For What Still Burns

Prologue

The applause is thunderous as I step off the stage, my valedictorian medal swinging against my chest with each hurried step. The sound wraps around me like a second skin—familiar, comforting. I've spent four years at Blackwood Academy chasing this moment, this validation, this proof that I belonged here just as much as the legacy kids with their trust funds and family wings named after them. 

And then I see him. 

Damien. 

My boyfriend of three years is on his feet, clapping harder than anyone, those stupid dimples I love so much on full display. His Blackwood-blue tie is loosened around his neck, his graduation cap slightly askew because that’s just who he is, my adorably messy boy. When our eyes meet, he mouths, "That's my girl," and my cheeks flush with equal parts pride and embarrassment. 

I roll my eyes but can't fight the smile tugging at my lips as I slide back into my seat beside him. 

"Hey, pretty baby," he murmurs, his knee pressing against mine beneath the chairs. His hand finds my waist, pulling me closer than decorum allows at a school event. "You did good." 

"Thank you, my love," I beam, letting myself lean into him for just a second, breathing in that familiar scent of his stupidly expensive cologne mixed with the faintest hint of the mint gum he always chews when he's nervous. 

We turn our attention back to Principal Higgins, who's counting down to the iconic cap toss. Around us, our classmates are buzzing with restless energy, ready to officially be done with high school, ready to start the rest of their lives. 

I should be buzzing too. 

But all I feel is Damien's thumb tracing absent circles against my hip, the weight of his promise from last night—"After tomorrow, it's just you and me, Aria. No more hiding."—and something dangerously close to hope fluttering in my chest. 

The caps go up. 

The cheers are deafening. 

And just like that, we're graduates. 

The Sun is Too Bright 

That's the first thing I notice as we spill out onto the quad, the late May sun glaring down on us with unrelenting cheer. I adjust my cap, the weight of it suddenly heavy against on my head but hey, heavy is the head and so forth. Around me, our graduating class laughs, hugs, takes picture-my attention is snatched by the self-proclaimed class clown Adam, who is trying to do a hand stand without using his hands. I shake my head and look ahead where Damien is grinning at me from behind his phone, his saphirre-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Smile, baby. You're gonna want to remember this." 

I stick my tongue out at him, and he snaps the photo, laughing. The sound wraps around me, warm and familiar, and for a second, everything is perfect. 

Then Elena appears. 

My best friend since middle school, her usually bright face is pale beneath her artfully applied makeup. There's a tremble in her hands as she reaches for me, her phone clutched like a live grenade. 

"Hey," I say, looping my arm through hers. "Wanna take a picture together?" 

Elena doesn't smile. "Yes, but..." She swallows hard, her grip tightening on my wrist. "I think you might want to see this first." 

She presses her phone into my hand. 

The screen burns my eyes

"Von Adler-Vasquez Wedding Announced Following Unexpected Pregnancy."

And there he is. 

My Damien. 

In a sleek black tux, his arm around her—Vivienne Vasquez, some society princess I've only seen in the society pages of magazines my mother reads. Her hand rests on a barely-there bump, a diamond the size of a small planet glittering on her finger. The caption beneath the photo reads: “The happy couple, expecting their first child this December, will wed at the Vasquez estate next month." 

I laugh. 

It bursts out of me, sharp and loud, and Damien's head jerks up from where he's been messing with his camera roll. 

"This is a joke, right?" I say, still grinning, my voice too high as I stride toward him. I shove the phone in his face so there's no way he can pretend not to see it. " Tell me this is some... some Photoshop bullshit Elena found. Do these people know that we are only nineteen …Tell me—" 

Damien's face falls. 

Just. Falls. 

Like a building collapsing in slow motion, every carefully constructed lie crumbling beneath the weight of that single expression. 

"Aria," he starts, reaching for me. 

I step back. "Right?" 

But this time, the word cracks. 

His silence is answer enough. 

Something inside me breaks.

--- 

I don't remember throwing the phone. 

Don't remember shoving past him, past the crowd of our confused classmates, past the teachers calling my name as I bolt across the quad. All I know is the blur of green grass under my feet, the way my breath comes in ragged gasps, the way my vision tunnels until all I see is the dorm hallway ahead. 

I slam the door behind me, my hands shaking too hard to turn the lock. 

The door flies open immediately, and I don't have to look to know it's Damien. 

"Aria, baby, let me explain—please—just look at me—" 

His voice is raw, desperate, but all I can hear is the roaring in my ears. I spin around, my back hitting the edge of my desk so hard a framed photo of us at winter formal clatters to the ground. The glass shatters. 

I don't care. 

"Is it yours?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. "The baby. Is it yours, Damien?" 

He flinches like I've struck him. "Yes, but—" 

I physically recoil as if I've been slapped. 

"It's yours," I whisper. Then louder: "You cheated on me. You slept with her. You're marrying her." My voice cracks on the last word, the reality of it slicing through me like a blade. 

Damien runs a hand through his hair, his graduation robe slipping off one shoulder. "It was a drunken mistake, babe—that night we broke up—" 

"That was eight months ago!" The scream tears from my throat, painful and guttural. "I didn't deserve to know?" 

I turn and yank open my closet door, pulling my suitcase from the top shelf with so much force it nearly topples me over. My mom is picking me up any minute. I just need to pack. Just need to get out. Just need to— 

No, Aria, I just didn't know how to—I don't want to marry her—" Damien grabs my wrist, spinning me around to face him. His eyes are wild, his cheeks streaked with tears I've never seen him shed before. "I love you, I love you”

"You have a funny way of showing it." I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. 

"It's true," he chokes out. "My parents are the ones who want me to marry her. I don't—Aria, please—" 

“Yesterday” my voice doesn’t sound like min. I clear my throat, “Did you know about this, were you playing me, having fun at my expense”. He whimpers. “Tell me, Damien, break my heart more”. He shakes his head and pulls me against his chest, and suddenly we're both sobbing, clinging to each other like if we hold on tight enough, we can somehow undo this. His tears soak into my hair, his heartbeat thundering beneath my ear where my head rests against his chest. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry." 

And that's the worst part. 

Because he means it. 

I can feel it in the way his arms tremble around me, in the way his lips press against my temple like he's trying to memorize the feel of me. He's sorry. He loves me. 

And none of it changes a damn thing because even if I try. He will choose what his parents want and that does not include marrying a scholarship child.

--- 

I pull away first. 

Wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. 

And without another word, I turn back to my suitcase and start packing. 

Damien doesn't try to stop me again.  He just sits there. His phone rings and rings but he just sits there. Until my mother comes. Until I walk away from him.