YOU STAND IN YOUR ROOM staring at the mirror. The bruises have darkened overnight, ugly splotches of purple and blue spreading across your skin.

Your fingers lightly touch the tender spot on your cheek, wincing at the sting.

The memory of last night, the blood, the ropes digging into your skin, Matt's tortured gaze—it all crashes over you like a wave.

You reach for your usual pink headband, the one that you wear every day.

It's a habit, almost like a good luck charm, a part of your routine that makes you feel a little more like yourself.

But as you slide it into place, your eyes lock onto your reflection. The headband looks jarring against the bruised skin, like a splash of innocence over something broken.

You hesitate, hands trembling.

For a second, you consider leaving the headband behind. The thought of going to school today, facing everyone, is almost too much.

You're exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically. You barely slept last night, too haunted by the events at the warehouse, every creak and shadow in your room making your heart race.

You had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, every word Hector had said, every flicker of pain in Matt's eyes.

But you can't stay home. If you skip school, it would raise questions you're not ready to answer.

So you take a deep breath, set the headband in place, and pull your hair back, trying to ignore how hollow your eyes look, how small you feel in your own skin.

You walk down the stairs and like every other day, there's a note from one of your parents neatly placed on the counter.

You already know what it says. It's never changed, it's always the same words.

In your parents eyes, you weren't worth the trouble of coming up with a new excuse. You searched for the positive side of things.

At least you still got something.

You pass by it, not even batting it an eye and walk right out of the front door, starting to make you way to school.

You got in the bus, hoping to see Matt, just like on the first day. But he wasn't there.

Once, inside the school, the halls are noisy and bustling as usual, filled with laughter, chatter, and the sound of lockers slamming shut.

You move through the crowd, your head down, hoping to avoid any attention. But it feels like everyone is staring at you, whispering.

It's your own paranoia, you know that, but you can't shake the feeling that they can see the bruises beneath your makeup, that they can tell something is wrong.

As you reach your locker, you fumble with the combination lock, your hands still shaking slightly.

You're trying to steady your breathing, focus on the mundane task of gathering your books.

The noise of the hallway seems to blur into a dull roar, the voices blending together until it's just a distant hum in your ears.

Then you see him.

Matt.

Walking hand-in-hand with Marissa. The sight of them together hits you like a punch to the gut.

Marissa is laughing at something he said, her head tilted toward him, her perfect smile on display.

She looks up at him with adoration, completely unaware of what happened last night, of the promises whispered in the dark.

Matt's expression is unreadable, but when he glances in your direction, trying to find your eyes, you quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in the contents of your locker.

You feel a lump form in your throat, and you swallow hard, willing yourself not to cry.

The image of his lips pressed against yours flashes in your mind, the tenderness of that kiss, the raw emotion in his eyes.

And then, just hours later, he's back with her, holding her hand like nothing happened.

You snap your locker shut a little too forcefully, ignoring the sting in your wrist from the sudden movement.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to walk toward your next class—history, where you'll continue working on the group project with Matt.

You walk into the class and whisper a greetinf to your teacher. You take your seat, trying to keep your focus on your notebook, scribbling down the date and heading in an attempt to ground yourself.

But it's impossible to ignore Matt when he slides into the chair next to you. You can feel his presence, the way his gaze flickers over to you, and the tension between you is palpable.

"Hey," he says quietly, leaning a bit closer, his voice low so no one else can hear. "Are you okay princess?"

You stiffen at the nickname, keeping your eyes on your notes. "I'm fine, but don't call me that," you reply curtly, flipping a page as if you're engrossed in your work.

Matt reaches out, as if he's about to touch your arm, but you pull back instinctively.

His hand freezes in mid-air before he slowly lowers it. "You don't look fine, let me help you," he presses gently, his voice tinged with concern.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry. You can't do this here. You can't break down in front of him, not with Marissa sitting just a few seats away, chatting with her friends like everything is normal.

"Let's just work on the project," you mutter, reaching into your bag and pulling out the history textbook.

Matt doesn't respond immediately. He watches you for a moment, his gaze searching your face, and you know he can see the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hands are still trembling.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

"What part did you want to cover today?" you ask, flipping through the pages of the textbook, not really seeing the words.

You just need to keep talking, keep the conversation focused on anything other than last night.

Matt hesitates, clearly torn. "I really don't care, I just want to know if you're alright, please," he suggests quietly. "I really think we should talk about what happened."

"There's nothing to talk about Matt. I was kidnapped and attacked, but It's fine. I'm here in one piece aren't I," you snap, your voice sharper than you intended.

You see him frown slightly, the hurt flashing across his face before he quickly masks it.

