Behind the Hollow Eyes (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 5: Like Someone was Watching

I woke up, the crumpled note on the pillow beside me.

You're not invisible.

It hit something raw.
Not just a nerve—something deeper.
Like a bruise I didn't know I had.

I stared at it until my eyes blurred.
Then I pressed it to my chest.
Like maybe holding it could make it real.
Like maybe I needed it to be.

I sat up.
The room was dim, early morning light slipping through the curtains in gray strips.

I reached for my sketchbook.
Flipped past the empty-eyed girl I drew yesterday.

Then I carefully folded the note in half again—edges soft, creased now like a memory—and tapped it into the back of the second page.
Not the cover.
Not buried.

Just a little more secret.

Something just for me.

I walked through the front doors with my hood up and my earbuds in, but I wasn't listening to anything.

Just needed the shape of silence.
Something to stand between me and the noise.

I kept my eyes down through the first hallway, past the stairs, past the vending machines that always smelled like melted plastic and old candy bars.

But something made me look up.

And I saw him.

Not close.
Not obvious.
Just leaning against the row of lockers near the library, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he was waiting for the bell.
Or maybe for me.

He didn't move when I looked at him.
Didn't pretend he wasn't staring.
Didn't try to vanish into the background like everyone else does when they're caught watching.

He just looked.

And for once...
I looked back.

There was something in his stillness that should've unnerved me.
The way he didn't flinch, didn't shift, didn't mask whatever it was he was thinking.
But instead, my chest tightened in that awful, electric way.

Not fear.
Not quite.

Something else.

I told myself it was just curiosity.
That I was trying to understand him.
That it didn't mean anything that I'd memorized the slope of his shoulders or the way he always stood with one foot slightly behind the other.

He blinked first.

Pushed off the locker and walked the other way, slow and unbothered like it meant nothing.

But it did.

And maybe the worst part was...
I kind of wanted him to look back.

I sat at the far end of the cafeteria, same table as always, corner seat with my back to the wall.

Safer that way.

I poked at my food without really eating it. Mostly just moved it around to look busy. I had my sketchbook open beside me, but I wasn't drawing. Just flipping through blank pages like maybe one of them would give me a reason to start.

That's when I felt it.

A shift in the noise. A laugh that was too pointed, too rehearsed.

Dahlia.

I didn't look up, but I didn't have to. I felt her presence like static before a storm—sharp and crawling across my skin.

She walked past my table slowly, her tray held in both hands like a prop. She wasn't alone. Two girls flanked her, laughing at something she'd just whispered. One of them glanced at me, then looked away too quickly.

I kept my head down.

But then she stopped.

Right at the end of my table.

Didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.

She just stood there, silent and smiling. Not the kind of smile that meant anything good.

My heartbeat picked up, but I didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't give her the reaction she wanted.

I looked at my tray.
Then up.
Met her eyes.

Just for a second.

She tilted her head, like she was trying to decide if I was still the same person.

Then she leaned in, just slightly.

"I liked your hoodie better yesterday," she said.
Soft. Like a compliment.
Like venom dipped in honey.

Then she walked away.

The laughter followed her like perfume.

I let out a slow breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

My hands were trembling under the table.

But I didn't leave.

And that had to count for something.

The last bell rang like it always did—too loud, too late.

Students flooded the halls in a rush of backpacks and half-finished conversations. I kept to the edge, moving slow, letting them pass me by.

I wasn't heading toward my locker.

I wasn't heading home either.

I wasn't sure where I was going until I got there.

The old wing was mostly empty. The air felt cooler there. Still. Like the rest of the school forgot it existed.

And maybe it did.

The green stairs waited, chipped paint and all.
And so did he.

Same spot. Same posture.
Leaning against the railing like he hadn't moved since yesterday.

"I didn't think you'd be here," I said before I could talk myself out of it.

He looked up, met my eyes. Calm. Not surprised.
"I figured you'd want to talk."

I walked closer, but not too close.
Close enough to see the way his fingers tapped against his jacket sleeve like he was keeping time only he could hear.

"You don't get to say things like that and disappear," I said.

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not quite.

"I didn't disappear. You just weren't looking."

"That's not the same."

"No," he said. "But it still matters."

I didn't know what that meant.
I hated that it did.

He glanced at my bag, the corner of my sketchbook just visible.
"Did you draw?"

I hesitated.
The lie sat at the tip of my tongue.

But something in his expression made it hard to say.

"Yeah," I said finally.
"I did."

"What did you draw?"

I shook my head. "You don't get to see it."

He didn't ask again. Just nodded like he understood anyway.

"She's not done with you," he said after a pause.

I didn't need to ask who he meant.

"I know."

"She wants to remind you who you are."

I looked at him. "And who's that?"

His eyes softened. "Someone she can't control anymore."

I didn't say anything.

Because part of me wanted to believe that.
And part of me still wasn't sure it was true.