Delicate passion. BxB

I used to wish something terrible would happen to Mason Norwood. I never said it out loud. I pressed it into my chest like a secret prayer, quiet and desperate. Mason was the golden boy-the one the girls crowned without debate, the one I made the mistake of wanting. He noticed me, not with desire, but with cruelty. His insults were soft enough to pass as jokes. His attention was constant enough to feel like a trap. One day it went too far. Far enough that I remember thinking, very clearly, that I might not see my mother again.

Whatever I felt for him died there. It didn't fade. It rotted into something darker, colder. Hate was easier than fear. Hate gave me shape.

Now something bad really has happened to him. And instead of relief, or triumph, or guilt, there's this hollow pause inside me. Like the world finally answered, and I don't know what to do with the echo.

Micheal Winter.
2025