Page 94 of Picture Perfect

"Thanks," I say, but the word tastes sour. Freedom is an illusion here, and every ride home is a reminder that I am never truly alone. They ferry me from one place to another, a precious object to be transported and guarded.

"Hey," Saint says softly, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that contradicts his brooding exterior. "No matter what happens, we've got you, Princess."

I want to believe him. I want to trust in that 'we', to feel safe in their circle. But trust is a currency I'm always short on, and safety is a language I'm still learning to speak.

"See you later, Saint," I whisper as he turns to leave, my heart a complicated knot of gratitude and rebellion.

"Later, Princess." His reply is simple, but it carries the weight of unsaid things, of feelings buried under layers of scars and fears.

As I watch him walk away, his figure retreating into the sea of students, I wonder if there will ever come a day when my choices will be my own, when my heart will belong to me again. For now, though, I turn and step into my classroom, the lingering warmth of his kiss on my forehead a bittersweet comfort.

The rest of my morning is uneventful. One of the boys meets me outside each classroom, ferrying me to my next as through there are secret dangers lurking in the shadows. I know they're worried about Preston, but he hadn't bothered me in a while.

The final morning bell rings, a shrill sound echoing in the corridor, signaling freedom—at least for an hour. My hand hesitates on the strap of my bag, and I take a deep breath, preparing myself. The hall is bustling with students, all eager for their midday reprieve, but the sea of bodies parts as I step out, my presence drawing a different kind of attention.

"Ready?" Chess's voice cuts through the chatter, his hazel eyes searching mine for something I'm not sure I can give.

"Sure," I say, the word more reflex than truth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and I feel a pang of guilt for the things left unspoken between us. Silence wraps around us like a shroud as we begin our walk to the computer lab.

Chess matches his stride to mine, a silent sentinel flanking me through the crowded halls. I should be used to this by now—the protective bubble they've crafted around me—but it still feels alien, like a role I never auditioned for.

"Addy..." he starts, and there's a weight to his tone that makes my pulse quicken. But then a group of giggling freshmen barrel past us, and whatever he was about to say gets lost in their wake.

"Chess," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's going—"

My question is cut off as he suddenly grips my arm, firm but not hurting, and steers me toward the door of an empty classroom. A flicker of anxiety sparks inside me as the door clicks shut behind us, the raucous noise of the hallway muffled as if we're in another world altogether.

"Talk to me," he pleads, and there's an urgency in his eyes that tugs at the knot inside me. "Please."

His hand slides from my arm to cradle my face, his touch tentative yet insistent. My heart thrashes against my ribs, trapped between the desire to lean into his warmth and the instinct to pull away.

"Chess, why did you bring me here?" My voice is a whisper, drowned by the sudden quiet of the room.

"Because out there," he gestures vaguely toward the door, "it's chaos. But in here, it's just us. And I need... I need you to see that I'm serious." His thumb caresses my cheekbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

"Serious about what?" I ask, even though a part of me already knows. It's written in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he stands close enough for me to feel the rise and fall of his chest.

"About you, Addy." His voice drops to a murmur. "About us."

I stare at him, caught in the gravity of this moment, of his confession. The rest of the world fades, and it's just Chess, with his olive skin, dark hair, and eyes that hold multitudes. Just Chess, who's been my shadow, my unexpected anchor in the storm that is Saint Ignatius.

"Us," I echo, the word fragile on my lips.

"Us," he confirms, and for a heartbeat, I let myself believe in the possibility of that simple, powerful word.

Chess's hands are on my shoulders now, grounding me. I can feel the trembling in his fingers, a mirror to the tumult inside me.

"Addy," he pleads softly, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he leans forward. "Please, just... talk to me. What you heard that day, it was before anything happened between us. Before I knew how much I—"

He breaks off, swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. I see the struggle in him, the tightness around his eyes that speaks of sincerity or maybe fear. Fear of losing whatever fragile thing we've built in the shadows of our lives.

"Since that first kiss, Addy, I swear... I haven't been with anyone else." His voice is earnest, almost desperate, and his hazel eyes search mine for absolution. He swears, and despite everything, a part of me wants to step into the circle of his arms and believe him.

"Chess," I breathe out, my own voice laced with confusion and the dregs of hurt, "I don't know what to do with this. With us."

"Start by trusting me?" There's an edge of hope there, a bright wire of it stretched taut between us.

The hallway outside buzzes with the distant sound of students, a reminder of the world waiting beyond the solitude of this room. Chess waits too, his gaze never leaving my face.

---