Across The Line By Linkin Park Novels & Stories

Just before I passed out on the cold bathroom floor, I caught a glimpse of Jessica's latest post on her social feed. It was a photo of two hands tightly holding each other, and I recognized Zach's hand immediately. His left hand, where a ring should have been, was now marked only by a faint line. The caption read: "No matter where I am, I'll be there if you need me."

I answered, and dialed the emergency hotel line. The line clicked, and a cheerful male voice broke the awkward silence between us. "Hello! These is the Golden hen Suite. How can I be of service?" "Yeah, hi," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm even though my pulse was running a marathon. "There's a problem in my room." behind me, Mr. Smug leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed like he was watching a comedy show. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?" "There's a stranger in here claiming this is his room," I said, emphasizing every word and making sure that he heard me.

And I tell myself that’s a win. Even if my hands are still shaking. Even if my pulse still echoes the memory of his voice like a bruise I asked for. Even if every step away feels like dragging a blade through my ribs. But I don’t stop. Because I need this. I need distance. I need silence. I need control. I need to remember who I am before his orbit starts rewriting me. Because Nathan Cross doesn’t get to unravel me. Not when I’ve stitched myself together from worse. Not when I’ve fought this hard to stay whole.

I walked over to the long line of glass mirrors hanging above the perimeter sinks, my hands trembling as I reached down to fix the hem of my twisted skirt and pull my oversized sweater back down over my hips. I looked up at my reflection, my breath catching instantly in my throat. I reached down, my shaking fingers pulling the waistband of my skirt slightly to the side. Right there, forming directly over my pale hip bone, was a dark, deep purple mark. It was shaped perfectly by the heavy print of Leo's fingers, a brutal, undeniable brand burning into my skin where nobody else in this school would ever see it.

"You don't remember this cufflink either?" I watched Imogen's reaction closely. To my relief, there was no trace of guilt in her eyes, only shock. "Why do you have that cufflink?" she demanded. "I told Lauren to..." Lauren interrupted frantically, practically shouting. "This man is spouting nonsense! That's a cheap knock-off! He's scamming everyone! Don't believe a word!" That was when something clicked for me. The three of us were arguing, yet Lauren, an outsider, got so worked up, as if she were terrified that something might be exposed.