Bound - The Primori Academy

Catalina Avondale had spent most of the afternoon of her eighteenth birthday standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to convince her curls to cooperate. It was a battle she'd been losing for as long as she could remember. Her hair was a rich golden brown, thick enough to have a mind of its own, stubborn enough to frizz the moment it sensed humidity. She'd pinned it up twice, braided it once, and finally settled for letting the curls fall over her shoulders in loose waves that looked almost intentional. Almost. She leaned closer to the mirror. Blue eyes stared back at her — clear, pale, impossible to ignore. People complimented them all the time, though she'd never understood why. They'd always felt like someone else's feature, something she happened to be born with rather than something that belonged to her. Tonight, though, she saw something different. The navy dress Mary had insisted she buy hugged her just enough to make her feel confident without feeling uncomfortable. It brought out the cool tones in her eyes and softened the freckles scattered across her nose. For the first time in weeks, Catalina smiled at her reflection without immediately finding something to criticize. Maybe she actually looked pretty. The thought made her cheeks warm. Daniel was taking her to dinner for her eighteenth birthday, and despite everything, she'd let herself believe the night might be special. Eighteen felt important. Not just another birthday. The edge of something new. For once, she let herself hope. Before leaving, she'd found the cake waiting on the kitchen counter. One slice was already missing. Mary couldn't help herself. "You can't expect me to wait until you get home," she'd laughed, already holding a fork. "Someone has to make sure it isn't poisoned." Catalina had rolled her eyes, laughing as Mary cut her a slice anyway. She'd eaten it standing at the kitchen sink, barely tasting the chocolate beneath the excitement fluttering in her stomach. Birthdays had never been simple in the Avondale house. Her mother had vanished the night Catalina was born, leaving nothing behind but unanswered questions and an ache that never seemed to fade. Every year after carried the same unspoken weight. Candles, presents, hugs, smiles — and beneath all of it, the same quiet thought no one dared say aloud. If she'd never been born, would her mother still be here? Mary had never blamed her. She'd spent seventeen years making sure Catalina knew that. Still. Some questions learn how to haunt you without anyone ever speaking them. At the door, Mary pulled her into a hug. It lasted a second longer than usual. "You look beautiful," Mary whispered. Catalina hugged her back, breathing in vanilla and lavender. "Thanks." For the first time in a long while, she believed it. She drove to the restaurant with the windows down, warm summer air spilling through the car, music drifting from the speakers. She caught herself smiling at stoplights, already imagining how the evening would end. She had no idea she was driving toward the worst birthday of her life. Daniel ended things over appetizers, just after the waiter set down a basket of breadsticks neither of them would touch. She'd known something was wrong the moment she walked in. He hadn't smiled the way he usually did. He barely looked at her while she talked about the drive over, just turned his water glass in slow circles, watching the condensation as if it required all his attention. "I've been thinking a lot lately," he said at last, his voice quieter than usual. He finally lifted his eyes, and there was something guarded in them. "I think I need to focus on myself before I leave for school." For a moment she just stared, sure she'd misheard. "What do you mean?" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "College is going to change everything. Long distance is hard, Cat. I don't think it's fair to either of us if we pretend it won't." She frowned. They'd planned weekend visits. They'd joked about surviving on video calls and gas station coffee. None of those conversations had sounded like the beginning of an ending. "You told me we'd figure it out." "I know." "You promised." Guilt flickered across his face. "I meant it when I said it." The words settled over the table like a weight. When I said it. Not now. Not anymore. He kept talking — timing, growing apart, new beginnings — the kind of sentences that sounded rehearsed enough that they no longer hurt him to say. Catalina listened because she didn't know what else to do. Then his phone buzzed. The screen lit up on the table between them before he could stop it. Emma ❤️ He snatched the phone up too late. She'd already seen enough. The careful explanation he'd been building for the last ten minutes unraveled in an instant, leaving only the truth between them. College wasn't the reason. College was the excuse. "Catalina —" She shook her head. Strangely, she didn't feel angry yet. The hurt was too fresh for anger to reach it. It settled somewhere beneath her ribs instead, heavy and hollow at once. "You don't have to explain. I understand." His shoulders sagged with relief, and the relief stung worse than any apology could have. He hadn't been afraid of losing her. He'd been afraid of this conversation. She stood, smoothing the dress she'd spent an hour getting ready in. It suddenly felt foolish, like she'd dressed for a celebration that never existed. "I really am sorry," he said as she turned to leave. She believed him. He probably was sorry. Just not sorry enough. The cool night air met her outside, carrying the scent of rain and wet pavement. She paused beneath the awning and breathed slow, hoping the ache in her chest would loosen. It didn't. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Mary: Home by ten. It's still your birthday. ❤️ The message tightened her chest for a different reason now. Mary would have the cake waiting, that hopeful smile ready for good news. Catalina wasn't ready to carry this kind of heartbreak through the front door. She typed a thumbs-up anyway, slid the phone back into her purse, and crossed the nearly empty lot at a slower pace — buying herself a few more minutes before she had to pretend she was okay.