The weight of unspoken things

The rest of the week passed in a haze of tension so thick it felt like a storm cloud hung over me wherever I went.

School had become a battlefield of whispered insults and cold stares, but what unsettled me the most wasn’t the cruelty of Savannah’s minions or even the way everyone seemed to treat me like I was some kind of fragile, breakable thing.

It was him.

Jaxon Carter.

He was everywhere.

Even when he wasn’t in my line of sight, I could feel him. His presence lingered in the air, heavy and magnetic, making my breath catch whenever I sensed him nearby.

And though he never said much, never stayed long enough for others to notice, our eyes met more often now.

And each time they did, something inside me shifted.

It started on Monday morning, when I rounded the corner toward my locker and nearly collided with him.

My heart leapt into my throat, my body freezing as though my bones had forgotten how to move.

He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, his tall frame relaxed but his dark eyes sharp and unyielding as they found mine.

He didn’t smile.

But he didn’t look away, either.

For what felt like an eternity, we just stood there, locked in a silent stare.

I could feel my pulse hammering in my neck, heat rushing to my cheeks as his gaze swept over me—not leering, not cruel, just… seeing me.

Really seeing me.

And then, without a word, he pushed off the wall and walked away, his hand brushing lightly—just barely—against mine as he passed.

The touch was fleeting, but it burned.

Later that day, in the hallway outside chemistry, I felt it again before I even saw him.

That inexplicable awareness, like a current running under my skin, warned me he was close.

When I turned my head, there he was, leaning casually against a row of lockers across the hall, watching me with the faintest furrow between his brows.

His gaze held me still, even as the noise of the hallway swirled around us—students laughing, doors slamming, sneakers squeaking on tile.

And though I knew I should look away and pretend not to notice, I couldn’t.

Something in his expression softened then—just slightly—and for a fleeting second, it felt like he wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

He just nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before pushing off the lockers and disappearing down the hall.

By Wednesday, the tension between us was so thick it was hard to breathe.

I caught glimpses of him throughout the day—across the cafeteria, near the gym, in the parking lot after school—always watching, always silent.

And every time our eyes met, that strange, dizzying heat sparked low in my stomach, leaving me rattled and unsteady.

I didn’t understand it.

I didn’t understand him.

One moment he was distant, aloof, as though nothing in the world could touch him.

And the next, he was looking at me like I was the only thing that could.

On Thursday, it escalated.

It was after fifth period, and I was walking to my locker when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was him.

But I did anyway.

Jaxon stood a few feet behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets, his jaw tight as his eyes locked on mine.

We stood like that for a long moment, the hallway emptying around us as students rushed to their next classes.

Finally, he stepped closer, his voice low and rough when he spoke.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

And it wasn’t a demand.

Just a quiet truth that cut deeper than anything else anyone had said all week.

I swallowed hard, gripping the strap of my bag.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, forcing the lie past my lips.

Something flashed in his eyes then—something dark and frustrated—but he didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against my ear as he said, “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

And then he was gone again, melting into the crowd like he’d never been there at all.

But the warmth of his words stayed with me, lingering long after he’d disappeared.

That night, I sat on my bed, staring at my phone.

There were no new messages.

No calls from my parents.

No apologies from Ethan.

Nothing but the quiet, empty ache of being forgotten.

Lucas had texted me earlier, checking in the way he always did now.

I told him I was fine, though we both knew it was a lie.

Even so, his words helped a little. Knowing he was still there, even from a distance, was a lifeline I clung to.

But it wasn’t Lucas I kept thinking about as I lay there in the dark.

It was Jaxon.

The way he’d looked at me earlier, his eyes stormy and conflicted, like he was fighting something inside himself.

The way his voice had softened when he told me I didn’t have to pretend.

And the way my body had betrayed me, sparking alive just from the nearness of him.

I hated it.

I hated that I wanted more of it.

Friday morning, the sky was a dull silver when I walked through the front doors of the school.

I kept my head down, trying to ignore the whispers that still clung to me like burrs.

But even as I focused on my locker, I knew he was there.

I didn’t have to look to feel his gaze burning into me from across the hall.

I took my time, switching out my books, willing my hands to stop trembling.

When I finally turned, my breath caught in my throat.

Jaxon was closer this time—just a few feet away.

And he wasn’t pretending to be casual anymore.

He was staring straight at me, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with something I didn’t dare name.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer, his tall frame towering over mine as he stopped just a breath away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He murmured, his voice so low I could feel it more than hear it.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Get what?”

His jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side as though he wanted to reach for me but couldn’t.

“Everything about you…” He trailed off, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself.

And then, just like every other time, he pulled back before he could finish, his face closing off as he stepped away.

Leaving me standing there, confused and breathless, my heart aching with questions I didn’t even know how to ask.

By the time the last bell rang, I felt wrung out.

Every look, every wordless encounter with Jaxon left me more unsteady than the last.

It was like we were circling each other, trapped in some silent war we didn’t know how to end.

I didn’t know what he wanted.

I didn’t know what I wanted.

All I knew was that when he looked at me, the rest of the world fell away, and nothing else mattered.

And I didn’t know if that terrified me or thrilled me.

Maybe both.

That night, I lay awake long after midnight, staring at the ceiling.

I thought about how his hands had felt on me that night at the party—strong and steady, yet careful in a way no one else had ever been with me.

I thought about how his kiss had tasted and how badly I’d wanted more.

Even now, the memory sent a rush of heat through me, curling low in my stomach and making me press my thighs together as though I could smother the ache.

But it didn’t go away.

It never did, not when it came to him.

Somewhere deep down, I knew there was more to him than what he showed the world.

Something raw and dangerous, but also protective.

And I wanted to understand it.

I wanted to understand him.

But I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance.

All I could do was wait—and hope—that whatever this thing between us was, it wouldn’t consume me completely before I figured it out.