Hello little spitfire
1592 Words
---
Jessie’s POV
I’ve had enough of this place. Of useless lectures, of pastel lockers lined with idiotic motivational posters. Of all the aimless, blank-eyed teens pretending their lives mean something.
But mostly? I’ve had enough of her.
Cassie.
She’s the reason I’m on edge every damn day. The reason my hands curl into fists and my thoughts twist into things I shouldn’t admit out loud.
It’s not like she isn’t pretty—of course she is. Wavy brown hair that always smells like vanilla and something wild. Green eyes too bright for a place this dull. Soft lips that pout when she’s mad… She’s short, delicate. But it’s the way she looks at the world—like she doesn’t know the danger of it—that drives me f*****g insane.
I’ve made it obvious. I've flirted. Teased. Cornered her in the hall more times than I can count. But Cassie? She’s either oblivious or pretending to be.
And that makes me want to snap.
I’m halfway to Chemistry when someone slams into my shoulder.
Of course.
"Watch it," I growl without looking.
Then I hear her voice.
"Oh. It’s you." A scoff. “Why can’t you just leave me the f**k alone?”
I slowly turn, pulse quickening. She glares up at me like she wants to fight. Little mouse with a spark. My lips curl.
"Hello to you too, brat." I step closer, just enough to make her breath catch. "You know, I prefer your mouth shut. It’s far prettier when it’s not spewing bullshit."
Her nostrils flare. “I’m not a brat. And who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
There she is. My favorite version of her—furious and flustered.
“I’m talking to a little girl who needs to watch her tone,” I say, low and deliberate. “Unless you want me to teach you how.”
For a moment, I see it. A flicker of something other than fear. A spark of curiosity beneath the rage. She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, tossing a “f**k you” over her shoulder before storming off.
I watch her go, imagining my hands on that defiant little waist, yanking her right back to me.
God, what’s wrong with me?
She’s the most untouchable girl in this school… and I can’t stop thinking about breaking her. Or maybe letting her break me.
---
Cassie’s POV
Ugh. Jessie.
That boy is a menace. He acts like he owns the school—and worse, like he owns me.
Every hallway I turn, he’s there. Smirking, mocking, saying things that crawl under my skin and stay there. He gets in my head, and I hate that he can.
But tonight? Tonight, I won’t think about Jessie.
There’s a party. My first real high school party. Alexis and Lucy had begged me to come, and against my better judgment, I said yes.
We meet at Alexis’s house to get ready—four hours of makeup, clothes flying, music blasting. I choose a white dress that hits just above the knee, flowy and soft. Not too sexy. Just...me. Beach waves. Light makeup. Enough to feel pretty.
At 7:30, we pile into Lucy’s car. The party’s across town, and we’re giddy with anticipation.
By the time we arrive, the music’s already pulsing through the windows. The house is massive—three stories of chaos. Teens everywhere. Drinking. Making out. Doing things that would get you expelled in broad daylight.
I lost Alexis and Lucy almost instantly. They're off with boys—Lukas and Brandon, I think. I barely got a hello.
Fine. I’ll entertain myself.
I head toward the drink table and grab a cup of punch. Just one. It’s sweet. Really sweet. I drink it fast. Then another. And another.
Soon the music doesn’t feel too loud anymore. The people don’t seem too obnoxious. My body feels light. Loose. Free.
I dance. I don’t care who’s watching. For once, I just move.
Then the room tilts.
And someone grabs me.
“Hey!” I laugh, trying to turn—until I see who it is.
Jessie.
Of course.
He looks furious. Eyes dark, jaw clenched. I blink at him. “Oh hiiii.”
“Really, Cassie? Jungle juice? Are you that stupid?”
The warmth in my belly sours. “Why do you care?”
“Because if someone else touched you tonight,” he growls, “I’d f*****g kill them.”
Before I can respond, he lifts me. Effortless. Throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“What the hell?! Put me down!”
He doesn’t. People watch. No one intervenes. Not even Brandon. Not even Lucy.
He carries me straight to his car, buckles me in like a damn child, and gets in beside me.
The silence between us is suffocating.
His hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Strong jaw. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Black shirt stretched over a chest that shouldn’t look this good.
I should be scared.
But I’m not.
Not exactly.
Not yet.
---
Jessie’s POV
The drive is silent, except for her breathing.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask where we’re going again. Smart girl.
Cassie stares out the window, eyes wide but unreadable. Her pulse flutters in her throat like a warning—too bad for her, I’ve always ignored those.
She doesn’t understand what she did back there. Dancing like that. Drinking something she didn’t even question. Wearing white like some sweet little lamb.
In a room full of wolves.
I grip the wheel tighter.
By the time we pull into my driveway, her hands are curled in her lap. She's starting to realize this isn’t a ride home.
I get out. Open her door. She hesitates, then lets me lift her again, bridal-style this time—not for effect. Her legs are shaking. She’s not drunk enough to be unconscious, but she’s not fully clear either.
Perfect.
I carry her inside, kicking the door shut behind us.
The house is quiet. My parents are never around—another reason I keep it together at school. They don’t ask questions, and I don’t offer answers.
Cassie stares up at me, dazed.
“Why... why are we here
I set her down on the couch, crouching in front of her.
“Because you don’t get it,” I say, voice low. “You have no idea what kind of danger you were in tonight.”
“I was just—dancing,” she mutters, trying to focus.
“No,” I snap. “You were bait. Easy prey. Do you know how many guys were watching you? Imagining all the ways they could touch you?”
Her eyes widen. She pulls her knees closer to her chest, trying to shrink into the couch. Good.
“You don’t get to play innocent if you’re going to dress like that, act like that, and not expect consequences.”
Her lips part—whether to defend herself or scream, I don’t know.
But she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she watches me.
And what scares me the most... is that she doesn’t look terrified.
She looks curious.
---
Cassie’s POV
My heart won’t slow down.
He’s pacing now, running a hand through his hair, furious. But not drunk. Not dangerous in the way people at that party were. This is something else.
Something colder. Smarter. Worse.
“Jessie,” I whisper, “why do you care?”
He stops dead in his tracks and looks at me like I just told him I wanted to die.
“I care,” he says slowly, deliberately, “because you belong to me.”
The words hang in the air.
He says them like they’re facts. Like gravity. Like I should’ve known all along.
My breath catches.
“That’s not how this works,” I whisper, my voice thinner than I meant.
He kneels down again, eyes locked on mine. “You think I haven’t noticed every time you look at me? You think I don’t see how red your cheeks get when I talk to you like this?”
My cheeks are red now. Burning. But not from shame.
From something worse.
Desire.
God, no. Not Jessie. I hate him. I do. He makes me miserable. He embarrasses me. He—
His hand lifts, knuckles grazing my cheek. Slow. Careful.
I don’t pull away.
“I should hate you,” I whisper, barely able to say it.
“You do,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want me too.”
I close my eyes, willing myself to think clearly.
But my body has other ideas. Heat pools low in my stomach. My skin buzzes where he touches me.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says suddenly, and it sounds like a promise and a threat. “But I will teach you what it means to be mine. Completely. You want to play grown-up at parties, fine. But if you’re going to tempt wolves, you better be ready to be claimed by one.”
Something in me shatters.
And worse—something else opens.
A door I didn’t know I had, creaking wide inside me.
I don’t know who I am at this moment, but I’m not afraid. I should be—but all I can think is that Jessie might be right.
And that I might not hate it at all.
- Writer
