Kiss Me, Damnation

VII

Evelyn

It had been three weeks since that night at the hospital, three weeks since Adrian dragged me into that janitor's closet and kissed me like I was something he owned.

And in those three weeks, he hadn't so much as looked at me.

At first, I didn't believe it. I kept expecting to find another note slipped onto my desk, another shadow waiting for me outside class, another whisper of his breath against my ear. But nothing came. Adrian Blackwood became... silent.

And strangely, terrifyingly, it was worse than when he had been near.

Because at least when he was watching me, I knew where he was. Now, I felt him everywhere—in the quiet corners of the hallway, in the back of my mind whenever Daniel smiled at me. His absence wasn't peace. It was a storm crouching on the horizon, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Still, life went on. Daniel recovered quicker than the doctors had predicted, stubborn as always. His arm was still in a sling, but he was back in class, back by my side. Somewhere between our long conversations in the hospital and the hours we spent together afterward, we had stopped pretending. We were officially dating now, and the way he looked at me—the way he treated me like I was the only thing that mattered—made my heart ache with a gentleness I wasn't used to.

For the first time in years, I almost believed I could have something normal.

Almost.

"Alright," our literature teacher said, his voice brisk as he set a thick novel down on the desk. "Today's discussion is on character motivations in tragedy. Who would like to start?"

The classroom buzzed. A few students muttered, some looked down at their desks, others exchanged knowing glances. I sat upright, ready. Literature was my favorite subject, the one place I could lose myself in words instead of reality.

"I think," I began, my voice steady, "that tragedy often reveals the truth people hide. It strips them down, forces them to confront who they really are. That's what makes it powerful."

A murmur of agreement went around. I felt a flicker of pride.

Then another voice cut through, smooth and sharp as glass.

"Or perhaps tragedy doesn't reveal truth at all," Adrian said from the other side of the room. "Perhaps it simply exposes weakness. And some people mistake weakness for depth."

My spine stiffened.

He was looking at me.

Three weeks of silence, and this was how he broke it—across a classroom, in front of everyone, his words aimed like a knife.

I gripped my pen tighter. "Or maybe you're confusing cruelty with strength," I shot back, my heart racing even as my tone stayed even.

A low murmur ran through the class. People loved when we clashed. Evelyn versus Adrian. They called it our 'academic battles,' as if it were all fun and games. But I knew better.

Adrian's eyes darkened, but his smile stayed fixed. "Cruelty is honesty without the disguise of morality. Weakness is hiding behind sentiment and calling it virtue."

I leaned forward, heat rushing through me. "No. Cruelty is cowardice. It's the inability to face pain without passing it on. Real strength is being able to feel without breaking."

Silence rippled for a moment, and I realized my hands were trembling.

But Adrian wasn't done. His gaze lingered on me a beat too long, his smile widening slightly. "And yet," he said softly, almost intimately, "weakness is often what people find... irresistible."

My heart stuttered. The air shifted. Everyone else thought it was just another jab, another clever line in our ongoing sparring. But I knew. He wasn't talking about literature. He was talking about me.

And Daniel knew it too.

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly. The whole class turned.

"Watch your mouth, Adrian." Daniel snapped, his voice sharp, protective.

Adrian tilted his head lazily, as if Daniel's anger amused him. "Or what?" he drawled.

Something in Daniel snapped.

Before I could stop him, his fist connected with Adrian's jaw. The crack echoed through the stunned classroom. Gasps erupted, students scrambling out of their seats.

"Daniel!" I cried, rushing forward, grabbing his arm. His good arm trembled from the force of the punch, his chest heaving.

But my eyes shot to Adrian—ready, terrified, certain he would lash out. Everyone knew Adrian was stronger. Everyone knew he could end this in a single move.

But he didn't.

He staggered back a step, his head snapping to the side, his jaw already reddening where the punch had landed. For a moment, the room held its breath, waiting for the explosion.

And then—nothing.

Adrian straightened slowly, his lips curling into a faint smile, his eyes unreadable.

He didn't raise a hand. He didn't hit back.

He let Daniel's fist hang in the air like a victory.

The classroom erupted in whispers. "Did you see that?" "Adrian didn't fight back—" "He's stronger, everyone knows—"

Confusion spread like wildfire.

Daniel's chest rose and fell, still bristling, but even he looked uncertain now, as if he didn't understand why Adrian hadn't retaliated.

I couldn't breathe.

Adrian's eyes found mine across the chaos, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us. There was no anger there. No defeat. Just something deeper, darker, something that made my stomach twist.

He let it happen.

He wanted it to happen.

I didn't understand why, and that terrified me more than anything.

The teacher finally regained control, shouting over the noise, ordering everyone back to their seats, threatening punishments. Daniel sat down beside me, his hand brushing mine under the desk, protective, steady. I forced myself to breathe, to pretend I wasn't shaking inside.

But I couldn't stop my gaze from flicking to Adrian.

He sat calmly, one elbow on his desk, his jaw swelling, that same faint smile still tugging at his lips.

Like he knew a secret.

Like he was waiting for me to figure it out.

And deep down, I knew I would.

But I wasn't sure I wanted to.