9 | What we don't say

"Loving can hurt sometimes."

Dominic

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

The second Willa turns her back to me and walks away, it's like something inside me snaps.

No.

That one stupid little word echoes in my head, over and over, digging under my skin like a splinter I can't get rid of.

She told me no.

No, she wouldn't come with me.

No, she wouldn't take my hand.

No, she wasn't going to let me have this.

I shouldn't care. I really, really shouldn't.

But I do.

My feet are already moving before I even register it, pushing me out of the cafeteria. I don't bother looking back—I know exactly where I'm going. Away from all of this.

Away from her. Away from the way my chest feels too fucking tight every time I look at her.

The second I step outside, the cold air smacks me in the face. It doesn't help.

I don't stop walking until I'm behind the old gym, where nobody goes unless they're looking for trouble. My usual spot. The walls back here are stained with years of bad decisions, and right now, I'm about to add another to the list.

I lean against the wall, exhaling hard as I dig into my pocket. My fingers curl around a joint, and I pull it out, lighting it with practiced ease.

The first inhale burns, but I hold it in anyway, letting it settle in my lungs before I exhale, watching the smoke curl into the crisp air.

For the first time all day, my body starts to relax.

The tension in my shoulders eases, my mind slows down.

The world feels a little less sharp, a little less suffocating.

Until—

"You shouldn't be smoking that."

I freeze mid-inhale, my fingers tightening around the joint.

I already know who it is before I even look up.

Willa.

Of course it's her.

I take another drag, slow and deliberate, before finally tilting my head to the side. She's standing a few feet away, arms crossed, looking at me like I just personally offended her entire family.

I let out the smoke in a long exhale. "Didn't realize you were my doctor, butterfly."

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were this predictable."

I smirk, tapping the ash off the end of the joint. "Careful, Myers. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were following me."

She scoffs. "Yeah. Because following Dominic West to the back of a grimy old building is exactly how I want to spend my lunch period."

"You sure? You found me pretty fast."

Her eyes narrow. "You're not that hard to find. Just had to follow the trail of self-destruction."

I snort, shaking my head. "Cute."

She ignores that, stepping closer, her gaze flicking to the joint in my hand. "Seriously, though. You shouldn't be smoking that."

I lift it between my fingers. "This?" I take another slow drag just to piss her off. "It's just a little something to take the edge off."

"Right. Because what you really need is to make worse decisions."

I let out a low chuckle. "Pretty sure that's exactly what I need."

She sighs, like she's dealing with a particularly frustrating child. "And here I was, thinking you had a few brain cells left."

"Nah." I blow out a slow ring of smoke. "Lost those a long time ago."

She huffs, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."

I watch her, amused, the corner of my lips curling. "You know, you're awfully concerned for someone who just rejected me in front of half the school."

Her eyes snap to mine. "I didn't reject you."

I raise an eyebrow. "You sure? 'Cause it sure felt like a rejection."

She groans, rubbing her temples. "It wasn't—" She stops herself, sighing. "You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

She hesitates.

For a second, I think she's actually going to answer. But instead, she shakes her head. "It's not about you."

"Yeah?" I exhale more smoke. "Could've fooled me."

Silence stretches between us.

She's still watching me, but her expression shifts—less annoyed now, more... something else.

Then, her gaze flicks to the joint again.

And before I even realize what's happening, she steps forward and snatches it right out of my fingers.

I blink.

"Willa." My voice is sharp, but she just grins, holding it up like a prize.

"Never took you for a smoker," she teases, spinning it between her fingers.

My whole body tenses.

"Give it back," I say flatly.

She smirks. "Why? Afraid I'll finish it before you do?"

My jaw clenches. "No. Afraid you'll do something stupid."

She tilts her head. "Oh, so you can be stupid, but I can't?"

"Exactly."

She lets out a breathy laugh. "Double standard much?"

I step forward, closing the space between us. "Not a double standard. Just facts."

She lifts an eyebrow. "What, you think I can't handle it?"

I glare. "I know you can't."

Her smirk doesn't fade. "You don't know everything about me, West."

She's wrong, I know everything about her.

The name of her stuff toy she got when she was two.The way she always eats her fries first before touching the rest of her food, because she swears they taste different when they get cold. That she hates scary movies but watches them anyway, covering her face with her hands but leaving just enough space between her fingers to peek through. That she still has a freckle under her left eye, even though she used to swear it would fade when she got older. That she tugs her sleeves over her hands when she's nervous. That she sings under her breath when she thinks no one is listening. That she talks to stray cats like they understand her.

I know all of it.

I reach for it, but she pulls it back, holding it just out of my reach, teasing. "Say please."

I grit my teeth. "Not happening."

She laughs again, shaking her head. "God, you're so stubborn."

"And you're playing a dangerous game."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. What's the worst that could happen?"

My chest tightens.

I don't even think before the words slip out.

"I don't want you turning into a fuck-up like me."

The second they leave my mouth, her face changes.

The teasing disappears, replaced by something else—something raw.

Her grip on the joint loosens. She stares at me, lips parted slightly, like she's not sure if she heard me right.

Silence.

A long, heavy silence that presses against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

I should say something else. Should joke it off, act like I didn't mean it. But I can't, because it's Willa.

Then—

"Dom?"

The voice shatters the moment like glass hitting concrete.

I stiffen.

Willa's head snaps toward the sound, and I already know who it is before I even turn.

Emma.

She's standing a few feet away, looking between us with a confused expression.

Willa steps back.

Then, without another word, she turns and walks away.

I watch her go, my chest burning, my hand clenched into a fist at my side.

And for the first time in a long time, the joint in my other hand feels completely fucking useless.

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

Guys I can't I literally love them. Like so much😭😭😭

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