"You almost got killed princess," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to know that you're okay."

You shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes. "Who's princess, I thought I said you not to call me that?" You ask him, looking deeply into his eyes.

"You, it's a new nickname, do you like it?" He simply answered as he smiled softly. You decide against asking why he chose that name for you.

Instead you changed topics again. "I said I'm fine. Let's just focus on the project."

"Why won't you talk to me?" His voice cracks a little, and it takes everything in you not to look at him, not to let your resolve crumble. "You were there. I saw what they did to you. I can't just pretend it didn't happen."

You clench your fists under the desk, your nails digging into your palms. "I don't want to talk about it," you repeat, your voice cold. "Please, just drop it."

Matt exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He looks at you, his eyes filled with pain and guilt, and you can feel the intensity of his stare burning into the side of your face. "You don't have to go through this alone," he murmurs. "I'm here. I want to help."

You laugh bitterly, finally turning to face him. "Help? How exactly are you going to help, Matt?" you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "By holding her hand while you do it?" You snap at him.

His face pales, and he looks like you've slapped him. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you thick with unspoken words, with all the things you want to say but can't.

"I can ex-" he tried.

The bell rings, shattering the moment. You grab your bag and stand up quickly, avoiding his gaze. "I have to go," you mumble, not waiting for a response.

As you rush out of the classroom, you hear Matt call after you. "Hey! Wait!"

You don't stop. You push through the crowd, your heart pounding, tears blurring your vision.

You round the corner and duck behind a wall, pressing your back against it as you try to catch your breath, wiping away the tears that threaten to spill.

You close your eyes, trying to calm the storm inside you. But then you hear footsteps, and before you can react, Matt is there, standing in front of you.

"Hey," he says softly, stepping closer. He reaches out, and before you can pull away, his fingers gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

His eyes widen when he sees the bruise on your cheek, the one you couldn't quite cover with makeup.

His expression twists with pain and guilt, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "Did he do this to you?" he asks, his voice a raw whisper.

You jerk your chin out of his hand, stepping back. "It doesn't matter," you say flatly, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.

"It matters to me," he insists, stepping closer again. "I need to know your name," he adds desperately. "I can't keep calling you 'hey you'. Please."

You shake your head, biting your lip. "No. It doesn't matter. I'm nothing," you repeat, your voice trembling. "Just leave me alone."

Matt looks like he's been punched in the gut. He takes a shaky breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I can't do that," he says quietly. "I can't just leave you alone after what happened."

You look up at him, your eyes filled with tears you can no longer hold back. "You don't understand," you whisper, your voice breaking. "You can't fix this, Matt. You can't just make it go away."

His face crumples, and he takes a step back, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he says, his voice hollow. "I know I can't. But I want to be here for you. I want to help. You're in this because of me and I can't live with that"

You shake your head again, wiping away the tears. "I can't do this right now," you choke out. "I just... I need time."

Without another word, you turn and walk away, leaving Matt standing there, his face etched with pain and regret.

You hurry away from the confrontation with Matt, your pulse still racing. You feel his eyes on you as you walk down the hall, but you don't look back.

You make it to your next class just as the bell rings, sliding into your seat and trying to breathe through the whirlwind of emotions.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. You can't focus, your mind spinning with thoughts of Matt, the kiss, the terror from last night, and the way he was holding Marissa's hand like nothing had changed.

It feels like your whole world has been flipped upside down, and you're left scrambling to find your footing.

By the time the final bell rings, you feel like you've run a marathon. You grab your bag and head straight home, ignoring the groups of students lingering in the halls.

You can't bear to look at Matt again, and you have no interest in seeing him with Marissa, either.

As soon as you get inside your house, you lock the door behind you, breathing a sigh of relief. The quiet of your home feels like a temporary refuge, a small comfort in the chaos that's become your life.

You toss your bag onto the couch and head to your room, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world for a little while.

You take out your phone, intending to scroll mindlessly to distract yourself. But as soon as you unlock it, a notification pops up.

It's a message from an unknown number. You hesitate before opening it, your heart pounding in your chest as you read the words:

We're watching you

The blood drains from your face, your hands going cold. You look around your room, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows.

You rush to your window, peeking through the blinds, but the street looks normal. Just a few kids playing and someone walking their dog.

Your fingers tremble as you type a response.

Who is this?

Almost immediately, three dots appear, and a reply comes through.

You know who we are. Consider this a friendly reminder. We have eyes on you. Hector doesn't appreciate loose ends. Make sure Matt gets the message.

Your stomach churns, and you feel like you might be sick. You clutch your phone tightly, the screen blurring as panic sets in.

