Chapter Fourteen: The Confession
Writer's POV - Age 16
The winter formal was two weeks away, and everyone was talking about it.
Who was asking who. What dresses were being worn. Which after-parties were happening.
Fabiola tried not to care.
She sat with Amy at lunch, picking at cafeteria pizza while her best friend scrolled through dress options on her phone.
"What about this one?" Amy showed her a sparkly blue number. "Too much?"
"It's pretty."
"You're not even looking."
"Sorry." Fabiola forced herself to focus. "It's really pretty. You should get it."
Amy set down her phone. "Okay, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Fab."
"I'm fine, I just..." She sighed. "It's stupid."
"Let me guess. You want Evan to ask you to the dance."
Fabiola's cheeks burned. "I said it was stupid."
"It's not stupid. It's normal. You like him, he likes you..."
"He doesn't like me. Not like that."
"Are you kidding? The boy is obsessed with you. Everyone sees it."
"That's different. He needs me. That's not the same as liking me."
Amy reached across the table, squeezed her hand. "Then ask him yourself."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Because Evan was fragile. Because pushing for more might break whatever careful balance they'd found. Because she was terrified of his answer.
"He won't say yes," Fabiola said quietly.
"You don't know that."
But she did know. Knew that Evan avoided anything that looked like normalcy. Knew that he'd never been to a school event, never participated in anything social, never let himself have moments of lightness.
Knew that asking him to a dance would be asking him to be someone he wasn't.
"It's fine," Fabiola said, forcing brightness into her voice. "I'll probably just stay home anyway."
Amy looked like she wanted to argue, but the bell rang.
Saved by timing.
After school, Fabiola found Evan in their usual spot the back stairwell, empty and quiet.
He was sitting on the steps, a book open in his lap that he wasn't reading.
"Hey," she said softly.
He looked up, and something in his expression softened. "Hey."
She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Close enough to feel the cold that always surrounded him.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. This was their routine just existing together, no pressure to fill the quiet.
Finally, Evan spoke.
"People are asking each other to the winter formal."
Fabiola's heart jumped. "Yeah."
"Are you going?"
"I don't know. Probably not."
"Why not?"
She shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Dances aren't really my thing."
"Liar." His voice was soft but certain. "You love music. You love dancing. I've seen you in the hallways, moving to whatever's in your headphones."
Her cheeks warmed. "You notice that?"
"I notice everything about you."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning.
Fabiola's courage gathered. "Are you going?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Evan's jaw tightened. "Because I don't belong in places like that. Bright lights, loud music, crowds of people pretending to be happy. It's not..." He paused. "It's not for people like me."
"People like you?"
"Broken people. Dark people. People who.." He stopped, shook his head. "Never mind."
Fabiola turned to face him fully. "What if I asked you? Would you go?"
Evan's eyes widened. "Fabiola..."
"I'm not asking yet. I'm asking if. Hypothetically. Would you?"
He stared at her, and she watched emotions flicker across his face. Longing. Fear. Want. Denial.
"I'd want to," he said finally. "God, I'd want to. But I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." He reached out, tucked a curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering. "You deserve someone who can give you normal things. Someone who can take you to dances and smile in pictures and be... light. I can't give you that."
"I don't want light. I want you."
Evan's breath caught. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because..." His hand cupped her face, and his eyes were desperate. "Because if you keep saying things like that, I'll start believing you actually want me. Not the idea of me, not the project of fixing me, but me. And that's dangerous."
"Why is it dangerous?"
"Because I'll take it. I'll take everything you're willing to give and more. I'll consume you until there's nothing left." His thumb traced her cheekbone. "And you'll let me.
That's what scares me most. You'll give and give until you're as empty as I am."
Fabiola's heart hammered. She leaned into his touch. "What if I want you to take it?"
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I do." She covered his hand with hers. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I want you, Evan. The real you. The dark, complicated, broken you. And I don't care if that's dangerous or stupid or..."
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.
It was desperate his lips crashing against hers, his hand sliding into her hair, pulling her closer. Like he was drowning and she was air. Like he'd been holding back for years and finally, finally broke.
Fabiola gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. He tasted like winter cold and dark and hungry.
His other hand came up to her neck, and he pulled back just enough to press his nose against her pulse point.
And scented her.
Deep, shuddering breaths while his lips grazed her skin.
"God," he whispered against her throat. "You smell so alive. So warm. So..." He kissed her neck, open-mouthed and desperate. "So mine."
Fabiola's head fell back, giving him access, her hands clutching his shoulders. "Evan..."
"Tell me to stop." His voice was ragged. "Tell me this is too much and I'll stop."
"Don't stop."
He groaned, and the sound went straight through her. His mouth moved along her neck, her jaw, back to her lips. Kissing her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Evan pressed his forehead to hers.
"I'll go," he whispered.
"What?"
"To the dance. With you." His eyes opened, and they were storm-dark. "I'll hate every minute of it. I'll be terrible company. But I'll go. Because you asked. Because I'm too selfish to say no."
Fabiola's smile could have lit the world. "Really?"
"Really." He kissed her again, soft this time. Gentle. "But fair warning
I'm going to want to leave early. And I'm probably going to spend the whole night wanting to do this."
He demonstrated by pulling her close and burying his face in her neck, scenting her deeply.
Fabiola laughed, breathless and happy. "I can live with that."
"You're sure? Everyone will talk."
"Let them talk."
Evan pulled back, studied her face. "You're really not afraid of me, are you?"
"Not even a little bit."
"You should be."
"Too late."
He smiled a real smile, beautiful and broken and Fabiola felt like she'd won something precious.
"Okay then," he whispered. "We'll go to your dance. We'll pretend to be normal for one night."
"We don't have to pretend anything."
"Yes, we do." His expression turned serious. "Because if I don't pretend, if I show you what I really am what I really want you'll run."
"Try me."
Evan's eyes darkened with something that made her shiver.
But he just kissed her forehead and whispered, "Not yet. Let me have this first. This one normal thing. Then..." He trailed off.
"Then what?"
"Then we'll see if you still want me when you know the truth."