Page 53 of Ghosted

“Don’t do whatever you’re thinking. Even he isn’t worth it.”

I look at her mouth too long before I make myself look back at her eyes. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“No,” she says, voice flat, “but I’m starting to understand the warning signs.”

That almost gets a smile out of me.

Almost.

Johnny wants me loud. He wants me stupid, swinging first and thinking later, because then he gets to stand there smiling like he didn’t shove the match into my hand and dare me to burn the room down.

It’s his favorite fucking game. Always has been.

So I don’t give him that.

I go still instead.

Cold enough that Alice notices. Her eyes narrow slightly, not with fear, but with attention, and good. She should pay attention. She should understand that Johnny smiling is bad, but me going quiet is worse.

I step around the table and head for the stairs because staying near her right now feels like standing too close to an open flame and pretending I don’t want to put my hand in it.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Home.”

“Liar.”

I stop with one hand on the railing.

Alice doesn’t take it back. Most people soften after they push. They laugh, look away, try to make it smaller. Alice just stands there with my photo pressed to her chest and waits to see what I’ll do about it.

Brave girl.

Stupid, but brave.

I look over my shoulder at her. “Lock your door tonight.”

Her face closes off immediately. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re protecting me when you’re part of the reason this is happening.”

That lands right under the ribs.

Ugly and fucking accurate.

I don’t answer because there’s nothing clean to say. She’s right, and I’m starting to hate how often that happens, so I leave before I make it worse.

Or before I make it honest.

Outside, the rain is coming down hard enough to turn Brockville black beneath the lamps. The old brick buildings look darker when they’re wet, all sharp roofs and narrow windows, like the whole campus was built by people who thought education should come with a haunting. Orange Halloween lights blink in dorm windows, and plastic skeletons grin from behind glass because apparently everyone here thinks bad decisions look better with decorations.

I pull my hood up and walk.

I should go home.

I should get on my bike, ride back to my shit apartment above the mechanic shop, take a shower, and sleep for a few hours before swim practice at five in the fucking morning.