HURT ME

CHAPTER 2

I told myself not to think about him.

That was the rule I made the moment I stepped into class that morning. Simple. Easy. Safe.

But rules don’t mean anything when your mind refuses to obey.

Cidian De Luca.

Even his name felt like it lingered longer than it should.

“Larrah, you okay?” my seatmate asked as I slid into my chair.

I nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. It was just not the whole truth.

The teacher started discussing something I should’ve been paying attention to, but my eyes kept drifting toward the window. Outside, students were laughing, running, living like everything was simple.

I envied that.

Then suddenly, the classroom door opened.

Every head turned.

He walked in like he belonged there, even though I was sure he didn’t have the same class as me. His presence didn’t ask for permission—it just existed, and everything adjusted around it.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he said casually, handing something to the teacher. “Wrong room.”

A few students laughed. The teacher sighed but didn’t scold him.

Of course she didn’t.

He turned to leave, but his eyes found mine again.

Just for a second.

Long enough for my stomach to twist in a way I didn’t understand.

Then he was gone.

The class continued, but I couldn’t.

After the bell rang, I stayed seated while everyone else rushed out. I needed a minute to breathe without feeling like something was chasing me.

“You always stay behind like that?”

His voice came from the doorway.

I looked up fast.

Cidian was there again, leaning on the frame like it was his favorite place in the world.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said before I could stop myself.

He raised a brow. “Neither are you. Class already ended.”

I stood up slowly, gripping my bag tighter. “What do you want?”

That made him smile slightly. Not a teasing smile. Something softer. Curious again.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

That honesty unsettled me more than if he had lied.

I walked past him, expecting him to let it go.

He didn’t.

“Larrah,” he called.

I stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“You always look like you’re carrying something heavy,” he said. “Like you’re waiting for it to break you.”

My fingers tightened around my bag strap.

“You don’t know me,” I said quietly.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Silence stretched between us. I hated that he noticed things I spent my whole life trying to hide.

When I finally turned, he was still watching me.

Not like everyone else.

Not like I was something broken to be fixed.

But like I was something he couldn’t figure out yet.

“I don’t need saving,” I said, even though my voice wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be.

He nodded once. “Good. I wasn’t offering.”

That confused me.

Before I could respond, he stepped back.

“See you again, Larrah Araneta.”

And then he left—like he always did—leaving me standing in the middle of a quiet hallway, wondering why my chest felt louder than everything else.

I should’ve been relieved.

Instead, I felt like something had just started.

And I didn’t know if I wanted it to stop or continue.