They've hacked your phone. That's why Hector handed it back so easily. You should have known something was off.

Before you can even process what to do next, there's a loud knock at your door. The sound echoes through the quiet house, and you freeze.

For a moment, you consider pretending you're not home, but another series of knocks comes, this time louder, more insistent.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

You make your way to the door, hesitating for a split second before you unlock it and crack it open.

Standing on your doorstep is a man you recognize from the warehouse.

Hector's man.

He's tall and burly, with a scar running down the side of his face. He grins when he sees you, but there's nothing friendly about it. The smile is cold, calculated.

"Hello, sweetheart," he says smoothly. "Mind if we have a little chat?"

You shake your head, gripping the door so hard your knuckles turn white. "What do you want?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He chuckles, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I think you already know the answer to that. Hector sent me. He wanted to make sure you understood the seriousness of the situation."

"I got the message," you snap, trying to sound braver than you feel. "You don't have to threaten me."

The man's smile widens, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Threaten? Oh, sweetheart, this isn't a threat. This is just a reminder. We know where you live. We know who you care about. And if you don't deliver our message to Matt..." He trails off, shrugging as if to say the rest is obvious.

Your hands start shaking, and you clench them into fists to hide it. "What do you want me to tell him?"

The man steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your face. "Tell him Hector isn't happy. Tell him he needs to get his priorities straight. And tell him we'll be watching."

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back to the black car idling at the curb. He gives you one last look over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips, before getting in and driving off.

You slam the door shut, your breathing ragged. You lean against it, sliding down until you're sitting on the floor, your head in your hands.

This is spiraling out of control.

You can't handle this on your own.

You think of Matt, but anger flares up inside you. He's the reason you're in this mess in the first place. You don't want to talk to him.

You'd rather go to Chris; he seemed to understand you better, and he wasn't the one with a girlfriend on his arm while pretending to care about you.

You push yourself to your feet, grab your phone and keys, and head out the door.

The walk to Matt's place feels like it takes forever. Your legs feel heavy, and the late afternoon sun is already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows on the sidewalk.

When you finally reach the house, you hesitate. You can see Matt's car in the driveway, but you can't bring yourself to knock on the door.

Instead, you walk up to the side window, peeking inside. You can see movement in the kitchen, and then you spot Chris coming into view. Relief floods you.

You tap lightly on the window to get his attention.

Chris glances over, his eyes widening in surprise. He quickly makes his way to the door and steps outside, closing it behind him. "What are you doing here?" he asks, keeping his voice low.

"I need to talk to you," you say, your voice shaking. "It's important."

He frowns, studying your face. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I got a message from Hector's men," you say quickly. "They hacked my phone. And then one of his guys showed up at my house. They said to give Matt a message. They're watching us."

Chris's expression darkens, and he runs a hand through his hair, looking tense. "Damn it," he mutters. "This isn't good. Did you tell Matt?"

You shake your head. "I didn't want to. I'd rather talk to you. He—he was with Marissa today. I just... I can't deal with him right now."

Chris looks over his shoulder, back toward the house. "He's going to want to know about this," he says quietly. "But I get it. I'll tell him. You don't have to see him if you don't want to."

You feel a wave of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Chris. I just couldn't face him right now."

But before you can say anything else, the front door swings open, and Matt steps outside.

His eyes land on you immediately, and his expression shifts from confusion to concern. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight.

You stiffen, taking a step back. "Nothing. I was just leaving."

Matt frowns, stepping closer. "Wait. I heard you talking. What happened? Why did you come here?"

Chris gives you a quick glance, as if asking for permission to speak.

You nod slightly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Hector's men contacted her," Chris says bluntly. "They hacked her phone and sent someone to her house to deliver a message. They wanted her to tell you that they're watching."

Matt's face goes pale, his eyes widening.

He looks at you, and you can see the fear in his gaze, mixed with a deep guilt. He takes a step closer, reaching out like he wants to touch you. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

You take a step back, holding up your hands. "I'm fine," you say sharply. "I just came here to tell Chris. I didn't want to see you."

Hurt flashes across Matt's face, and he drops his hand to his side. "Why didn't you come to me?" he asks quietly. "You know I would have helped."

You laugh bitterly. "Helped? Like how you helped me last night, right before you went back to your girlfriend?"

He flinches like you slapped him, and for a moment, he looks like he doesn't know what to say. "It's not like that," he tries to explain. "You don't understand—"

"You're right," you cut him off. "I don't understand. And I don't want to. Just... stay away from me, Matt."

Before he can respond, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him standing there, his face filled with a mix of regret and desperation.

As you head down the street, you feel the tears start to fall, but you don't look back.

This isn't over. Not by a long shot.