Burn me slowly

Chapter Four: Fractures and Flashbacks

Faye

Sometimes you don’t realize a wound is still open until someone breathes on it.

By Monday morning, I was unraveling. Not in the dramatic, sobbing-in-the-shower kind of way. No, this was quieter. Subtler. The unraveling that happened in the in-between moments, when a passing laugh echoed too close to a memory, when a scent twisted the air like déjà vu, or when a pair of storm-blue eyes lingered on you too long.

Ezra Locke remembering my red hoodie shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did.

“Faye,” Sam said, snapping her fingers near my face. “Earth to you, space cadet.”

I blinked back into the present. We were sitting on a bench outside the campus café, waiting for our overpriced cappuccinos. Sam wore her usual combat boots and cynicism, but her eyes were soft as she looked at me. Concern and caffeine withdrawal danced behind her dark lashes.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” she said, no hesitation. “And badly. Spill.”

I hesitated.

Then, because the silence between us could handle it, I let a bit of it out.

“Ezra remembered me,” I said softly. “From high school.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed like she was preparing to punch a ghost. “That’s not comforting.”

“I know.”

“He remembered how he let his psycho ex and her clone make your life a living hell? Or just the way you chewed on your pencils?”

“He said he liked my laugh,” I whispered.

Sam paused.

Then rolled her eyes. “Of course he did. Because that makes up for the trauma. ‘Hey, sorry your self-esteem was pulverized during adolescence, but I really dug your giggle.’ God, men are the worst.”

That got a real laugh out of me, short and surprised.

“Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.”

“You need more than sarcasm. You need therapy and a taser.”

“I have pepper spray.”

“Good. Aim for the pretty ones first.”

She bumped her shoulder against mine and I leaned into it, letting myself rest in the rare comfort of someone who knew the whole story. Or most of it. I hadn’t told her everything. Not the worst parts.

Some ghosts didn’t like sunlight.

But before I could spiral too far down memory lane, the past came barreling in without warning.

FLASHBACK:

Foxbridge High. Senior Year. The first time Vivienne cornered me alone.

It was after drama club practice, the hallway echoing with the squeak of my sneakers as I rushed to my locker. I should’ve gone straight home. I should’ve known better.

But there she was—Vivienne Dupree, all venom in vintage heels, flanked by Khloe like a devil with a dimmer twin.

“You know,” Vivienne said, twirling a strand of her honey-blonde hair, “you walk around here like you’re invisible. But you’re not.”

I clutched my books tighter, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I didn’t say I was.”

“You don’t belong here,” she continued, stepping closer. “This school. This city. You’re just… clutter.”

“Leave me alone,” I said, voice small.

“But it’s so fun, watching you pretend to matter.”

Then came the shove. Not hard. Just enough to send my books clattering across the floor and my heart racing.

Ezra had walked by minutes later. Said nothing. Eyes on his phone.

He didn’t laugh.

But he didn’t stop her either.

And that silence had branded itself into my memory like a scar.

END FLASHBACK

I blinked the past away, pulling myself out of the thick fog of it just as our drinks were ready. Sam grabbed both cups and handed me mine wordlessly. She didn’t ask what memory had just hit me like a train. She knew the look. She’d seen it too many times.

“You wanna skip class?” she asked.

I thought about it.

Thought about Ezra’s eyes. Vivienne’s laugh. Jude’s smirk. The burn of shame that clung to the back of my throat like smoke.

Then I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “I’ve run enough.”

Later That Day

Professor Kellerman’s class was hell in polyester. Jude was already there when I walked in, wearing sunglasses indoors like a 2000s pop star and sipping something pink through a straw.

“Grayson,” he said, saluting me. “Looking criminally good today.”

“Don’t talk to me before coffee number two.”

He chuckled, unfazed.

Ezra showed up five minutes later, quietly dropping into the seat behind me. No dramatic entrance. No witty comments.

Just presence.

He didn’t try to talk to me, which was somehow worse.

At the end of class, Professor Kellerman passed out a worksheet for peer evaluation—basically an excuse to tattle on your groupmates with academic flair.

I was scribbling halfway through mine when a paper airplane landed in my lap.

I blinked, startled, then looked back.

Ezra was leaning back in his chair, spinning his pen again, like he hadn’t just launched a paper missile across enemy lines.

Curious, I unfolded it.

> You always write like you're trying to outrun something.

My breath caught for half a second.

Not exactly cruel. Not kind either. Just… observant. Too observant.

I folded the paper in half, then again. Pressed the edge until it creased like a scar.

Ezra didn’t remember me.

But somehow, he still saw too much.

After Class

I found myself wandering toward the back gardens, needing space. The quiet ones, tucked between the student union and the language building. Fewer people. Fewer stares.

I sat on the edge of the old fountain, listening to the soft gurgle of water and the rustle of leaves. My heart finally slowed. The sky was a perfect shade of sorrow-drenched blue.

Then a voice spoke behind me.

“You always hide here when you’re upset.”

I turned.

Sam.

I hadn’t even heard her footsteps.

“You’re a creep,” I muttered.

She sat beside me. “And you’re in a spiral. Let’s call it even.”

I exhaled.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted. “Part of me wants Ezra to grovel. Another part wants him to disappear. And another—God help me—wants to kiss him just to shut him up.”

Sam nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s called trauma-laced s****l tension. Very trendy.”

“It’s confusing.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

We sat in silence for a beat.

Then she pulled out a mini KitKat bar from her coat pocket and handed it to me like a peace offering.

“Chocolate won’t fix everything,” she said. “But it’s a start.”

I took it with a shaky smile. “Thanks.”

She bumped my knee with hers. “You’re not that girl anymore, Faye. The one who flinches. The one who hides. You’re steel now. Pretty steel, but steel.”

I let that truth settle over me.

And for the first time all day, I believed it.