A plaything’s shadow

Episode 6

Daniel had never felt more alone than he did standing beside Vanessa.

She laughed loudly at things that weren’t funny, leaned into him as though proximity alone could create intimacy. Her fingers were always hooked around his arm, claiming him, displaying him. People stared when they walked together, and that was exactly how she liked it.

Daniel didn’t.

He preferred silence.

He preferred space.

He preferred being alone.

Being with Vanessa was noise—constant, overwhelming noise. She filled every gap with words, affection, possession. And yet, somehow, even surrounded by people, Daniel felt hollow.

This was what he wanted, he reminded himself. Or at least what he had chosen.

No feelings.

No depth.

No attachment.

Just existence.

He didn’t want to care about anyone—not now, not again. Caring led to loss, and loss had already taken too much from him. Being alone felt safer. Lonelier, yes—but safer.

As the teacher’s voice faded and footsteps echoed down the hallway, Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The classroom buzzed with quiet conversations, whispers sliding between desks like secrets no one bothered to hide.

He leaned back, scanning the room without thinking.

That was when he noticed.

Alice wasn’t there.

Her seat was empty.

Daniel frowned slightly, the realization tugging at something he hadn’t meant to touch. She was never absent without reason. She took school seriously—too seriously sometimes. The empty chair unsettled him more than it should have.

He waved the thought aside almost immediately.

It’s nothing, he told himself. She probably stepped out.

He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, ignoring Vanessa’s questioning look.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered.

She pouted. “Where are you going?”

“Restroom.”

Without waiting for a response, Daniel slipped out of the classroom and into the corridor. The halls were quieter now, the air cooler, calmer. He breathed easier the farther he got from the noise.

This was what he liked.

This was peace.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted despite his efforts to keep them in line. The party. The attention. Alice’s face yesterday—how still she had been, how carefully she had hidden herself. He didn’t want to think about it.

He turned a corner near the restrooms when a voice stopped him.

“Daniel.”

He glanced sideways.

It was a girl from another class—pretty, confident, already smiling like she knew the outcome of this interaction. She stepped closer, tilting her head, eyes bold.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said.

Daniel already knew what she wanted.

He always did.

Normally, he would ignore it. Walk away. Let silence do the work. But today, something inside him felt restless, tight, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel.

So he didn’t stop her when she moved closer.

Didn’t step back when she reached for him.

Didn’t say no when her hand brushed his chest.

Instead, he leaned in.

The kiss was sudden, intense—not gentle, not careful. It was fueled by frustration, by distraction, by the need to drown out everything else. She responded eagerly, pressing closer, hands tangling into his shirt as if she’d been waiting for this moment.

They stumbled a step closer to the restroom wall, hidden enough to feel private, exposed enough to be reckless.

Daniel kissed her back, harder than he meant to.

Not because he wanted her.

But because he wanted to forget.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Daniel heard them but didn’t pull away immediately. His eyes opened instinctively, glancing past the girl’s shoulder.

And then—

Alice.

She stood there, frozen, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between shock and pain. Time seemed to slow, stretching the moment into something unbearable.

Daniel felt it then.

The tightening in his chest.

The sudden weight.

The sharp, unexpected sting.

Their eyes met.

Alice didn’t say a word.

She turned away almost instantly, walking fast—too fast—down the hallway, as if staying even one second longer might break her.

Daniel’s heart slammed violently against his ribs.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss, his hands dropping away as if burned.

“What—?” the girl started, confused.

Daniel pushed her gently but firmly away, his expression hard, unsettled. “Don’t,” he said sharply.

She stared at him, offended. “What’s your problem?”

“I said don’t.”

Without another word, Daniel stepped back, running a hand through his hair. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t get enough air. He watched Alice’s retreating form disappear around the corner, something twisting painfully inside him.

He hadn’t meant for that to happen.

But he hadn’t stopped it either.

And that was worse.

The girl scoffed, muttering something under her breath before storming off, pride wounded. Daniel barely noticed. His attention was fixed on the hallway Alice had vanished down, his mind racing.

Why did it matter?

He wasn’t supposed to care.

He had chosen this.

He had chosen Vanessa.

He had chosen distance.

And yet the image of Alice’s face—quiet hurt, silent withdrawal—burned itself into his thoughts.

Daniel leaned against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.

This was exactly why he didn’t want feelings.

Why he preferred being alone.

Why he had built walls so carefully over the years.

Because the moment he let anything slip—even a c***k—everything rushed in.

Guilt.

Regret.

Want.

He pushed himself upright, jaw clenched.

Get it together, he told himself.

This was what he was good at—detachment. Walking away. Pretending nothing touched him.

Still, as he headed back toward the classroom, something felt irreversibly wrong.

For the first time, Daniel realized that ignoring his feelings hadn’t killed them.

It had only made them louder.

And Alice—walking away without a word—had done something no one else ever had.

She made him feel the weight of his own choices.

And that weight followed him long after the hallway fell silent.