Page 33 of Peripheral Vision

I head to the back to stash my bag, hoping to avoid him for just a few more minutes but then I hear the door shut behind me. When I turn around, he’s there, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches me like he’s trying to figure out where to start. His presence feels too big for the small office. “I believed you the first time you said you weren’t avoiding me, but now I definitely don’t. You’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know why.”

I turn my back to him, chewing on my nails. “I’ve been busy.” It’s weak. It’s worse than my last one. I know it and he knows it.

“That’s not it,” he says as he takes a step closer. “You left quickly the other night, and it wasn’t to talk to your best friend. What’s going on, Dylan?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. The lie tastes bitter, but I can’t seem to stop it from slipping out. “I just… needed some space.”

“So I was right. Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Why lead me to believe everything was okay? Did I do something? Did we go too far?” he presses, firing off one question after another, but never raising his voice which causes pain to clench in my chest. He looks worried, like he actually thinks this is his fault.

“No,” I say quietly, turning back around. “God, no. You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it? Why do I feel like you’re pushing me away?” He steps even closer, reaching out to take my hand but I step back, my shoulders brushing the wall. “You just left the other night. Like something spooked you. No explanation, no nothing. Your texts have been short. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I know you’ve been in class, but I also know your schedule. You’ve had some time, Dylan. And now you won’t even look at me. Talk to me, please.” His voice cracks.

I want to so badly tell him the truth. “I can’t.”

His brow furrows and I can see his frustration start to bubble under his calm exterior. “You can’t or you won’t?” I don’t even realize that he’s stepped closer until his chest is brushing against my own.

I press my palms against the roughness of the drywall behind me, trying to ground myself as I avoid eye contact, but it’s no use. “I just—I told you my life is complicated right now.”

He lets out a slow breath, reeling his frustration back in. “Complicated how? I’m standing right here, willing to listen, but you won’t let me in.”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand. You’d make it worse.”

“Make what worse, Dylan? How can I even know what you’re talking about if you won’t fucking tell me?” His voice elevates and he punches the wall above my head with his fist before leaning over me. I jump at the impact, trying to shrink and disappear through the wall as though it’s a portal to another realm. “Whatever you feel like it is, you don’t have to handle it alone. I want to be there for you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and sincere, and for a moment I want to believe him. But the fear is louder and drowns out any words of reassurance.

“I can’t,” I whisper again, ducking under his frame. “I’m sorry, Callum.”

For a long moment there’s nothing but silence between us. Then I hear him sigh, the sound filled with more sadness than anger. “If pushing me away is what you feel like you have to do, then fine. But I’m not giving up on you. This isn’t over, Dylan.” And with that, he turns and walks out, leaving me alone with a mess I didn’t create and can’t clean up because Fletcher has made sure it’s a set in stain. The thought of Fletcher sends a chill down my spine, both in fear and something else I continue to refuse to put a name to. Even here, with walls and people between us, it feels like his shadows stretch far enough to keep me in check. I lean against the wall and take a shaky breath, trying to prepare myself for going out there and facing the noise.

Callum doesn’t understand—and he can’t. If this is the price I have to pay to keep him out of Fletcher’s line of fire, then so be it. It’s not just my problem anymore. Fletcher made sure of that too. If I talk, if I tell Callum or anyone else what’s really going on, the consequences aren’t going to just fall on me. Fletcher knows where to strike to make it hurt the most, which is exactly why I have to keep it quiet and keep Fletcher thinking I’m playing along with his sick game. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to think. Callum’s frustration was clear, but it was his disappointment that hit the hardest. The fact that we could have had something real. He doesn’t deserve this.

The door swings open again, startling me, but it’s just Audrey. She pauses when she sees me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?” she asks, her voice cautious. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s just been a long week.” It’s only Wednesday but it works, at least I think it does when she doesn’t push.

“Well, hurry up. It’s getting busy out there, and Callum’s not exactly in a chatty mood tonight.” If there is one good thing we can take away from this, it’s that nobody here, Audrey or otherwise,knows we were seeing each other. But it still doesn’t help that I’m the reason Callum is hurting. But until I figure out how to untangle myself from Fletcher’s grip, I can’t let him get too close. It’s maddening. Fletcher is dangerous, cruel in ways that dig under your skin and stay there, but he’s also intoxicating. I want to hate him—Ishouldhate him—but I can’t seem to shake the pull he has over me. He’s chaos wrapped in charm. He has a way of making me feel seen, because evidently, heiswatching me regularly. But it’s more than that… it’s the way he knows exactly what to say to keep me teetering on the edge. He’s not just watching, he’s studying, learning every move, every thought I don’t say out loud. And when he does speak? It’s like he’s reached into my head and pulled out the exact words I didn’t know I needed, or wanted, to hear.

I tell myself it’s manipulation, all a part of his sick game. A need to fill his… urges. But even as I try to tell myself that he doesn’t care about me, only about the control he has over me, I know that isn’t true. Because I’ve seen the Fletcher that cares about me. I knew him, and as much as I want to deny it, he’s still the same person. Just with darker desires. If he says he cares about me, I believe him. And there is a part of me that is leaning into it and giving him exactly what he wants. He doesn’t treat me like Callum does. I should want what Callum has to offer: steady, warm, and safe. Fletcher is everything opposite of that. But when he looks at me, daring me to push back, it ignites something in me. I always feel like I’m burning within his presence, and a part of me doesn’t want to let the fire go out.

I knock my head back against the wall, the chatter gradually starting to flow down the hallway. I suppose I better get out there, because as little as I want to be in the same space as Callum right now, I still need to get paid.

I’ma couple of hours into my shift, with four hours to go when another group pours in. All I want is to go home. Callum’s suffocating presence hasn’t lessened any even though we haven’t spoken since I came out. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse at this point. The group is rowdy, the kind that orders obscure cocktails and barely tips. I force a smile and try not to let my irritation show as they all cram around the bar, shouting out their drink orders all at once.

Callum was at the other end of the bar when they walked in, but now I hear his voice behind me as he asks, “Need help with that?”

I don’t look at him as I shake my head, starting to pour drinks. “Nope.”

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he steps close enough I can feel the heat from his body at my back. I think he is going to say something else, not let it go, but he just grabs pint glasses and starts fulfilling orders despite my protests. I’m not even sure why I’m acting irritated with him, I did this to us—to him. Maybe I should have been honest with Audrey earlier and asked to go home, maybe I still will. I could afford to sit in the silence for a little while, my body yearning for the type that only the night atmosphere can offer.

I’m cleaning up a spill when the glass I lifted up to clean slips from my fingers, shattering on the floor behind the bar. Heads turn, momentarily distracted by the mess I’ve made, but I ignore them searching for the broom to sweep it up. Fortunately, it seems like my desire comes to fruition when Audrey approaches me.

“You’re off.”

I glance at her as I begin scooping the glass into my hand since I didn’t see the broom. “What?”

“You’re off. You’ve been off since I got here. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt when you told me you were fine earlier, but I think you need to go home.” Her tone is soft but firm.

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