Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 38 | He's next

THE NEXT DAY ARRIVED, cold and gray, with a biting wind that hinted at rain. James entered the school building early, slipping through the halls before the usual flood of students arrived. The air inside felt different today, a nervous energy buzzing just below the surface, though he hadn't yet heard the whispers or seen the shock on anyone's face. He knew it was only a matter of time.

He moved through the corridors like a shadow, watching. His heart pounded not with fear, but with an eager, sick anticipation. What would they say when they found out? How would they react? His footsteps echoed faintly as he passed through the empty halls, the silence so thick it felt as though the walls themselves were waiting to hear the news.

By the time first period began, the whispers had already started to ripple through the school. James sat at the back of the classroom, his face a mask of indifference, but his ears were attuned to every word. He watched the first few students to hear the news—their faces going pale, their voices dropping to urgent whispers. One girl gasped audibly, clapping a hand over her mouth as she looked at her friend with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Ethan's dead," she whispered. "He's dead."

James's heart leapt at those words. It was real now. The words held power, the reality of what he had done settling into the air like a heavy mist. Ethan wasn't a tormentor anymore. He was just...gone.

The classroom seemed to pulse with tension, the news spreading like wildfire. Within minutes, every head in the room was turned, students whispering to each other in hurried tones. James could hear snippets of conversations—disjointed fragments about how Ethan's body had been found at home, how it looked like an accident. No one seemed to know the details, only that he was dead.

"Do you think someone did it?" one boy asked in a low voice. His friend shot him a sharp look.

"Don't say stuff like that. It was an accident."

"Yeah, but come on... how does someone like that just die out of nowhere?"

James listened, his face an unreadable mask, as the murmurs swirled around him. He didn't join in. He didn't need to. All he had to do was sit back and watch the storm brew.

When the teacher finally arrived, she looked pale and shaken, struggling to keep her voice steady as she announced the news. "I'm sure you've all heard by now," she began, her voice thick with emotion. "One of your classmates, and beloved athlete, Ethan Rivers, passed away last night. We don't have all the details yet, but I... I just want to remind everyone that the school counselors are available if anyone needs to talk. Please, let's be respectful during this time and keep Ethan's family in our thoughts and prayers."

James barely heard her. His mind was buzzing, filled with the chaos of his own thoughts, the satisfaction of knowing that his plan had worked. Ethan was gone, and nobody had a clue. The weight of it should have felt heavier, the guilt should have sunk in by now. But instead, there was only a hollow satisfaction, like a hunger finally being fed after days of starvation.

By lunchtime, the panic had fully settled into the school. Conversations hummed through the cafeteria, louder than the usual chatter, and yet filled with an undertone of fear. Even the teachers, normally stiff and composed, were murmuring amongst themselves, their eyes darting anxiously around the room.

James sat alone at his usual table, watching it all unfold from a distance. His mind wasn't on Ethan anymore. No, his thoughts were focused on something—or rather, someone—else.

William hadn't come to school yet. At least, not that James had seen. His absence was like a void in the space, noticeable, aching. Even Ethan's friends—Trent, Marcus, Joel, and tyler—seemed subdued. Normally, they would have sneered at James by now, maybe even hurled a few insults his way. But today, they were too preoccupied, their faces pale with fear. James could almost taste their unease.

Then, finally, it happened. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw movement near the main entrance. William had arrived.

His stomach twisted at the sight of him. William's dirty blond hair was slightly disheveled, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, like he hadn't slept. He was still beautiful, of course—almost painfully so—but there was something different about him today. A heaviness in his posture, a kind of quiet dread that seemed to settle over his broad shoulders.

James felt a sharp pang of something that wasn't quite guilt but close enough to make him uneasy. It was the first time he had seen William since the party—the first time since the cruel prank, since his heart had been ripped out of his chest. And yet, as much as the humiliation still burned deep in his veins, that unbearable longing for William hadn't faded.

Their eyes met from across the room.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. The cafeteria noise seemed to dim around them, the world narrowing to just the two of them in that instant. William's face was unreadable, though something flickered behind his eyes—something dark, haunted. James couldn't tell if it was guilt, grief, or something else entirely, but it made his heart race. Despite everything—despite the rage and humiliation and betrayal—he still wanted him. So badly, it hurt.

The moment stretched on, neither of them daring to look away. And in that brief second, James almost thought he saw something in William's eyes. Regret, maybe. Or perhaps just exhaustion. It didn't matter. It was enough to keep James rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away.

But then, the moment shattered.

"Hey, faggot!"

The sharp voice cut through the air like a knife. James stiffened, breaking eye contact with William as Trent's booming voice echoed through the cafeteria. He turned slowly to see Trent and Joel standing at the edge of the table, their faces twisted into familiar sneers.

"You think you're gonna get away with staring at him like that, freak?" Trent's voice was filled with venom, his fists clenched at his sides. "Look away before we make you."

James's heart thundered in his chest, but he didn't let it show. He stared at Trent for a moment, feeling the heat of anger rise in his throat, but he forced it down. His fists clenched inside his pockets, knuckles turning white.

Not yet, he told himself. Not now.

He turned away from them, ignoring Trent's taunts, and walked off. But as he made his way through the cafeteria, his mind was already made up. Trent had just signed his own death sentence.

He's next.