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 continued on.

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 still were."

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. 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 throng—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.

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 and confusion 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.