Chapter 2

Aiden’s POV

I stood there against that brick wall outside the subway exit for what felt like forever, just breathing in shaky little bursts and wiping my face on my sleeve like that would erase the last twenty minutes. My jeans were fucked ripped open at the back seam, hanging half off one hip, the kind of tear that screamed “something bad happened” if anyone looked too close.

I couldn’t walk into his house like this. Eric would notice. His dad would notice. All their workers would notice. So I did the only thing my panicky brain could come up with: I shrugged off my hoodie thank god it was oversized and tied the sleeves around my waist like some dumb fashion statement from 2005. Pulled it tight. Knotted it twice. The fabric covered the worst of the damage, bunched up enough that from the front I just looked like a sloppy college kid who couldn’t be bothered with belts. From the back? Pray nobody walked behind me.

My hands were still shaking when I finally pushed off the wall and started walking. Fast. Head down. Hood up now that I didn’t have one anymore.

I finally arrived at his mansion after walking a few minutes. He was already at our usual table in the study room , books spread out, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at the door. Waiting for me. The kid was three years younger than me but he carried himself like someone twice that age who’d seen too much shit already.

Single mom died when he was little, dad’s some big-shot CEO who works eighty-hour weeks and probably thinks throwing money at tutors counts as parenting. Eric only ever talked to me. Nobody else. Not teachers, not classmates, not even the barista at the coffee cart. Just me. It made me feel important for five seconds until I remembered I was basically a paid babysitter with math skills.

“Hey,” I said, dropping into the chair across from him, forcing my voice light even though my throat felt raw. “Sorry I’m late..”.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared. Not at my face…at my waist. At the hoodie tied there like a skirt. His eyes flicked up to mine, then back down. Again. And again.

“What?” I snapped, sharper than I meant. “It’s a new look. Deal with it.”

Eric blinked. Slowly. “You okay?”

“Alright . Let’s get started. You’re supposed to be doing derivatives today, right? Chain rule. Show me what you’ve got.”

He didn’t move. Just kept staring. Not creepy staring… more like… worried staring. Like he could see right through the hoodie knot and the fake smile and the way my hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with my pen. “You’re shaking, should I turn down the AC? .”

“No, never mind,” I lied. “ Come on, open the book.”

He finally flipped it open, but every time I tried to explain something about quotient rule this, product rule that, his eyes drifted back to me. Not the page. Me. My mouth. My hands. My waist where the hoodie was hiding the evidence. Just… intense. Like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at. Made my skin crawl and my chest ache at the same time.

“Eric,” I said after the third time he zoned out mid-sentence. “You listening?”

“Yeah.” Voice quiet. Barely there.

“Then why are you staring at me like I grew a second head?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You look… different today.”

“Different how?”

“Scared.”

I laughed. “Wow. Thanks, detective. Really helpful. Can we focus on math now? Your dad’s paying me to teach you calculus, not play therapist.”

He flinched. Just a tiny bit. Then nodded and bent over the book. But the staring didn’t stop. Every few minutes I’d catch him watching again my face, my hands, the stupid hoodie knot. Like he was trying to solve me instead of the equations.

We got through maybe forty-five minutes before I called it. My head was pounding, the raw spot on my ass was throbbing with every shift in the chair, and I couldn’t fake focus anymore. “Alright. That’s enough for today. Review what we did. I’ll check next time.”

Eric closed the book slowly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Stop asking that,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t push.

Then the door opened and Jerry walked in, Eric’s dad. Tall, broad shoulders, expensive suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, salty like looking hair, the kind of face that looked good on billboards. Widowed. Workaholic. Polite in that polished CEO way that always felt they practiced it.

“Aiden,” he said, smiling like we were old friends. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” I said, standing too fast. The hoodie shifted… shit, don’t let it slip. “He’s getting it. Just needs practice.”

Jerry nodded, eyes flicking over me quick scan, nothing lingering. “Appreciate you coming in on short notice. Finals are brutal.”

“No problem.” I grabbed my bag. “See you next week, Eric.”

Eric mumbled something that might’ve been goodbye. Jerry walked me to the door, he always did, like he was escorting me out of his kingdom or whatever. At the entrance he stuck out his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said. Firm grip. Too firm. Too long.

I tried to pull back after the normal two pumps. He didn’t let go right away. Held on another second, two three. Thumb brushing over my knuckles once. My stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with how it flipped with Chris and everything to do with wanting to bolt.

I yanked my hand free, forced a smile. “Gotta run. Scholarship office called earlier. See you.”

He just nodded. “Take care, Aiden.”

I didn’t look back.

I just needed to get somewhere else and do something different. Campus was buzzing when I got there, people laughing, music thumping from someone’s open window, normal Tuesday bullshit. My phone buzzed the second I hit the quad. Email from the financial aid office.

Subject: Urgent – Scholarship Disbursement Delay.

Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy!

I brought this upon myself. Just my luck.

I read it for a second time and my heart dropped into my shoes.

I opened it while speed-walking.

Due to processing error, your fall disbursement has been placed on hold pending verification of enrollment status. Please see Dr. in room 312 of the admin building before end of business today to resolve.

End of business today. It was already three-forty. Office closed at five.

Fuck.

Torn pants? Didn’t matter. Raw skin? Didn’t matter. Shaking hands? Didn’t matter. If that money didn’t come through I couldn’t pay rent. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t stay in school. Couldn’t do anything except go crawling back to whatever hole I came from.

I broke into a jog awkward, limping jog because every step pulled at the tear and the bruises and didn’t stop until I hit the admin building. Stairs. Elevator out of service, of course. More stairs. By the time I reached 312 I was sweating, out of breath, hoodie still knotted around my waist like a sad little cape.

I knocked once. Hard.

Door opened. Dr. looked mildly annoyed peeked out.

“Aiden? You’re cutting it close.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Got the email. What’s wrong with my scholarship?”

She sighed, stepped aside to let me in. “Sit. This might take a minute.”

I dropped into the chair, hoodie bunching under me, trying not to wince. “Just tell me. Please.”

She pulled up my file on the computer. Started clicking. Talking. Something about a glitch in the system, verification forms missing, need signatures, need proof of residency, need this, need that.

I barely heard her.

All I could think was: I can’t lose this. Not today. Not after…

My throat closed up. Eyes burned again.

Dr. Patel paused. “You alright, kid?”

I laughed. “Yes I am.”

She didn’t push. Just kept clicking. Kept talking.

I sat there nodding like a bobblehead, hoodie tied tight, pants torn underneath, body still screaming from the subway, mind screaming louder.

And somewhere in the back of my head that same vicious little voice from earlier whispered again: This is what happens when you’re too weak to fight.

I told it to shut the fuck up.

But it wouldn’t.

It never did.