Jason's heart slammed against his ribs as he crossed the cafeteria.He'd rehearsed the words a hundred times in his head. I've liked you for a while. Prom? Together? Simple. Safe.Now they felt like glass in his throat.
Elisabeth stood by the windows, tray in hand, laughing at something her friend said. Sunlight caught her hair. She looked untouchable.
He stopped three feet away. "Elisabeth."
She turned. The smile faded to confusion, then irritation. "What?"
The room noise dipped. Or maybe that was just his ears.
"I… heard maybe you wanted to go to prom. With me." Heat crawled up his neck. "I've liked you since last year. So… would you?"
Silence stretched. One second. Two.
Her face twisted. "Ew. No."
The word landed like a slap.
"Why would you even think that?" Her voice rose, sharp enough to cut through the chatter. Heads turned. Phones angled subtly.
Jason opened his mouth. Nothing.
Behind him, laughter exploded. Familiar. Cruel. He didn't need to look. It was the same two guys from class. The ones who'd whispered, She's got a massive crush on you. Ask her, man. Jonathan heard her say it.
They'd sounded so sure.
Now one was doubled over, slapping the table. The other shook his head like this was premium entertainment.
Elisabeth glanced at them, cheeks pink. Not with shame for him, but embarrassment that anyone thought she'd ever…
"Disgusting," she muttered, loud enough for the nearest tables. "Don't ever do that again."
Jason turned. Walked. Legs mechanical. Past trays, past stares, past the double doors that slammed too loud behind him.
He didn't stop until the school was blocks away.
Stupid.
He should've known. Hope was a trap. That tiny spark, when they'd said her name, when his pulse jumped, had burned out in seconds. Left ash.
The apartment was the same dead box it always was. No lights on. No voices. Backpack hit the floor. He didn't bother with the light switch.
The bed creaked under him. The ceiling stared back, the light fixture buzzing like a dying fly.
People said things get better. Like time was magic. Like tomorrow wouldn't be the same hallway, same laughter, same nothing.
Anger flared hot, then cold embarrassment, then anger again. Sharper.
He wanted it to stop. The replay. The face. The word. Ew.
His eyes burned. His eyelids dragged heavy.
The room chilled.
Blackout.
When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was gone.
Damp grass pressed into his cheek. Earth and bitter smoke filled his lungs. He coughed, rolled, pushed up on shaking arms.
No walls. No bed. Just endless field under a pale, too-wide sky.
He stood. Legs wobbled. Shoes sank into wet turf.
Dream? The thought came automatic. But the air tasted clean. Rain, dirt, no dust or bleach. Wind tugged his shirt. Real.
"Okay," he whispered. His voice cracked. Small.
Standing still felt worse, so he walked. Grass whispered underfoot. A low hill rose ahead. He climbed because why not.
At the top, he froze.
A lake stretched below. Wide. Mirror-still. Catching light in silver flashes. Trees ringed it like silent guards. Ripples broke the surface near the shore.
His throat dried. He headed down. Each step careful. Quiet pressed in, thick enough to swallow sound.
Then movement.
Someone stood waist-deep in the water.
Not swimming. Not bathing.
Watching him.
She stepped forward.
The water resisted at first, clinging to her skin in reluctant sheets, then released her with soft, wet slaps against the surface. She rose slowly, deliberately, like the lake itself was reluctant to let her go.
First her hips cleared the waterline. The dark curls between her thighs glistened. Droplets traced slow paths down the inner curves of her legs. Her thighs were thick and strong. Muscle shifted visibly beneath smooth, pale skin as she moved. Water streamed off them in thin rivulets, pooling briefly at her feet before soaking into the grass.
Then her waist emerged, narrow in contrast to the flare of her hips. The faint outline of ribs showed when she breathed in. A thin silver scar curved along her left side, disappearing under the swell of one breast. Her stomach was flat but soft in the right places. Gentle feminine rounding caught the pale light and threw it back in subtle highlights.
Her breasts came last into full view as she stepped fully onto the shore. Full and heavy, they swayed slightly with each movement. Nipples stood dark and tight from the cold, sharp against the pale skin. Droplets clung to them, trembling, then fell in slow beads down the undersides.
She was taller than he'd first thought. Almost eye-level with him now that she was out. Long dark hair hung in wet ropes past her shoulders. Some strands plastered across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Others dripped steadily onto the grass. Faint freckles dusted her shoulders and upper chest like scattered stars. Another scar, thinner and older, ran diagonally across one thigh, stopping just short of the crease where leg met hip.
She walked toward him barefoot, unhurried. Hips rolled with natural, predatory grace. The grass bent under her feet. Water still dripped from her fingertips, from the ends of her hair, from the dark triangle between her legs. Every step made her breasts shift. Every step made the muscles in her thighs flex. Every step made the scars catch the light for a split second.
Jason couldn't move.
Heat slammed through him. Face first, then chest, then lower. Insistent and embarrassing in how fast it happened. His jeans tightened painfully. His mouth went cotton-dry. Part of his brain screamed to look away, to run, to say something. The rest was locked on her: the way water slid down the valley between her breasts, the subtle jiggle when she stopped a few feet away, the faint scent of lake water and something warmer, muskier, rising off her skin.
She tilted her head, studying him. Violet eyes with slitted pupils contracted in the daylight and locked onto his.
He still hadn't blinked.