Behind the Hollow Eyes (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 2: She Always Leaves Early

I slammed my locker shut as thoughts of that man rattled my mind. I headed to class with my best friend, Jason—one of the only people I really had here. As I walked, I passed Ember chatting with her usual circle and overheard Dahlia's friends whispering cruelly:

"She's such a loser."
"Total geek."

Their words washed over me without a sting. I muttered, "Oh, fuck off," as I rolled my eyes and continued on. It was more of an annoyance than anything.

Without warning, Dahlia stepped in front of me, blocking my path. In one swift motion, she shoved me hard into the lockers; the metal slammed against my shoulder, igniting a sharp pain.

"Looks like we're not friends anymore," she sneered.

I managed a dry laugh. "Didn't know we were keeping score."

Her eyes darkened. She shoved me again, harder this time—my head clipping the locker as the sound of impact rang in my ears.

"You gonna say something now?" she spat.

Dazed, I glanced over at Jason, one of my closest friends. He was only a few feet away, awkwardly chatting with a couple of guys from bio. His eyes met mine for a brief, troubled moment.

"Jason?" I choked out.

He hesitated. "Hey, Dahlia, come on," he called weakly. "Maybe just chill, okay?"

Dahlia shot him a mocking look. "Seriously? Stay out of it, Jason."

He froze, clearly reluctant to take a side. The anger inside me wasn't just for her cruelness now—it was also for Jason's inaction.

Before I could process another thought, a firm voice cut through the crowd.

"Back off." A boy stepped forward from the horde—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with shaggy blond hair and deep, stormy blue eyes. With deliberate calm, he reached out and grabbed Dahlia's shoulder, pulling her away from me.

"Don't touch her again."

Dahlia blinked, thrown off balance for just a moment. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

He didn't answer. Instead, she lashed out, shoving him as if to reclaim her power. Unmoved, the boy stood his ground. I couldn't take my eyes off him, and I think Jason took notice.

Jason stepped forward then, his voice wavering, "Okay, okay, let's just—" but before he could continue, the boy gently blocked him with an outstretched arm, as though to say this wasn't the time.

Dahlia raised her hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist mid-air—firm yet controlled.

"Don't," he said softly.

Frustration exploding, she slapped him with her other hand—a sharp crack echoing through the hallway. He didn't retaliate; instead, he maintained his calm, stepping closer as Dahlia instinctively backed off.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

Her face flushed with anger and humiliation. "Psycho," she hissed, brushing past him and clipping his shoulder as she stormed away.

A heavy silence fell. I realized I'd been holding my breath, my pulse hammering not just from the pain but from the raw surge of emotions the confrontation had stirred. Nearby, Jason hovered uncertainly, his expression a mix of regret, confusion and a tang of jealousy as if he wanted to act but was too paralyzed by his own indecision.

"Wait." His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the hallway buzz like a ripple across still water.

I stopped. Turned.

The boy was standing a few steps back, hands in his pockets now, like he hadn't just stepped into chaos and redirected it.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded, though the throb in my shoulder said otherwise. "Yeah," I lied. "Thanks."

He shrugged, looking down for a second. "Didn't like the way she shoved you."

"She does that," I said, and immediately hated how small my voice sounded.

A beat passed.

The hallway was thinning out now. Most people had lost interest.

He glanced over his shoulder, then back to me. "You going to class?"

"I guess."

"I could walk with you," he offered casually, like it didn't matter either way.

Something in my chest twisted. Not the kind of twist that hurts. The kind that confuses you—makes you second-guess your next step.
"You don't even know me," I said, quieter than I meant to.

He looked at me for a moment. Not in a creepy way. Just... steady. Honest. "I know your name," he said. "Ashlynn." he brushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face.

I blinked. "How?"
He just gave a half-smile. "See you around," he said, already turning away and then he was gone.

I stood there for a second longer than I meant to, the warmth of his voice lingering in the space between everything that had just happened and whatever came next.

Jason's POV

She didn't look back. I thought maybe she would. Maybe she'd glance over her shoulder, roll her eyes, give me a look that said we're still okay. But she just walked away. And I let her.

I stood there like a goddamn statue, backpack slung half-off my shoulder, hands cold, throat tight.

I wanted to do something—I swear I did. But the moment Dahlia shoved her, my brain short-circuited. It was like being underwater. Everything felt slow and loud at the same time.

I said something. Didn't I?

No. I barely did.

And then that guy—what's-his-name, Matt?—came out of nowhere and made it look so easy. Like it was nothing to stand up for her. Like he didn't even think twice.

I should've done that.

But instead I stood there and watched Ashlynn get slammed into a locker by someone we used to hang out with. Someone we used to laugh with.

God. Idiot.

She looked at me like I was a stranger. And maybe I am now.

Blond Boy's POV

Jason was watching her like he'd just remembered she mattered.

Too late.

I leaned against the vending machine like I didn't care. Like I wasn't counting every second between her breaths. Like I hadn't already memorized the exact shape of the bruise forming beneath her sleeve.

Ashlynn sat alone. Picking at her food like she wanted to disappear into it. Her posture—tight, hunched, small—told me everything.

She wouldn't eat. Not today.

I followed Jason's gaze. The way his jaw clenched. The guilt in his shoulders. The silence in his hands. He'd stood there while she got slammed into metal and now he wanted to look concerned? I wanted to rip his head off.

People like him always wore it after the fact. That shame. That regret. They never said it out loud—but their bodies did.

I shifted my weight and checked the clock.

It's time.

She always left early when the world got too loud. When her skin didn't feel like it fit.

I let my eyes settle on her one last time. Her died brown hair, in curls framed her face. In need of a touch up as her natural red hair was peaking through at the roots. I stared long enough for Jason to notice. Long enough to make it uncomfortable.

Then I turned and walked out.