, everything about him changed.
"Shit—Nicole—"
He dropped to the floor, hands out, like he didn't want to scare her worse.
"Hey, hey—look at me."
She didn't. Couldn't. Her fingers clawed at her chest again, trying to breathe. Her whole body trembled.
"I can't—I can't—" she choked out.
"You can. You're okay. It's a panic attack, that's all. You're not dying."
He reached for her, gently pulling her hands away from her chest. "Stop. Stop hurting yourself. Just listen to me."
She shook her head, gasping fast, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
"Look at me. Now."
Her eyes snapped to his—frantic, glassy, desperate.
"Good. Breathe with me. Match me."
He exhaled slowly, holding her gaze. "In. Out. You're not alone. I'm right here."
She tried. It was shaky and wrong and fast—but she tried.
"In. Out," he repeated. "Again. Come on."
It took time.
But her chest slowly started to slow.
Not perfect. Not steady.
But enough.
The panic began to loosen its grip.
She dropped her forehead to her knees, breathing hard, tears wet on her cheeks.
Marcos stayed right there. Silent. Steady. Unmoving.
She didn't speak. Couldn't.
Marcos didn't push. He just stayed there, crouched beside her, one arm resting on his bent knee, the other still hovering like he didn't know if she wanted him close or wanted him gone.
The silence stretched. Not heavy. Just… still.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were bloodshot, lashes clumped with tears, face pale like she'd been drained from the inside out. Her voice came out hoarse.
"Don't say anything."
He didn't.
She looked away again, jaw tight. Her arms dropped from around her knees and she wiped her face, more angry than sad now.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not," he said quietly.
Nicole turned her head sharply toward him, eyes flashing. "Don't act like you know me."
Marcos just leaned back on his heels, unbothered. "I don't. But I know what I saw."
That shut her up.
For a second, she hated how calm he looked. Like he'd seen girls fall apart before and didn't flinch.
She hated more that he didn't laugh. Didn't make a joke. Didn't look at her like she was weak.
He just sat there, like this—her—wasn't too much.
Nicole blinked fast. "How'd you even know I was in here?"
He shrugged. "Saw Sky storm off looking like she wanted to kill something. Figured
you'd be the thing."
She almost laughed—but it cracked halfway and got stuck in her throat. Her hands balled into fists.
"Don't tell anyone."
"I won't."
"I mean it, Marcos."
He met her eyes. "I heard you the first time."
Nicole pulled herself up slowly, leaning on the wall.
Marcos stood too, watching her like she might collapse again. She didn't.
They stared at each other, something sharp and quiet between them. Not friendly. But not the usual teasing venom either.
He slid his hands into his pockets. "Go home. I'll tell Mr. Frank you threw up or something."
Nicole looked at him, really looked, like she couldn't figure out what game he was playing.
Then, quietly: "You'd cover for me?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. Just this once, though. Don't get used to me being nice."
She rolled her eyes, but her voice was lower now. "Thank you."
Nicole hesitated, then turned, walking toward the door without looking back.
Before the doors swung behind her, Marcos called out, not loud—just enough for her to hear.
"Don't die on me, psycho."
Nicole didn't answer.
But she didn't stop walking either.