| LUCID |

Chapter | Three

Tuesday – At School

I walked into third period twenty minutes early and sat down, my thoughts racing. My hands gripped the edges of my desk, my knuckles turning pale. On my way here, I passed Jordyn in the hallway, and he just smirked at me—like this was some inside joke between us. Like I was supposed to be in on it. The way his lips curled sent chills down my spine, leaving a weight in my stomach that refused to settle.

I need a second. Just five minutes locked inside a disgusting, graffiti-covered stall, away from the noise and the walls that feel like they're closing in. I slipped my bag onto the back of my chair and stepped into the hallway, already crammed with students. Normally, I avoid the chaos by getting to class early, but today is an exception.

I kept my head low as I weaved through the crowd, but before I could make it to the bathroom, a hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me to a sudden stop. My breath caught in my throat.

"Two times in a row this morning, Alex? I'm starting to enjoy this," a deep, taunting voice murmured above me. My skin turned to ice.

I looked up and met Jordyn's smirk, the same one that had haunted me for years.

Ignoring his comment, I tried stepping around him, but his grip tightened. His fingers pressed into my wrist like he was testing how far he could push.

"Not even a hello?" He tilted his head, mocking disappointment. "That's not how you treat a friend."

With no warning, he shoved me backward. My spine collided against the cold metal lockers, the impact stealing the air from my lungs.

The noise of the hallway drowned around me—muffled conversations, laughter, the occasional exchange of cash and pills. No one noticed.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. "We are not friends, Jordyn. We aren't anything. You made sure of that."

His eyes darkened, searching mine like he was looking for something. What, I don't know. Maybe a reaction. Maybe a weakness.

His weight pressed me harder into the lockers, my trapped wrists throbbing under his grip. "Now, that's a little harsh," he mused, his voice dangerously light. "Your harshness might make me lash out... again."

My pulse spiked, and I felt my throat tighten.

Ryan.

The hospital.

The way his body looked—barely recognizable beneath layers of bruises and bandages.

I gritted my teeth. "Stop! Okay, just stop!" My voice cracked with desperation.

He grinned like he enjoyed every second of it.

"Whatever you want, I don't have," I spat, my breathing uneven. My wrists ached, my skin burning under his touch. I tried to pull away, but he was solid, unmoving.

Ethan

I stood near my locker with Jackson, Landon, and Grayson, going over party plans—who's bringing the drinks, which girls we're inviting, the usual.

A sharp voice cut through the noise of the hallway. A girl.

Jackson turned his head immediately. "What was that?"

Landon didn't even glance up from his phone. "Does it matter?" he chuckled.

But Jackson wasn't laughing. His whole stance shifted, muscles tense like he was waiting for a reason to move. I knew why. He didn't take this kind of thing lightly—not after what happened to his mom. Domestic violence claimed her life when he was only ten.