Jessie's obsession

Some Demons are better left buried

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Cassie’s POV

By Monday morning, the weekend felt like a fever dream I couldn't quite shake.

The school parking lot looked the same. Same cars. Same suffocating air. Same brick walls that had watched me unravel piece by piece since freshman year. Only now, I walked in with ghosts clawing at my heels.

I kept my head high, even as the whispers chased behind me like vultures. Apparently, word traveled fast. Or maybe it was just the way Jessie had looked at me Friday night that had people talking. His touch hadn’t been subtle. Neither had mine.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I hadn’t meant to go that far. Hadn’t meant to let him in again. But that’s what Jessie Carter did—he didn’t ask for permission; he took until there was nothing left to give.

I spotted him at his usual post, leaned against his locker like sin wrapped in skin. Joggers. Hoodie. That stupid chain around his neck he only wore when he was trying to look casual and failing miserably.

His eyes met mine instantly—sharp, unreadable, and locked in.

I kept walking.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

“Morning, Cassie,” he said low and calm, just loud enough for me to hear.

I didn’t reply. Just kept my pace steady like I hadn’t spent Saturday night in his bed whispering his name like a prayer and a curse.

Brandon gave me a look as I passed him, half amusement, half warning.

Whatever. Let them stare. Let him watch.

I was done playing with fire. I’d already been burned.

And as much as I craved the way he looked at me like I was the last good thing in his wreck of a world… I knew better now.

Some demons wore chains.

Others wore joggers and knew your secrets.

And some…

Some were better left buried.

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Absolutely — here’s the continuation of Cassie’s school day, keeping us locked in her distracted headspace and gradually unraveling the tension with an unexpected twist involving her teacher and Jessie.

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The day dragged.

Third period passed in a blur of ink-stained notes and whispered rumors I pretended not to hear. I tapped my pen against the edge of my desk, eyes drifting to the clock for the tenth time in five minutes.

Focus.

Just focus.

But how the hell was I supposed to focus when every second thought was Jessie’s voice rasping against my skin? Or the way he’d held me like I belonged to him?

I wasn’t supposed to care. I was supposed to be angry. Indignant. Untouched.

But instead of algebra, I kept thinking about how it felt to let go. To submit.

And I hated it.

Or at least… I wanted to hate it.

By fourth period, Mr. Langston’s class, I was useless. The words on the page swam. The board looked like it was written in Greek. I didn’t even notice him calling my name until the class got quiet.

“Miss Blake,” Langston said, voice sharp. “Would you care to rejoin the living and tell me what the rhetorical purpose of this passage is?”

I blinked. “Um… sorry. I missed that.”

He sighed. It wasn’t the usual annoyed sigh either. It was pointed. Measured. He walked to the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, his mouth twitching in what might’ve been irritation or something else entirely.

“Miss Blake. May I see you at my desk, please?”

A few people ooh’d under their breath, which only made me stiffen more as I dragged my feet to the front of the classroom.

He waited until I was close, then leaned in slightly and lowered his voice so only I could hear.

“I’ve already placed a call.”

I frowned. “What?”

“To Mr. Carter,” he said coolly, eyes glinting. “He’ll be collecting you shortly.”

My stomach dropped. “You what?”

“I believe you’ve had… a long weekend. Your focus is clearly compromised, and I was told to inform him if you needed redirecting.” His eyes scanned my face like he already knew what I was about to say. “You may sit in the hall until he arrives.”

I stood there frozen, jaw clenched. “You have no right to—”

He gave me a look that made my skin crawl. Not lecherous. Not inappropriate. Just knowing.

“Miss Blake. If I were you, I’d use the time to figure out what kind of girl you want to be… before he decides for you.”

And just like that, I was dismissed.

The door clicked behind me as I stepped out into the hall, cheeks burning, fury thrumming in my veins. I didn’t know what game Jessie was playing or how many people he had in his pocket, but this—this was crossing a line.

Except the worst part?

It wasn’t fear flooding my system.

It was anticipation.

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I sat in the hall with my knees pulled up, arms crossed, still burning from Langston’s smug little warning. The clock above the classroom door ticked louder than it should have, each second a countdown to Jessie’s arrival.

My pulse was already quickening.

Not from fear.

From defiance.

He thought he could summon me like a dog. Thought I’d sit here like a good girl, head bowed, waiting for him to come claim me.

Screw that.

I stared at the door, at the clean linoleum, at the faded posters lining the hallway that preached things like integrity and respect.

Respect?

I was fresh out.

My innocent side whispered at me to stay. That if I just obeyed, this would all go smoother—that Jessie wouldn’t be angry. That I wouldn’t end up back there, bent over and gasping.

