The car smelled like expensive cologne and something faintly woodsy, like pine. It was warm too, almost too cozy for how chaotic my brain felt.

  Camila was already gushing in the front seat, asking Woody about the car and touching all the buttons like she wasn’t allergic to boundaries. I just sat there in the back, quietly watching the back of his head, wondering what his deal was.

  “Is this like... your everyday ride?” she asked.

  Woody chuckled. “Nah, just felt like showing off today.”

  His voice was smooth, casual. Like he wasn’t even trying. I hated how easy he made it look.

  I kept my mouth shut, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the window. I saw the reflection of Trina still standing outside the school, her arms folded and her face like she’d bitten into a lemon.

  God, that felt good.

  Woody glanced at me through the mirror. “You okay back there?”

  I stiffened. “Fine.”

  He nodded like he didn’t believe me, but didn’t push. Weird. Most guys would.

  “You don’t like to talk, do you?” he said casually after a bit.

  Camila twisted in her seat to look at me with a smirk. “She’s mysterious. That’s her thing.”

  “I’m not mysterious,” I muttered.

  Woody just smirked and kept driving.

  The ride wasn’t long, but every second felt heavy. He dropped Camila off first—she lived closer—and when she got out, she gave me a look like, don’t be weird. He’s like my sister’s boyfriend.

  He cleared his throat, glancing at me as we pulled up to a red light.

  “So...” he started eyes still on the road. “What made you hop in today? Thought you didn’t like me.”

  I tilted my head slightly, amused. “I do—actually,” I replied, but there was no bite to it.

  He had a genuine smile on his face.

  I turned to look out the window, the streetlights casting soft golden streaks over my reflection.

  “I didn’t ask you to come get me,” I said staring out the window, still not looking at him.

  Woody glanced over, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting near the gear. “Yeah, well... Madison sent me. Said you looked a little off this morning. She was worried.”

  My chest tightened slightly. I didn’t think Maddy noticed. She’d been so wrapped up in her new perfect life.

  “Oh,” I muttered, a little caught off guard.

  “She’s your sister, you know,” he said, softer this time.

  “Yeah, I guess, thanks though.” I went silent after that.

  He let the silence breathe for a moment, then shifted the conversation. “So, what book were you reading last night? I saw it on the table before I left.”

  I blinked, surprised he remembered. ”A Little Life,” I said. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  Woody gave a small laugh. “Please, give me some credit. That book had me emotionally destroyed for like two weeks straight.”

  My head snapped toward him. “You read A Little Life?”

  “All seven hundred and twenty pages,” he said proudly. “Jude broke my heart in every way possible.”

  I stared at him, honestly a bit impressed. “Wow. Didn’t think you had that in you.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  We were both smiling now—one of those rare, soft, unspoken kind of moments. But it didn’t last.

  Woody’s eyes flicked toward me again, lingering this time. His voice changed, gentle but serious. “Lily...”

  “What?”

  I could feel him trying to read me like his gaze had weight. I hated that. It made me feel exposed.

  Then it happened. We passed under another streetlight, and his head turned slightly. His brows furrowed.

  “What happened to your neck?”

  My hand flew up before I even processed the words, pulling my hoodie up higher around the bruising. My skin felt hot.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  I stayed quiet, my jaw tightening.

  He didn’t push right away. He just let the quiet creep back in, but it felt different now. He was thinking. I could feel it.

  “Is something happening at school?” He asked.

  I shook my head, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s fine.”

  He sighed, that kind of tired exhale like he wasn’t buying any of it. But instead of pushing, his voice softened even more.

  “Lily... just tell me who’s doing it. I won’t make a big deal. I just want a name.”

  I finally looked at him. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even shocked. He just looked... calm. Concerned. Like he’d already figured it out before I even said anything.

  I blinked, debating with myself. Should I? Would it even matter? Madison would’ve noticed, right? Someone would’ve stepped in if it was that serious.

