Tethered Light

Chapter 9: Pulling Closer

The theater was dark except for the pale glow of the work lights overhead. It was late, and most of the crew had already gone home, leaving just Olivia and me. It became my routine, to meet her after classes and help until late night, even if that meant sacrificing the time I had for my assignments.

She was pacing in front of the stage, her hands animated as she spoke, sketchbook clutched tightly in one hand. "The lighting is all wrong for Act Two. If we don't fix it, the whole scene is going to fall flat."

I nodded, my camera resting on my lap. I'd spent the last hour snapping reference shots, but I hadn't spoken much.

"Are you even listening?" Olivia snapped, turning to face me.

"I am," I said, a little too quickly. "I just... I thought the lighting looked fine."

She rolled her eyes, frustration simmering beneath her otherwise calm exterior. "Fine isn't good enough, Heather. You should know that."

The words hit harder than they should have. I looked down at my camera, trying to hide the sting in my expression.

Olivia sighed, her tone softening. "I'm sorry," she said, walking over to sit beside me on the edge of the stage. "I didn't mean to snap. It's just... everything has to be perfect, you know?"

"Yeah," I said quietly.

She leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. "You're the only one who gets it. That's why I need you here."

Her words were like a balm, smoothing over the tension she'd just caused. And as always, I let them work.

***

The next day, I was in the library, struggling to finish an article for my journalism class. My mind kept drifting back to the theater, to Olivia. I hadn't told her I was taking the afternoon to focus on my schoolwork, and I half-expected my phone to buzz with her asking where I was.

But when it finally did, the message wasn't what I expected.

Olivia: Come to the park. Bring your camera.

I sighed, knowing I wasn't going to get anything done.

***

The park was quiet, the air cool and crisp. Olivia was waiting near the fountain, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. She smiled when she saw me, but there was a nervous energy about her that I couldn't quite place.

"What's this about?" I asked as I approached.

"I needed to get out of my head," she said, her gaze drifting to the trees swaying in the wind. "And I thought you might want to help me with that."

I lifted my camera. "What do you need me to shoot?"

"Us," she said simply.

I blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"I want you to take pictures of us," she said, stepping closer. "I don't know. Something about today feels... important."

I hesitated, but she was already pulling me toward a bench, her smile both playful and insistent.

"Come on," she said, sitting down and motioning for me to join her. "It'll be fun."

I couldn't say no.

The park was quiet, the kind of stillness that sharpened every sound. Olivia and I had spent the past hour taking photos, our laughter light and fleeting, almost too easy. But as the light began to fade and the cold crept in, the chill became harder to ignore, settling into my skin and the spaces between us. A heavier mood followed, thick and unspoken.

I was packing up my camera when she spoke, her voice softer than usual. "Heather, do you ever think about the future?"

I paused, her question catching me off guard. "Sometimes."

"What do you see?"

I glanced at her, unsure of what she was asking. "I don't know. A career, maybe. Something with photography."

She nodded, her gaze distant. "I see you," she said, her tone quiet but heavy.

My breath caught. "What?"

She turned to face me fully, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "I see us," she said, her voice low, deliberate. "Together."

Before I could respond, she leaned in, her hand reaching up to gently cradle the back of my neck. Her touch was firm but not forceful, and her eyes searched mine for a fraction of a second, giving me just enough time to pull away if I wanted to.

But I didn't.

Her lips met mine, and the world seemed to tilt. It wasn't soft or tentative—it was deliberate, intense, a silent declaration that left no room for doubt. Her other hand gripped my arm, pulling me closer, as if she was afraid I might slip away.

There was a hunger in the way she kissed me, a need that felt almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about affection—it was about control, about staking a claim. And I let her, caught in the pull of her orbit, my heart pounding so hard I could barely think.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were dark, her breathing uneven. "I've wanted this for so long," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you, Heather. You're the only one who understands me."

Her words were a tangle of vulnerability and possession, and I felt myself sinking deeper, the line between love and dependence blurring.

"Tell me you feel it too," she said, her hand still gripping my arm. "Tell me you want this."

"I do," I said, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them. And in that moment, I meant it.

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—relief, maybe, or victory. She leaned in again, pressing a softer kiss to my forehead before pulling me into her arms.

"You're mine now," she murmured, her voice low and possessive.

And just like that, I was hers.