Trapped Beneath His Blue Gaze

Distortion

The halls of the west wing of the school always felt like walking into a refrigerator: quiet, polished and air-conditioned to the point that you could almost see your breath. My father loved this part of the university; he said it showed "professionalism" and was where "serious conversations" happened.

I hated it.

Every step echoed like a reminder that I didn’t belong in his world, not the way he wanted me to but my mother had begged me to adhere and I could never fully ignore her, no matter how hard I tried to put distance between myself and all of this.

I was halfway down the marble hallway when something in my body stuttered.

It was a flicker, like a fuse misfiring.

My stomach dipped, heat rushing and receding in the same second. The light overhead seemed too bright; the air turned thin, like someone had opened a window in outer space and let all the oxygen escape. My gaze caught on a nearby mirror and I saw it- the restless spark flickering just beneath my dark eyes.

Fuck.

I paused, letting one hand press against the cool wall. Nothing hurt. It wasn’t pain. It was a wrongness, a shift in gravity, a low hum under my skin, as if my own heartbeat wasn’t convinced it wanted to cooperate.

Four seconds.

Five.

Then it faded, leaving behind a faint buzz in my chest. The kind I’d learned to hide well with time.

I exhaled, trying to shake off the restless energy that buzzed under my skin, straightened and kept walking. I didn’t have time for this. If anyone saw me pausing in the hallway like a malfunctioning car, rumors would spread before I blinked.

My mother’s office loomed at the end, tall double doors that looked like they belonged in a high-end law firm. I knocked once, not waiting before pushing inside.

Her office was a clear reflection of her personality: cool, immaculate, and almost icy in its precision but there was a faint glow of warmth beneath it, subtle and concealed in the small traces of her real self: the chipped coffee mug she refused to replace, a little doodle from when she was distracted on a call and the white soft knit thrown on the back of her chair for when the air turned too cold. My mother was elegance personified, polished but not as cold the way my father was.

She sat behind her desk, typing until she looked up and her face lit in that gentle way she had only for me. Yet even then, I knew her affection for me lived deep in the shadow of the deeper loyalty she carried for my father, a love that always outranked everything else.

"Raze," she said, standing. "You’re early. That’s a surprise."

"It sounded important," I said in a monotone voice. I already had a sense of what the conversation would be about.

"It is." She came around the desk, gesturing for me to sit.

I didn’t.

She noticed but didn’t comment, brushing her straight, red hair aside and smoothing an invisible crease on her blouse instead.

"Your father wants to discuss the board meeting this weekend," she began. "He thinks it would be good if you attended."

Of course he did.

The perfect little family tableau for donors to admire.

"He believes it shows unity," she added, a hopeful note in her voice. "Commitment to the university."

Commitment? Right.

Because when he uses that word, what he actually means is obedience, I thought to myself but didn’t respond.

Her smile wavered, just slightly. "I know you two don’t always see eye to eye-"

"That’s one way to put it," I said, casually walking over to her table and nudging a tiny picture upright. My familiar, younger face stared back at me, grinning from ear to ear. My parents stood close behind, all smiles and laughter. I let my eyes trace their face and for a moment the air seemed to get heavier, as though the photo knew the unspoken truth, the same way I did.

"- but this is important," she continued, ignoring me gently. "He needs your support."

"I’m not his prop."

Her expression tightened. "That’s not what he’s asking."

I faced her slowly. "Isn’t it?" I asked because we both knew the answer.

She stepped closer, her voice softer. "He wants you to take things seriously."

"I take things seriously," I said, sharper than I meant to.

"Your classes. Your responsibilities." Then even more quietly, "Your mood-"

I clenched my teeth as the buzzing returned- not strong but irritatingly persistent.

"Are you taking your medication?" she asked, her brow creasing in worry.

A deep inhale lodged in my chest.

There it was.

Not an accusation. Just concern. But concern from her always carried the echo of his judgment.

"I took it," I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie, more like a half-truth wrapped in irritation.

"Raze-" She stepped closer. "When you skip it, things change for you, emotionally and physically. You disappear, you get overwhelmed and you shut people out."

I looked away.

I didn’t need the reminder. I lived inside those shifts.

"I’m just trying to help you," she added.

"Help me," I echoed. "Or make me easier for him to deal with?"

Her shoulders tensed. The truth was, my mother didn’t realize when she mirrored him. She loved me and my father but didn’t see how often she stood on his side of the line.

"That’s not fair," she whispered.

"Neither is being treated like a problem you’re both trying to fix," I said coldly.

Her face softened with hurt. That had landed harder than any anger would have, but I didn't care anymore. My mother rarely meant the damage she caused; she was just stuck between a hurricane of a husband and a son who couldn’t pretend to be what that husband wanted.

"I only want what’s best for you," she said quietly.

"Yeah?" I swallowed. "Then stop telling me to be more. Stop making me do things I have no interest in."

Her eyes shone with surprise, sadness, and something like guilt mixing together.

"Your father just wants to see you try," she said. "Show him progress."

"I don’t need to perform for him."

"Then do it for me," she said and her voice cracked just enough to make my chest twist.

There we go again with the manipulation.

"Please. Just come to the meeting. Make an effort. For me. For our family."

I clenched my fists, my throat tightening. Pressure wrapped around my ribs, invisible and overwhelming.

The office suddenly felt too small, skin too tight and heartbeat too loud in my ears.

Not now.

Not here.

"I have to go," I said, backing up a step.

"Raze-"

"I can’t do this."

I hated how raw my voice sounded but I couldn't help it.

She reached for me, "Sweetheart, wait," but I was already at the door.

"Raze," she called again, breath unsteady. "Please don’t shut me out."

My step faltered for a split second, half a breath and I turned towards her.

Her eyes were pleading but her words, her expectations still echoed in the room. Still hung around my neck like a leash. I just couldn't deal so I turned and walked out.

Not because I wanted to but because staying would’ve broken something in me I wasn’t ready to face.

The hallway air felt cold again.

Better. Clearer.

By the time I reached the stairs, the buzzing had quieted, not gone. Never gone but manageable.

I leaned on the railing briefly, grounding myself before stepping into the courtyard. Sunlight hit me full force, warm and real in a way nothing in that office had. Few students moved around like the world made sense. Maybe for them, it did.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I headed toward the center of campus, letting the noise wrap around me until it smoothed the chaos inside my chest.

The meeting could wait.

My father could wait.

Everything could wait.

I needed air.

Space.

And a moment where I didn’t feel like I was coming apart at the seams.