Chapter Six
985 Words
Arielle
I’m starting to hate Literature Theory.
Not because of the reading load, or the professor who never finishes a sentence without quoting dead poets.
It’s the stares.
The whispering. The feeling that I’m always just one beat off from everyone else — like they’ve all memorized the choreography of belonging, and I’m still stumbling through the first steps.
I slide into my seat near the back of the seminar room and shrink into my hoodie.
River flops down beside me like we’ve been doing this for years. “Look alive, partner. Dr. Hayes looks like she wants blood today.”
I glance up at the woman pacing the front of the room, wild curls pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched low. She taps the chalkboard like it owes her money.
“Let’s talk about desire,” she says. “Freud says every literary character is driven by want — not logic, not love — want. Raw, selfish, aching want.”
My stomach twists.
This should be theoretical. Just words.
But my mind drifts to the kitchen at 6AM. To Kael’s bare forearms and how the veins on his hands looked like they were carved into stone. To the way he touches things like they’ve done something to him.
Raw. Selfish. Aching.
I shake the thought.
“You,” Dr. Hayes points. “New girl. Elle, right?”
I freeze.
Everyone turns to look at me.
My throat goes dry. “Y-yes?”
“What does The Awakening teach us about want? You wrote in your paper that Edna’s desire was ‘silent but violent.’ Explain it.”
River leans in. “You got this.”
I stare down at my notebook. The page is a mess of half-quotes and ink smudges.
“She… um. She wanted something she wasn’t allowed to name. Not just romance, but… space. Escape. She wanted to be seen as a whole person, not just someone’s wife or mother. And the silence—her silence—it was her rebellion.”
Dr. Hayes tilts her head. “Go on.”
“She wasn’t screaming, but she was breaking things quietly. Piece by piece.”
The professor nods. “Good. Very good. Anyone want to respond to Arielle?”
There’s a pause, then someone across the room snorts. A girl with a perfect French manicure and too much lip gloss.
“She just wanted attention,” she says. “All that drowning stuff? So dramatic.”
River’s voice cuts in before I can react. “Drowning is the last resort of women no one listened to.”
The room falls into a hush.
My chest tightens.
I glance at him. His profile is sharp under the overhead lights, jaw set, eyes steady.
He didn’t look at me when he said it.
He just… knew.
After class, I wait outside the building while River argues with a vending machine.
I’m still reeling. From the question. From the quote. From the way the whole class shifted when River spoke — like he gave my thoughts a spine.
He jogs back over with a chocolate bar. “Bribery for emotional labor.”
I smile. “Thanks for what you said in there.”
He shrugs. “You said it first. I just echoed.”
“No. You… backed me up.”
“Yeah, well. Girls who speak up in this school get side-eyed. Especially when they’re new, smart, and wearing that face.”
“What face?”
“That one. The one that says, ‘I want to be invisible but also maybe understood.’”
I laugh. “You’re weird.”
“I know.”
We start walking toward the quad. The campus is golden with late morning sun, students sprawled on benches and picnic tables, laughing, arguing, sipping overpriced lattes.
I almost feel normal.
Until I see him.
Kael.
Sitting alone under one of the trees near the art building, sketchbook in his lap. Hoodie off, messy dark hair ruffled by the breeze. His eyes lift for half a second — meet mine.
Then drop again like I’m not even there.
My heart sinks.
I don’t know why it bothers me. Maybe it’s because he looks soft right now. Almost human. And I’ve only ever seen the version of him that’s made of steel and shadows.
River follows my gaze.
“Friend of yours?” he asks, tone casual.
“No.”
“Ex?”
“No. Just—” I bite my lip. “My stepbrother.”
River whistles low. “Damn. Complicated.”
“You have no idea.”
We pass Kael without stopping, and I swear I feel his eyes on my back like a brand. But he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just sketches something in his book like I’m a stranger.
By the time we reach the front gate, I’m jittery.
“You okay?” River asks.
“Yeah,” I lie.
He nods. “Cool. Look—this might be crazy, but there’s a student poetry thing tomorrow night. Open mic. I wasn’t gonna go, but now I kind of want to. You in?”
I hesitate. “I don’t… perform.”
“You don’t have to. Just come. There’s free tea and bad lighting. Very emo.”
I smile despite myself. “I’ll think about it.”
River grins. “That’s a yes. I’ll text you.”
I watch him go, heart lighter than it’s been in days.
But later that night, as I sit on the edge of my bed, notebook open, thoughts spinning, I feel that weight settle again.
Kael.
Across the hall.
Silent. Heavy. Always there.
And for the first time, I write something in the dark margins of the page.
“I don’t know what he wants from me.
But I think I’m starting to want him to want me.”
I snap the notebook shut before I can read it again.
- Writer