But that side of me was tired. She was tired of being scared. Of pretending she wasn’t curious. Of feeling things she wasn’t supposed to feel every time he touched her or said mine in that low, dark voice.

My fingers clenched into fists, then loosened. Slowly. Calmly.

I stood.

I didn’t glance back at the classroom door. I didn’t wait for permission. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked.

Past the trophy case.

Past the front office.

Right out the damn side doors.

The second the sunlight hit me, I felt it.

Freedom.

Not the kind you earn.

The kind you take.

I wasn’t his to collect.

Not today.

And maybe it was reckless, maybe I’d pay for it later—but as I turned down the street, slipping my phone out to call for a ride, I smiled for the first time all day.

Let Jessie chase me.

Let him come find me.

Because if I was going to be punished no matter what…

…I might as well make it worth it.

---

The wind hit my face like a slap as I stepped onto the sidewalk, but I didn’t flinch. I welcomed the sting. It reminded me I was still in control. Still capable of choosing something for myself—even if it was the wrong thing.

I could practically hear Jessie’s voice in my head already. Where the hell do you think you're going, little girl?

The possessiveness.

The sharp edge of warning behind every word.

The promise of consequences.

I bit down a smirk.

Let him be mad.

I pulled my hoodie tighter and kept walking. Nowhere in particular—just away. Away from the stifling walls of that school, away from Langston’s watchful eyes, and most of all, away from him.

He wasn’t my keeper.

I didn’t belong to anyone.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

I made it two blocks before my phone buzzed.

Jessie.

Of course.

I let it ring once, twice, then silenced it and stuffed it in my back pocket. Let him stew. Let him wonder where I’d gone.

I ducked into a small café I used to visit before everything went to hell—before Jessie, before the punishments, before the blurred lines between hate and whatever the hell this was now. The barista barely glanced at me as I ordered an iced coffee and dropped into the back booth, sliding all the way to the window where I could watch the street.

The bitter chill of the drink helped clear the fog in my brain. But it didn’t numb the ache. Not the physical one, not the emotional mess clawing at my ribs.

I hated this.

I hated him.

I hated that every time I pushed, he pulled harder. That part of me—maybe the darkest, most broken part—liked it. Liked the way he claimed me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But I needed a breath. I needed distance.

Because if I didn’t get space, I’d lose myself entirely in him.

The brat in me might’ve been born of his fire, but the girl I used to be—the one who wasn’t ruled by his rules or his punishments—she wasn’t dead yet.

And right now?

She was the one behind the wheel.

I took a slow sip of my drink and leaned back as the door to the café opened behind me, the bell chiming once.

I didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

That damn chill had nothing on the one crawling up my spine.

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Cassie’s POV

Chapter Fourteen: Some Demons Are Better Left Buried (continued)

I didn’t flinch when I heard his boots hit the floor behind me. He didn’t rush. He never did. Jessie always moved like he had all the time in the world… and the world would wait for him.

But I didn’t turn around. Not yet.

Instead, I took another sip of my iced coffee, let the cold burn down my throat, and pretended like the air behind me wasn’t thick enough to choke on.

“You’ve got some f*****g nerve,” he said low, just behind me.

I finally looked up, met his storm-gray eyes in the reflection of the café window. He was furious. Tense jaw, flexing fingers, that small tick in his cheek that meant he was barely keeping it together.

Good.

I turned slowly, calm as ever. “Oh? You mean the nerve to walk away? To think without waiting for your say-so?”

He didn’t answer—just stared.

“I’m not your toy, Jessie. Not your pet. Not some lost girl waiting around for you to show up and tell me what to do.” I arched a brow. “So if you came here expecting me to crawl, you wasted the trip.”

His eyes narrowed. “Langston called me because you pulled a stunt.”

“Oh please,” I scoffed, “Langston’s just your little lapdog with a badge. You trained him to tattle.”

His nostrils flared, and for a split second, I could see the decision cross his face—whether to drag me out by my wrist or say something that would scorch the walls around us.

But I leaned forward and smiled. Sweet. Taunting. Dangerous. “What are you going to do, Jessie? Spank me in a public café?” I batted my lashes. “You really want to show everyone that I don’t belong to you like you think I do?”

Silence.

A few heads had turned, but I didn’t care. Let them look.

Let them see the monster and the girl who’d stopped being afraid of him.

He leaned in closer, and for a second, I thought he might actually grab me. But instead, he just whispered, “You keep playing with fire, baby girl. Don’t cry when it burns.”

“I’m not afraid of fire,” I whispered back, meeting him inch for inch. “But you? You’re afraid of the day I stop running and finally strike the match.”

I stood, brushing past him deliberately, shoulder to shoulder, and walked straight out the door without looking back.

This time, I left him in the wreckage.