Chapter 4: Lines Crossed

Chapter 4: Lines Crossed

The air in the house hums with a brittle tension that morning, thick and suffocating. Every shadow seems to hold a secret, every creak of the old floorboards sounds like an accusation. He can’t take it anymore. The images of her in that sheer camisole, the mocking glint in her eye, the way his own body betrayed him—it’s a relentless torment. His sanity feels like a thread stretched taut, vibrating on the verge of snapping. He walks the halls, a phantom ache in his jaw where he bit down on his fist, a constant throb of unreleased frustration.

He avoids her, and attempts to, at least. He lingers in his room, the door shut, the blinds drawn, but even the walls feel thin, porous, as if her presence can seep through them. He hears the distant murmur of her voice, a laugh, the clatter of dishes as she helps his mother in the kitchen. Each sound is a spark, igniting the tinderbox of his suppressed desire and simmering rage. The memory of her smirk at breakfast, that