Always The Villain

CALLA

I follow Ryder down the hall, my backpack tight against my shoulder. He doesn’t say a word other than “let's try a different study spot”. He just walks, purposefully and confidently. I keep up, my heart thumping, trying not to let the knot in my stomach betray me.

He opens a door at the far end of the building, tucked away where not many students reach. The setting sun slants through the tall windows, dust particles floating lazily in the air. The room is too quiet. It makes me swallow hard, apprehensive.

“This is your study spot?” I ask, voice trembling slightly.

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “It helps me focus because there is less distraction. You will see.”

I look around at the empty tables and stacked chairs. Isolation hums with tension making my heart kick faster. He kneels by his bag and starts rummaging. My chest tightens. Something about the way he moves, deliberate and intense makes every instinct in me scream to back away.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice unsteady.

He glances at me once. “Relax.”

“Relax?” My pulse races. Nothing about this is helping me relax.

Then he tosses something across the table. My favorite candy bar. Relief, confusion, and a small thrill takes over. He picks a different one for himself and unwraps it with casual precision. I stare, caught off guard.

“All that fear… for candy?” I murmur under my breath.

“What?” he asks, taking a bite of his.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Thanks for this.”

He watches me trying to decide whether to eat it or put it away. I am not sure what to do because I am not entirely convinced he is not trying to harm me. So, I take out my Maths workbook and try to distract myself.

“Why do you flinch around me,” he says finally.

I blink. “I—” Words elude me. I can’t suddenly call him a psychopath, can I?

“Can I ask you something?” My heart leaps but before I say anything, he continues, his eyes piercing sharp. “Why do you always hang out with Miles and Sabrina when you are not like them?”

“I’m just friends with them.” I stammer.

He leans forward slightly, his voice calm but weighty. “Is that the truth? Or is it easier than admitting they are not your cup of tea. You just got stuck with them for far too long?”

I flush. “You don’t know anything, Monroe!” I snap too sharply and instantly regret it. His gaze doesn’t falter. It feels like it sees straight through me.

All the stories everyone saying he is dangerous and unpredictable flood my mind. And yet, sitting here across from him, I feel nothing like I expected. He hasn’t hurt me. Not even a hint, except call out a truth no one knows. And still, I’m trapped in this swirl of nerves and tension, drawn to him in ways I don’t understand.

“I know a lot of things, Calla,” he says my name softly. “You think the worst of me before giving me a chance. And yet, here you are. Alone with me. Why?”

“Because I have to,” I whisper, gripping my pen.

“Because you have to,” he repeats deliberately. “Or because you want to know who I really am? Tutoring aside.”

I can’t answer. My mouth goes dry. I force myself to focus on the book in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting to him, to his eyes, to the way he is studying me as if reading a book.

Minutes pass. I try to concentrate on equations, sentences, anything that isn’t him. But each time I glance up, he is watching patiently. Not like a villain, not like the story everyone tells. It's something else entirely.

Finally, he leans back, opening his own book. “You are trying to be honest with me, but you are holding back. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I murmur.

“You think I’m dangerous,” he says, his voice soft. “You think I might hurt you, but you are still sitting with me. There is fear, but there is also curiosity. Admit it.”

I can’t. But I feel the pull, the shock of realizing I have been judging him without a chance to see the truth. And then my curiosity pushes further. The words slip before I can stop them.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he challenges, his stare more intense. Suddenly, I’m out of words again. “You have to say the words if you want the answers, Pierce.”

“Why did you hurt your own brother? Everyone says you were jealous of him and Miles. That you gave him something.... that made him lose focus on the ice. And he got badly injured to the point of not playing hockey ever again.”

His expression changes immediately. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t deny it though. He just sits there, staring past me.

“People want a story,” he finally says. “A villain, a reason they can understand. They pick one truth, the one that is easiest and they make sure it sticks. The villain always remains the villain.”

He doesn’t say anything more for a long pause. I swallow hard. Pain seeps through him, even beneath the unreadable mask. My stomach twists. I want to ask more, to press harder.

“That’s not an answer.”

He shifts suddenly, as if brushing away the weight of the moment. “We will get nowhere if you sit here digging. Let’s take a break.” He gets up.

“We can’t. We haven’t made much progress with tutoring. And I still have homework after this. We should just—”

“No,” he interrupts calmly. “I don’t get things by piling them. I need breaks to understand, otherwise I fail. And if I fail, you fail too. Extra credit is on the line.”

I hesitate, then nod. “Fine. Five minutes.”

“Come on,” he smiles.

Five minutes later, I don’t have a realistic explanation how I agreed to follow him here. The ice rink is empty. He ties the skates laces then stands, glides smoothly onto the ice, and begins circling effortlessly, controlled, and captivating. I can’t look away, until he notices me watching, and skates directly toward me. My breath catches.

“Put on the skates,” he says, his voice soft but commanding, pointing at the shelf behind me.

“I… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, and there is no arguing with the calm certainty in his tone or the look he gives me when he chooses my exact size.

I slide my feet into the skates and try to stand. He steadies me as I wobble and our hands touch lightly. The contact is fleeting but electric.

“Breathe, Pierce. You got this,” he whispers.

I let him guide me, one step, then another. My confidence grows, but it’s fragile, trembling against the pull between us. I tilt too far trying to steady myself. He catches me and our bodies collide. I freeze. He doesn’t pull away. Our faces are just inches apart, breaths mingling.

He leans in slightly. I lean back, almost instinctively but not far enough. My chest burns. Suddenly, the rink seems to disappear around us when he leans in again. And then he stops, just a breath away from a kiss.

The moment hangs, suspended in time. My mind screams to step back, my heart screams to stay, and the sound of its beats echoes like a drumbeat through my chest. One second, one breath, and everything about this year has changed. I lean closer, brushing my lips on his tentatively.

And then—

“Calla?”

My head jerks up. Miles is standing at the rink’s edge, his eyes wide, jaw tight, and fists curled at his sides.