Space behind the Bleachers pt. 1
887 Words
Gabriella
I could’ve said something to make her stay.
One word. One excuse. Anything.
But instead, I watched Raven walk away, her shoulders tense like she was carrying something heavier than a backpack or a bad reputation. The space she left behind felt colder somehow, emptier. I told myself it didn’t matter. That this was just another strange moment in a day full of them.
Still, my chest wouldn’t stop aching.
I tried to go back to class. I really did. But I lasted maybe five minutes before the words on the board blurred together and my thoughts drifted right back to her. The way she stood between me and Tyler. The way her voice sharpened when she was angry—on my behalf.
I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe.
So I left.
I slipped out the side doors and headed toward the football field, my feet moving on instinct. There was a narrow opening behind the bleachers, hidden unless you knew where to look. I’d found it over the summer, wandering when home felt too loud and school felt too small. It was quiet back there. Safe.
At least, it usually was.
I ducked through the gap and froze.
Raven was already there.
She sat on the concrete ledge, helmet beside her, elbows resting on her knees. A joint burned lazily between her fingers, smoke curling into the air like it belonged to her. She didn’t look surprised to see me—just tired.
“So,” she said, glancing up. “Guess this place isn’t as secret as you thought.”
My heart jumped. “You—what are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “Been coming here since sophomore year. Helps clear my head.”
“Oh,” I said stupidly. “I didn’t know.”
“Most people don’t.” She took a drag, then stubbed it out against the wall. “Relax. I’m not kicking you out.”
I hesitated, then sat on the opposite side, keeping a careful distance. The silence stretched—not awkward, exactly, just heavy.
“I didn’t think you were the hiding type,” I said finally.
She let out a quiet laugh. “You don’t know me.”
That was true. I didn’t. And yet being near her felt strangely familiar, like stepping into a room I’d been in before but couldn’t remember.
“I just needed somewhere quiet,” I admitted.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”
We sat there for a while, listening to the muffled sounds of practice in the distance. I kept sneaking glances at her—at the sharp line of her jaw, the way her curls fell into her eyes when she wasn’t trying to look tough.
She caught me staring.
“You always look at people like that?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure them out.”
I shrugged. “Only when they confuse me.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “Then I must be doing a great job.”
Eventually, she stood, grabbing her helmet. “I should go.”
Something in her voice made my stomach twist.
“Already?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Before I do something I shouldn’t.”
She started toward the opening, then paused. “You should probably stay away from me, Gabriella. I tend to ruin things.”
The words should’ve scared me.
They didn’t.
She turned toward the opening between the bleachers, one foot shifting like she was about to leave.
I didn’t think.
I just reacted.
“Raven.”
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned back, eyes sharp, guarded. “What?”
“You forgot something,” I said.
Her brow creased. “I don’t think I—”
I stepped closer. Close enough that the space between us vanished.
Her breath hitched. I felt it.
“Gabriella,” she warned softly.
My heart hammered so loud I was sure she could hear it. “I don’t usually do this,” I said, barely above a whisper.
“Then don’t,” she replied.
But she didn’t move away.
That was all it took.
I kissed her.
Not hesitant. Not careful.
Her surprise lasted half a second — then her hand was in my hair, gripping tight, pulling me into her like she’d been waiting for this. Her mouth moved against mine with heat and hunger that made my knees go weak.
She backed me against the wall, body pressing into mine, control slipping fast. Her hand slid to my waist, firm, grounding — possessive.
“f**k,” she muttered against my lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
My hands shook as they found her jacket, fingers curling into the fabric. I could feel her heart racing through her chest, matching mine.
Her mouth dipped to my jaw, my neck — just for a second — enough to make my breath stutter.
I gasped, fingers tightening in her hair. “Raven…”
She froze.
Not pulling away — just still.
Her forehead rested against mine, breaths uneven, eyes dark like she was fighting something inside herself.
“Stop,” she said quietly.
But she didn’t let go.
Neither did I.
The tension hung between us — heavy, electric, dangerous.
And neither of us moved.
- Writer
