Fractured Desire

Chapter 3

I hate corridors. Not the whole school, just corridors. They’re long, echoey tubes of fluorescent lights and sticky floors and too many people who think they matter. I was halfway down one, music blasting in my ears like it could drown out the chaos in my head, when I heard it: that voice. That f*****g voice.

“Oi, Swan Lake!”

Hunter. Naturally. Leaning against the lockers, helmet under his arm, grin sharp enough to cut glass. I didn’t even stop walking. I shoved my bag a little harder against my shoulder and muttered under my breath, “Jesus, how do people like this even exist?”

He laughed, and it was the wrong kind of laugh—the kind that makes your stomach flip and your teeth grind at the same time. “Rough night, princess? Or are you just naturally tragic?”

I spun around, chest tight, knuckles white on my bag strap. “Try talking to someone your own size, dickhead.”

“Cute. Real cute,” he said, eyes raking me over like he owned me. “You’re so f*****g dramatic. I like it.”

I kicked at a pebble on the floor, hard enough to send it skidding across the corridor. “Drama? You mean surviving your s**t every f*****g day?”

He smirked, cocky as ever. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy watching you lose it. Admit it you like being cornered.”

I didn’t answer. I shouldn’t. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream, but instead I stomped away, earbuds jamming music into my brain like armor.

By lunch, I found Jax perched on the railing outside the quad, cigarette dangling from his fingers, eyeliner smudged perfectly under tired eyes. He looked like chaos with a leather jacket, and I loved him for it.

“You look like someone hit you with a bus and then set it on fire,” he said, grin spreading. “Rough morning?”

“You could say that,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair, which was sticking to my forehead with sweat.

“House party tonight,” he said, tipping his head toward the street like he expected me to leap at the idea. “Mate’s flat, cheap beer, music loud enough to wake the dead. You in?”

I chewed my lip. House parties were messy. Loud. People I didn’t know touching me. But maybe I needed messy. Maybe I needed chaos I could control, or at least pretend to.

“Maybe,” I said finally.

“‘Maybe’ is the new yes,” Jax said, lighting my cigarette. Smoke hit my lungs, bitter and sharp, and I let it fill the hole in my chest.

Later, after another round of surviving classes without vomiting on anyone, I ended up in the library, trying to revise but failing spectacularly. My brain refused to settle. Mania and exhaustion were tangled in a knot in my chest. And of course, Hunter appeared again, leaning against the stacks like he had a goddamn invitation to invade my life whenever he pleased.

“You know,” he said, voice low and teasing, “you’re chavy as f**k sometimes. I like it.”

I nearly dropped my pen. “Chavy? What does that even mean?”

“It means messy. Chaotic. Hot. You don’t give a f**k about rules, and I can see it in the way you carry yourself. You’re dangerous, Swan Lake.”

“Dangerous?” I scoffed, heart thumping. “You mean… a disaster waiting to happen?”

He shrugged, grin sharp. “Maybe. But you’re mine to watch anyway.”

I slammed my notebook closed, feeling that familiar coil of heat and rage tighten in my stomach. “f**k off.”

He leaned closer, smirk curling, and I caught that ridiculous, maddening sparkle in his eyes. “You love it.”

I didn’t answer. Because he was right. Somehow, even when he made me want to throttle him, spit on him, or vanish entirely, I loved the chaos he brought. The way he made my pulse skip. The way he touched my brain without touching me.

After school, I met Jax again outside, cigarette smoke curling between us.

“Look at you,” he said, eyeing me like I was a war zone. “Heart racing, hair on fire, staring at the clouds like you’re about to take off. You’re insane.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, dragging the smoke out, letting it fill me with something I couldn’t name. Relief? Comfort? Maybe just fuel for the storm inside me.

“Party tonight,” he reminded me again. “I’m dragging you whether you like it or not. If you want to stay brooding in your hoodie like some tragic art project, fine—but don’t blame me when your mood swings eat your brain alive.”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched. He was right. I needed something. Needed chaos, needed people, needed music loud enough to drown the noise inside my head.

By the time I got home, my dad was passed out in front of the TV again, bottles littering the coffee table. I lit a cigarette, perched on the balcony, smoke curling into the evening air, thinking about the party, thinking about Hunter, thinking about my body, my moods, my stupid, messy life.

And somewhere deep down, I knew: tomorrow, Hunter would be back. Tomorrow, I’d be chasing chaos again. But tonight… tonight, I could survive. Maybe even enjoy it.