Declaring war

Jaxon’s lips were still on mine, his weight pressing me into the soft sheets, his hands curling around my hips as though he’d waited his whole life to touch me. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs.

But then the door burst open.

“Avery?”

Savannah’s sharp voice cut through the haze like a shard of glass. Savannah the cheerleader captain and the queen bee and my bully.

Jaxon froze above me, his mouth still only an inch from mine, but already the warmth was gone. His gaze shuttered, turning cold and unreadable. Slowly—deliberately—he pulled himself off me, leaving me lying there on his bed with my hair mussed and my lips still tingling.

I sat up, humiliated, tugging my dress back into place as Savannah stood in the doorway, one perfectly manicured hand still gripping the knob. Her green eyes narrowed, glinting with something darker than jealousy.

Jaxon didn’t even look at her as he adjusted his shirt.

Savannah’s intrusion broke the vibe. Heck, what was I doing? Did I really make out with THE Jaxon moments after I caught Alex cheating? I panicked. I didn’t wait to see what either of them would say.

I ran.

Down the stairs, past the music and laughter, through the front door, out into the night air that felt too cold against my flushed skin.

By the time I made it home, my lungs ached and my legs burned.

Maybe tomorrow everything would go back to normal. That was what I told myself as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I would wake up, go to school, and forget that any of this had happened. The party. The bottles. Alex. Jaxon. Savannah. The kiss that still clung to my lips.

Like a fever dream. And now I’m going back to my normal daily life. Alone but peaceful.

But it didn’t.

By lunch the next day, everyone knew.

Savannah saw to that. Probably thought if everyone knew Jaxon made out with me, the peasant in school ranks, he’d be embarrassed and not make the same mistake again.

She cornered me outside my first class, her lipstick perfect and her smile razor-sharp.

“Hope you enjoyed your little birthday present,” she murmured just loud enough for everyone in earshot to hear. “Doesn’t mean he actually wants you.”

Then she turned to the girls flanking her, and they all laughed, high and cruel, before walking away.

At first, I thought that would be it—a few whispers, some snickering in the hallway. But it got worse.

People stopped talking to me.

Literally.

The girl I’d sat next to in math all year suddenly found another seat. No one would make eye contact with me in the cafeteria, and when I carried my tray to my usual table, everyone went silent until I turned and walked away.

Lucas was still there—at first. He caught up to me outside the gym, his usual warm smile faltering when he saw the bruised look on my face.

“Hey. Don’t let them—”

“Don’t,” I cut him off, too tired to sugarcoat it. “Don’t stand too close, Lucas. She’ll just come for you next.”

I could see the hurt flash in his eyes, but he nodded anyway.

By the end of the week, they weren’t just ignoring me.

Someone shoved me into a locker hard enough to leave a purple mark on my shoulder. My backpack disappeared during fourth period and reappeared at the end of the day soaked through with something sticky and smelling faintly of rotten milk.

By Friday, even teachers had started looking at me differently—as if the rumors were true, as if everything Savannah said about me was gospel.

And still, she wasn’t satisfied.

I’d had enough.

After the final bell, I walked to my locker. I wanted to get out of here. I had enough of this day. As I opened my locker, a note fell out. I picked it up and saw a message. Janitor’s closet. East wing.

Who would have sent this to me? The east wing was quiet when I got there, the smell of bleach and floor wax hanging in the air. I pushed open the closet door—

And froze.

The sounds hit me first.

A soft whimper. Then a low groan, drawn out like the person making it was barely holding himself together.

My stomach turned to stone.

Trembling, I pressed closer to the cracked door that led to the back supply room.

“Say it,” Jaxon’s voice growled.

My heart stopped.

And then Savannah’s breathless answer: “Avery. God, call me Avery again—”

I didn’t want to hear any more.

But I couldn’t move.

I stood there, frozen, as I listened to Jaxon moan my name while he was with her.

Savannah’s laugh—high, cruel, and breathless—sent chills down my spine. She was enjoying it. Playing me.

Something hot and ugly welled up inside me.

I couldn’t help it—the sound that came out of my throat was half gasp, half sob.

The noises stopped abruptly.

The door opened, and Savannah stumbled back, her hair mussed, her shirt half-unbuttoned.

Her eyes went wide when she saw me.

“Bitch,” she hissed, her cheeks flaming red as she stormed past me.

Jaxon, however, just leaned lazily against the doorframe, still looking maddeningly composed.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he’d expected me to be there all along.

I stared at him, my hands clenching into fists.

“You think this is funny?” I demanded, my voice cracking. “Sending me a note to see you have sex with Savannah?”

His lips curved into the faintest smirk.

“You’ve made my life hell,” I said, stepping closer until we were nearly nose to nose. “You think you can just—just play with people? You think this is all a game?”

Jaxon’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading as he studied me.

And then something shifted.

He reached up and brushed his thumb across my cheek so lightly it made me shiver.

“You’re wrong,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I don’t play games. Not with you.”

The heat between us flared, sudden and undeniable.

His hand slid down to the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

I hated him.

I wanted him.

Both truths tangled in my chest, leaving me breathless.

Our lips met before I even realized what was happening, and this kiss wasn’t soft like before—it was sharp and desperate, full of everything I didn’t want to feel.

My back hit the wall, his hands pressing into my hips as if he was trying to claim me right then and there.

My fingers found his shirt, twisting in the fabric, pulling him closer.

But then—

I stopped.

I shoved at his chest, breaking the kiss, my breath coming fast.

“No,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

His gaze was heavy, unreadable, but he didn’t stop me when I stepped back.

“This is war,” I said, my chin lifting despite the way my hands still trembled.

And then I turned and walked away, ignoring the way my heart screamed at me to go back.