  “I told you,” I said, forcing a little edge into my voice, “it’s nothing. If it was someone, Madison would’ve known already.”

  He didn’t argue. Just nodded slowly, his jaw tight. He didn’t believe me—but he respected the boundary.

  The rest of the ride was silent again. Not tense—just full. Words were floating in the air, but neither of us wanted to grab them.

  When we finally pulled up to the house, I reached for the handle without looking at him.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  “Yeah,” he replied, just as soft. “Anytime.”

  I stepped out of the car, hoodie still pulled up, heart still racing. I didn’t even look back.

  I went into the house and rushed to the bedroom—pulling the hoodie over my head to look at the scar. It’s not that much. It spread all the way to the back of my shoulder working its way to my torso and a little bit above my belly button.

  Just dark scars—hidden—waiting to be revealed, but it wasn’t serious. I did hate having to deal with Trina every single day, but it could have been worse. Some kids get even worse treatment. One time, some guys made one of their classmates drink bleach. He had to be rushed to the hospital—thank god.

  I went to take a shower before pulling up my phone to watch some true crime. I really love true crime, and I find comfort in escaping this boring world and diving into the sick twisted minds of some of these individuals. I feel bad for their victims though—I hope they are resting well.

  At least they get caught, then they ask all sorts of questions and do all sorts of interviews. I love a particular true-crime podcaster—her name is KallmeKris—on YouTube. She is amazing she does all the deep dives that just itch the right spot in your brain—and also tells you t be careful.

  After bingeing for what felt like hours. I heard a slight knock on my door.

  I looked up from my phone to see Madison enter my room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, scrolling on her phone, but I knew she wasn’t actually looking at it. She locked her screen and looked up at me, her eyes searching.

  “Woody dropped you off?”

  I nodded.

  She tilted her head a bit. “He said something happened... That you had bruises on your neck.”

  I blinked. “He told you?”

  “Of course, he told me, Lily.” She sighed, folding her arms. “You think he’d see something like that and just not say anything?”

  I looked away, suddenly very interested in the way my bookshelf was slightly tilted.

  “It’s nothing,” I mumbled, the words tasting like rust in my mouth.

  Madison stood slowly. “If it’s nothing, then show me.”

  I flinched. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s just—” My voice cracked. “I said it’s nothing.”

  “People don’t bruise like that for no reason.”

  “I fell, okay?” I snapped. “I tripped in the hallway at school and hit the locker.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Lily, come on. You really think I’m gonna believe that?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She took a careful step closer. “Who did it?”

  “I told you—”

  “Who. Did. It.”

  The room felt smaller all of a sudden. My throat felt tight.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whispered.

  “I want the truth.”

  I sat down on the edge of her bed, finally pulling down the hood. The bruise was worse now—deep purple with yellow edges. I could feel her eyes on it—both my shoulder and torso.

  She knelt in front of me. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I don’t pay attention?”

  “I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

  “It is a thing.”

  “I can handle it,” I said, quieter this time.

  “Shouldn’t have to,” she whispered back. “That’s not your job.”

  I looked down at my hands. “It’s just... easier to pretend.”

  She reached out and gently brushed my hair back behind my ear. Her hand paused on my cheek. “Pretending doesn’t make it go away.”

  My lip trembled before I could stop it. I hated this part—feeling like a kid. Like I couldn’t control what was happening in my body.

  “Do you want me to go to the school?” she asked. “Talk to someone?”

  “No.” My voice was sharp. “Please don’t. Just... leave it.”

  She sat back, watching me like she was trying to read a book with half the pages torn out.

  “I won’t push,” she said finally. “But I’m not letting this go either. We have to do something about it, but I promise you’re not alone, okay?”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I meant it.

  “Okay,” she said again, a little softer this time. Then she pulled me into a hug.

  I didn’t hug her back right away. But after a few seconds, I sank into her.

  And for a minute, just one tiny minute, it felt safe.