The Pages Within [BxB]

Desire

t's strange how writing something down makes it real. You think that as long as it stays trapped in your head, you're safe. It's under control, something you can push down deep enough to ignore. But once it's out—on paper, in ink—there's no running from it. It's staring back at you, demanding to be acknowledged. You can't just crumple it up and throw it away. It's there now, in black and white, solid and permanent.

That's exactly what's happening now.

When Professor Walters handed out the journal assignment, I thought it'd be an easy way to slide through the class. Write a few things here and there, maybe complain about football or classes—stuff that wouldn't mean anything, just enough to get the grade and move on. But this journal? It's turned into something else—something I never wanted to face. The more I write, the more it feels like the truth I've been avoiding is spilling out onto the page, pulling me deeper with each word, dragging me to a place I've been fighting to stay away from.

I sit on my bed, staring at the journal in my hands like it's a bomb waiting to go off. My fingers trace the worn leather edges, soft from weeks of late-night scribbling. It used to be just another notebook I tossed in my bag without a second thought. But now? Now it feels like it's something else. Something heavy. Something dangerous.

I don't want to open it tonight. I already know what's inside, and the thought of facing it again makes my stomach twist into knots. It'd be easier to pretend none of this is happening, that I'm still the same guy everyone thinks I am—the guy with everything figured out, the guy with the perfect life. But I can't stop now. Not anymore.

Because of him.

It's always him.

No matter how much I try to push it down, no matter how hard I focus on football, Ava, or school, he's always there, lingering in the back of my mind. Jason. The quiet guy who sits under the tree sketching, who's never said more than a handful of words to me, yet somehow, he's taken up more space in my thoughts than I ever imagined possible.

I don't know how I let it get this far. I don't know why I can't just shake it off like I do with everything else. But with him, it's different. With him, it's like every time I see him, something shifts inside me, and I have no idea how to deal with it.

I open the journal, my hand trembling slightly, and the weight in my chest sinks deeper. The words I wrote last night are still there, staring back at me, daring me to admit what I already know. But reading them again, seeing them in front of me, makes it all feel too fucking real.

And once it's real, there's no going back.

Day 10

I don't know how to explain this, so I'm just going to write it. Maybe if I write it, it'll make sense. Maybe if I say it out loud—even if it's just on paper—it won't feel so wrong.

There's this guy, Jason. I don't even know him, not really. He's not part of my world. He's not one of the guys on the team, not someone who shows up at the parties or the games. He's just... Jason. He's quiet. Keeps to himself. Sits under the same tree every day, sketching like no one else exists.

I've seen him around for a while now, but I didn't notice him until last semester. At first, it was just a glance. I'd pass by him on my way to practice, and there he'd be, drawing. I didn't think anything of it. Just another student doing his thing.

But then something changed. I started looking for him. I'd catch myself glancing toward that tree whenever I walked by, wondering if he'd be there. And when he was, it did something to me—something I didn't understand. Something I didn't want to understand.