The LInes We Crossed

“If you touch me that way were going to have a major problem on our hand Conner. We should be hiding, asleep in fact.” “You look too perfect not to.” Warm hands caressed my face and then down my body leaving a trail of fire in their wake. BANG There’s blood. Everywhere. I’m being pulled. I can’t fight. I don’t fight. They killed him. The love of my life. They’ll kill me next. Tears run down my face as I succumb to my faith. SIMEON I jolt awake, breath shallow and sharp, like I’d just surfaced from drowning. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. The dream-the same one- clings to me like smoke, and the fragments that linger are enough to make my hands tremble. I sit up slowly pushing aside the sweat-drenched sheets. The room is dim, painted in early dawn’s orange and pale lavender. My heart thumps a steady, uneasy rhythm in my chest. The dream always starts the same way; the slamming door, sterile white tiles, muffled voices outside a closed curtain. Then the scream-somet

There was nothing special about room 3c–except that ‘He’ always locked the door behind him, even during lunch. I only noticed because I always passed by at exactly 12:04. Today, the door was open. He seemed to be in some kind of trance as he made his way past me into the busy hall way, clutching something under his jacket and checking over his shoulders, curiosity won over common sense and now here I was–in the woods–watching my crush of over a year dig a shallow hole in the frozen earth. HOSEA The gymnasium looms ahead as I make my way over with Derrick who is still chattering loudly beside me, unaware of the internal turmoil I’m facing. This isn’t new to me though, he always is. As I stand in front of the building the energy feels… different and I can guess why. The arrival of Mr. Sinclair has stirred up the stagnant air of Briarcliff, a ripple of something akin to excitement disturbing the usual calm. Even I, generally preferring the quiet solace of the library, feel a prickle

“The scariest part about disappearance isn’t the silence–it’s how quickly everyone learns to live with it.”HOSEAThe red in my vision is slowly clearing. Xavier stands there right before me, arms wide, grinning like some comic book villain who’s missed his cue. Same haircut, same scuffed prefect badge, same untouchable confidence.My hands clench and unclench before I ball them into fists.“You think that’s funny?”“Actually? Yeah,” he says, still chuckling. “Figured you’d clock me quicker, you’re getting slow.”“I almost broke your nose!”“But you didn’t.” Xavier shrugs, as if that settles everything. “Come on, hug?”“No.” I push past him, fury buzzing under my skin. “You ignore every single text I’ve sent through the damn counsellor. I’ve called your parents several times and your grand idea of a comeback is body slamming me into the lockers? What is fucking wrong with you?”“Dramatic entrances are my thing,” he trots after me “I thought you’d appreciate the flair.”“Why did you th

“You know the funny thing about mirrors?” The boy's voice is soft, but the classroom is so still that it might as well have been a shout. “They don’t always show you what’s really there.” I glance up confused.“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks at me with an eerie smile before slowly walking out the classroom. What a weirdo. HOSEA Sister Monica’s office is at the far end of the administration block. The door is always open during the day, but the shadows that cluster around the doorway somehow make it feel less inviting. She sits behind a carved oak desk, papers neatly stacked to one side, a small iron cross resting on a wooden cupboard that looked large enough to hide bodies behind her. She wears her habit with precise care–immaculate and unbending. Her eyes, pale gray and sharp, find us the moment we walk in. “Come in boys,” she says, voice smooth like stone in water. “Close the door.” We obey and suddenly the room feels so much smaller. “I’ve been told there’s been

I like what I see when I look in the mirror. He likes it too. That’s why he keeps me close. I’m an ugly, horrible teenage boy. The girls never bother turning my way. The boys shove past me like I don’t exist. But him–he always notices.My lacrosse teacher.He says I’m special. Sweet. He told me he loved me last week. As long as I make him feel good, he’ll keep loving me. He’s the owner of my body. Maybe my soul too.HOSEA I promise Xavier I’ll let go.He made me swear on it this morning while half asleep, tugging my blanket over my head and mumbling, “You’re making yourself crazy, Hosea. Just stop.”So I say I’ll stop. I say it because he won’t leave me alone otherwise. Because his eyes are tired of narrowing every time I bring up Matthew’s name. I mean it too. Or at least, I want to mean it.The dormitory buzzes with morning noise–people late for class, others too early for breakfast. Xavier yanks me out of bed with more energy than I know he has this early in the morning. “You’re