Burn me slowly

Chapter 9: Cracked Facades

Faye

The library’s quiet hum wraps around me like a cocoon, the scent of old books and magnolia drifting through the open windows. I’m tucked into a corner carrel, my laptop glowing, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Last night’s jazz club still lingers—Ezra’s hands on my hips, his piano notes aching in my chest, Vivienne’s taunt and Khloe’s sharp giggle echoing her cruelty. Ezra’s confession about Vivienne’s blackmail—a high school video—has me spiraling, suspicion and yearning tangling like vines.

I need answers. Something solid to cut through the chaos. So I’m digging into Vivienne’s past, hoping to find a crack in her armor.

Sam’s at class, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which is dangerous. Ezra’s plea, keeps looping, clashing with his high school cruelty, his laughter as Vivienne and Jude tore me down, his voice slicing: Nobody cares, Faye.

Yet his eyes last night, raw and broken, felt like truth.

I shake it off, typing Vivienne Prescott into the university’s archive search, then cross-referencing with local high school records. If she’s holding a leash on Ezra, I need to know who she really is.

The screen loads, and my pulse quickens. A news article from three years ago:

Local High School Student Expelled for Bullying Scandal.

Vivienne’s name jumps out, linked to a private academy upstate. The details are sparse—harassment, manipulation, a clique of girls terrorizing peers—but it’s her.

Suspended twice before, then expelled after a parent filed charges.

She slithered into college here, remade herself as sorority queen, but this confirms it: her cruelty’s a pattern, not just personal. I lean back, heart pounding.

She’s not invincible.

But if she’s got dirt on Ezra, what else is she hiding?

I’m scribbling notes when a shadow falls over my carrel. I flinch, looking up to find Ezra, his leather jacket creaking, dark hair messy, eyes heavy like he hasn’t slept either.

My stomach flips, the memory of our dance—his breath on my neck, bodies swaying—making my skin hum despite everything.

“Faye,” he says, voice low, hesitant.

He pulls out the chair across from me, uninvited, but doesn’t sit until I nod.

“Can we talk?”

I tense, closing my laptop halfway. “About what? Vivienne’s video? Or how you and Jude let her break me?”

The words spill, sharper than I meant, my hurt raw from last night’s confrontation.

He winces, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Both, I guess.”

His voice is rough, like he’s dragging the words out. “I saw you leave last night. You were… shaken. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask, my voice tight.

His presence pulls at me, but I can’t forget the locker room, chlorine thick, Vivienne shoving me, Jude smirking, Ezra’s laughter cutting deeper than her words.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Because I owe you. I was a coward back then. My dad…”

He pauses, eyes darkening. “He owned me. Controlled everything—my friends, my choices. If I stepped out of line, he’d make it hell. Vivienne knew it, used it. I stayed silent to avoid his wrath, and I’m sorry, Faye. I let them break you.”

His confession hits like a stone, cracking my anger. I see it in his eyes—pain, not just regret.

“You let them break me,” I echo, voice trembling. “You laughed. You called me a ghost.”

The hurt spills, raw and jagged, but his apology, his admission about his father, shifts something. I didn’t know he was trapped too.

“I did,” he says, not looking away. “I was weak. Dad’s a lawyer, all about image. He’d ground me for weeks, cut me off, if I didn’t play his game. Vivienne was part of that—his idea of the ‘right’ girlfriend. But it’s no excuse. I should’ve stood up for you.”

I swallow hard, my chest tight. His words stir empathy, but the pain’s still there, a bruise I can’t ignore.

“What about now?” I ask. “She’s got this video. What’s stopping you?”

He leans closer, voice dropping. “I’m trying to break free. My sister, Ellie—she’s younger, keeps me grounded. She’s why I’m still here, not running. But Vivienne’s got leverage, and I don’t know how to fight it yet.”

His vulnerability disarms me, the mention of Ellie softening his edges. I picture a girl with his dark eyes, maybe his quiet intensity, anchoring him.

I open my mouth to ask more, but his gaze shifts, softening, locking on mine.

“You’re different now,” he says, almost a whisper. “Stronger. I see it, Faye. I wish I’d seen it then.”

His hand reaches out, slow, brushing my cheek, his thumb grazing my skin. My breath catches, my body tingling, a mild tension sparking as he leans in, his lips inches from mine, breaths mingling.

The air crackles, my heart racing, the almost-kiss pulling me under—

A chair scrapes nearby, loud in the library’s hush, and we jerk apart.

My face burns, the moment shattered, anticipation coiling tighter. Ezra’s hand drops, his eyes still on me, intense, like he’s fighting the same pull.

I glance away, heart pounding, empathy and hurt battling inside me. His apology, his pain, shake me, but I’m not ready to trust—not with Vivienne and Khloe looming, not with that video.

“I need time,” I say, voice barely steady, grabbing my laptop. “This… it’s too much.”

He nods, standing, his jaw tight. “I get it. I’ll wait.”

His voice is raw, and as he walks away, I feel his absence like a chill.

In my dorm, I collapse onto my bed, the article about Vivienne’s expulsion open on my phone. Her past, Ezra’s confession, the almost-kiss—they’re cracks in their facades, but mine’s splitting too.

I text Mom:

Found some answers. Still lost. Love you.

Her reply glows:

You’ll find your way, baby.

I cling to it, Vivienne’s threat and Khloe’s smirk shadows in my mind, Ezra’s touch a ghost on my cheek.

I’m not that ghost anymore, but the almost-kiss has me teetering, caught between hurt and something new.