Aftermath
872 Words
Raven
I can’t really explain why I did what I did.
Maybe it was the way he stood over her, too close, too loud.
Maybe it was the word he used — sharp, ugly, meant to wound.
Or maybe it was something deeper, older, buried so far under my ribs it reacted before I could stop it.
All I know is that the second I heard it, something in me snapped.
I don’t know what Gabriella and I are to each other anymore.
Friends. Strangers. Ghosts of something neither of us is allowed to name.
But whatever we are, I know this much with terrifying clarity:
I’ll always protect her.
Even if she doesn’t remember why.
Even if she doesn’t remember me.
Russel didn’t yell when we walked into his office.
That alone told me something was off.
He shut the door behind us, sighed, and sat down like the day had aged him ten years. I leaned against the wall at first, then slid into the chair across from him and kicked my boots up on his desk out of habit.
“Feet down,” he said mildly. “I just cleaned that.”
I blinked and lowered them.
Okay. Definitely weird.
He stared at me for a long moment before speaking. “Raven… did you intend to start that fight, or did it just… happen?”
I shrugged. “Depends on your definition of start.”
That earned a tired huff. “Why would someone defend you like that?”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Like she did,” he said. “Begging me to go easy on you.”
My chest tightened before I could stop it.
“She did that?”
He nodded. “She seemed… shaken. But certain.”
That didn’t make sense. None of this did.
“So what now?” I asked, bracing myself.
Another sigh. “Go to class. No more fights today. Please.”
I stared at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I stood slowly. “Can I hit the nurse first?”
He waved me off. “Go.”
I didn’t want the nurse.
I wanted my bike.
I wanted speed. Noise. Wind loud enough to drown memory.
But my lip was swelling, and blood dried at the corner of my mouth, so I headed down the hall instead.
That’s when I saw her.
Gabriella stood near the lockers, arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure where to go next. No Tyler. No friends. Just her.
Why was she here? Why now?
My chest recognized her before my brain could remind me she didn’t recognize me back.
She noticed me at the same time.
Her face lit up — just a little — like something inside her reacted before she could explain it. And that hurt more than the punch ever did.
She walked toward me.
I froze.
What was I supposed to say?
What do you say to someone you used to love who doesn’t remember you at all?
We stopped a foot apart.
I defaulted to instinct.
“What’s good, girl?” I smirked.
It sounded wrong the second it left my mouth.
She blushed anyway. “Hey.”
God. That voice.
“I just wanted to thank you,” she said quietly. “For earlier.”
I shrugged. “Told you not to waste money on coffee.”
She frowned. “This isn’t about coffee, Raven.”
Hearing my name from her lips again sent something sharp straight through my chest.
“Oh,” I said dumbly. “Right. That.”
Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Charged.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” I asked.
She smiled, small and unsure. “Probably. But it didn’t feel important.”
That made two of us.
Why was she talking to me like this? Like we’d always done this. Like we belonged in the same space. She didn’t even know why she felt comfortable — and that was the worst part.
I ran a hand through my curls, trying to ground myself. “You know hanging around me gets people in trouble.”
She stepped closer.
“I think I can handle it.”
Her hand lifted — hesitant — and brushed my hair.
I flinched back before I could stop myself.
Not because I didn’t want it.
Because I wanted it too much.
That touch cracked something open. Memory surged — laughter, heat, stolen moments pressed together in the dark. Things she couldn’t remember. Things I wasn’t allowed to want anymore.
I turned away fast, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
“Take care, Alvarez,” I said, voice rough.
I walked off before she could respond.
Halfway down the hall, I looked back.
She was still there. Watching me like she was trying to understand a feeling she didn’t have words for yet.
Why was she here? Why now?
She still felt like mine — even if I was nothing to her anymore.
I pushed through the doors and didn’t slow down.
Because if I stopped, if I let myself turn around, if I let myself hope—
I’d fall apart.
And I can’t afford that.
Not again.
I still love her.
- Writer
