Chapter Twenty Eight

Dominic's Pov

Three weeks had passed.

Two spent at home, bandaged and watched like I might shatter if I sneezed wrong. One at school—where everyone looked at me like I’d crawled out of a grave instead of a hospital bed.

Things were slowly going back to normal.

Except Catherine.

She still hadn’t resumed. Her parents had pushed her into therapy, and everyone knew it. High school didn’t miss a thing. They never do.

I shut my locker and slung my bag over my shoulder. Someone bumped into me hard enough to make me stagger.

Asher.

“Watch it, nerd,” he muttered, glaring like I was the problem before walking off with Catherine’s replacement glued to his arm.

People whispered about it—his weird obsession with blonde girls after the breakup. Everyone linked it to Catherine. I didn’t doubt it either.

Funny thing was, Asher remained the only person completely untouched by my almost dying era.

Others paused. Stared. Some whispered. Some smiled like they knew something about me I didn’t.

I ignored it and headed to class.

Aside from Sasha glancing my way every five seconds and the science teacher awkwardly revising topics “for my sake,” things felt… normal. As normal as they could be.

Lectures dragged until break.

The moment the bell rang, the hallway exploded—lockers slamming, laughter, arguments, bodies brushing past each other. We followed the noise into the cafeteria, where chaos lived permanently.

Metal chairs scraped loudly. Trays clanged. Someone laughed too hard. Someone else argued over fries.

Patrick dropped beside me with his food.

“Are you coming to the science club today?” he asked, hopeful.

“I can’t. I have things to do.”

He scoffed. “Which includes writing notes for some girl who’s obviously just using you.”

Before I could reply, Sasha slid closer—too close.

“She left you at the hospital, Dominic,” she said softly, but loud enough for nearby ears to catch it. “Catherine’s just a rich girl having fun. She’ll get tired.”

The cafeteria noise faded into a dull buzz.

Pretending their words didn’t hurt was one thing.

Sasha acting like this—like she wasn’t partly responsible—was another.

She had helped me. Stayed. Check on me. Sat by my bed when others didn’t.

So I swallowed my irritation.

“She’s seeing a therapist because of me,” I said quietly. “That’s the least I can do.”

Patrick rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

I grabbed my bag and the notes stacked on the bench, weaving through tables and curious stares. Whispers followed me like background music.

The rage simmered low in my chest.

Sasha was good at this—slowly planting doubts, nudging my friends, acting concerned while turning the room against Catherine.

Even now.

And yet—half the boys in school were still waiting for her return like it was a movie premiere.

Rumors had been flying all week. Some national awareness events. Student host.

Catherine.

The thought tightened something in my chest.

I should’ve been excited. I was.

But our last conversation… it hadn’t ended well.

I hugged the notes closer, like they were proof I hadn’t given up.

“Dominic!”

Sasha’s voice cut through the hallway as she jogged after me. I forced my face to neutral before she caught up.

“Hey,” she said, breathless. “You barely ate. You should eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

She frowned. “We’re just worried about you. You shouldn’t wait around for Catherine to break up with you before you accept that she doesn’t want you.”

I stopped walking.

“Sasha,” I said sharply, finally meeting her eyes. “Drop it.”

Her smile faltered—just for a second—but I saw it.

I didn’t plan to snap.

That was the thing about Sasha—she knew exactly how to push without leaving fingerprints.

We were barely ten steps down the hallway when she followed again, heels clicking like punctuation marks to my irritation.

“Dominic,” she said softly, touching my arm. “I’m just saying… people are talking. You shouldn’t keep embarrassing yourself waiting for someone who isn’t even here.”

That did it.

I stopped so abruptly she almost crashed into me.

Conversations around us slowed.

Someone laughed nervously. A tray clattered in the distance. High school had a sixth sense for drama.

“Embarrassing myself?” I repeated.

Sasha blinked. “That’s not what I—”

“No,” I cut in, my voice calm in a way that scared even me. “You’re right. Let’s talk about embarrassing things.”

A few heads turned fully now. Phones lowered. Whispers died mid-sentence.

“You stayed when I was in the hospital,” I continued. “You helped. I appreciated that. But don’t twist that into ownership.”

Her smile froze.

“Catherine didn’t abandon me,” I said, louder now. “She broke down. Because of me. Because she thought I was dead.”

A murmur rippled through the hallway.

“And you don’t get to rewrite that,” I added. “You don’t get to act like you’re protecting me while poisoning everyone else against her.”

Sasha’s face flushed. “I’m just being honest—”

Something snapped inside me.

Honesty. Reality.

The ugly truth that everyone—including her—believed I was too nerdy for Catherine. Too quiet. Too intelligent. Like those things disqualified me from wanting her.

The hallway went quiet.

I nodded once.

“Dominic—”

“Stay away from me.”

Her breath hitched. “You gave her your virginity. That doesn’t mean you belong to her. I’ve loved you for a long time, Dominic. Why can’t it just be me?”

I stared at her.

Damn. Sasha wasn’t always this exhausting.

“Let’s stop being friends.”

The words felt final. Necessary.

Hours passed before I finally got home.

After the accident, home became my strange version of peace—the silence, the absence of stares. But it was also a punishment.

Every time someone mentioned Catherine, heat crawled up my spine. The same heat that had flared months ago when she stumbled into my room drunk, laughing, saying she wouldn’t regret anything—

—and then kissed me like she meant it.

Yeah.

Different story the next morning.

The memory haunted me. Every glance, every thought of her dragged it back—her hands, her closeness, the way my body betrayed me without permission.

Lately, even her name was enough to make everything tight and restless. I needed a cold shower. Again.

When I finally crawled into bed, I pulled out Catherine’s notes—the ones I borrowed from a classmate—and forced myself to copy them word for word.

The sun was already down when I finally finished and stacked the papers neatly on the table.

I opened my laptop again, forcing myself to research a few more assignments—hers—before shutting it down for good.

I stretched when my door was pushed open.

“Alice, can’t you knock?” I turned.

She rolled her eyes. “Apart from reading, what could you possibly be hiding in here?”

I hated how she always said it—like being studious was a flaw. Like it was contagious.

“I need to get Catherine’s things.”.

The words jabbed my chest.

She walked past me without hesitation, straight to the table, gathering the books and papers I’d spent hours on—stacking them carelessly under her arm.

“Why?”

“She needs them for the host event.”

“Oh.”

She turned and left.

No message. No note from Catherine. Nothing.

I dragged my fingers through my hair as the door slammed shut. My eyes stayed fixed on it, unfocused—like if I looked away, it would make everything go away.

The door opened again.

Shit.

I wiped my face quickly as Alice stepped back in.

“What?” My voice came out harsher than I meant. All the irritation I’d been holding back spilled straight at her.

She smirked. “Catherine said hi.”

My chest tightened.

“She said she’ll be at school early,” Alice continued casually, like she hadn’t just cracked something open inside me. “Meet her in the sick bay before the event. It’s after tomorrow.”

Then she turned and left again.