o9 | proximity (part one)

A TRAIL OF SOAPY RESIDUE traces down my locker until it pools into a puddle of white foam on the floor. Beneath the suds, the metal of my locker is marred with scratches, but the words that once tainted it are now gone, and the permanent held breath crushing my insides is released in a seizing exhale of relief.

I'm alone when my back slides down the locker beside mine, legs kicking out into the tiled hallway. For another hour, this school will be dead silent: the lights dimmed and shadows swallowing the expanse.

Still, it doesn't surprise me when Archer Finley comes and takes the seat next to me.

His eyes are tired and grazed with red, faintly bloodshot in the low lighting. The bags under his eyes are tinged with purple and black, and his fingers are shredded into slivers, his skin rubbed raw.

"That took all night," he confesses, his head slamming against the locker door. He doesn't flinch, however, seemingly content with the stabbing pain I can only imagine gnawing at the back of his head. "Permanent markers are getting way too permanent these days."

"You did this?" My fingers trail in the liquid-infused water, and rainbow bubbles form on the pads of my fingers. "You didn't have to. But...thanks, Archer."

"You skipped Specials." His voice is nonchalant, but I sense something deeper in the gentle movement of his finger tracing the word no on his jeans. "Ebony told me you spent the night in your dorm room. Even if that's the last place you said you'd ever want to go."

"I didn't know you were such good friends with my brother," I say bitterly, and he sighs.

"You've never walked out of a lesson like that." A knot forms itself between his eyebrows. It's at that moment I first notice the scar threading through his left eyebrow, a small strip of red amongst the dark hairs. "Tell me that it wasn't bothering you, and I'll believe you."

His eyes burn into mine with too much intensity, and though it causes my skin to prickle, I can't quite seem to look away. His gaze has too much power, threaded into the oblivion of his irises, and I feel it rocket through me, all at once.

"It bothered me. Bothers," I say, even though I can't reason why I'm telling him this. In the throes of desperation, maybe you'll tell anything to anyone, because you've got nothing left to lose. "They think I'm sleeping with him. And"―the thought of the addenda once staining my locker causes my skin to crawl―"he wishes."

"Exactly." He knocks his knuckle against the metal door. A resounding shriek echoes through the empty corridor, swallowing the sound of the clock ticking above our heads. "You didn't need any more reminders."

I owe him that much.

"Thanks." I pull my knees to my chest, aware of my bed-rumpled hair and misaligned skirt. A ladder has formed in my tights, tracing down to my knee, and the laces of my shoes graze the floor, the black fibres darkening as they soak up the moisture glossing the tiles. "And tell Ebony I'm sorry."

"Why can't you tell him yourself?"

My gaze drops to my knees. I toy with my blazer sleeve, one thread hanging off. "Because I'd really rather not. I don't think he really...believes me."

"You'd be surprised," Archer murmurs, getting to his feet and offering me a hand.

I take it, winding my fingers around his. Even when I'm up, our fingers remain together, and his touch is sauna-hot.

Unthinkingly, I pull away.

"Do you want another ride back to your house? You'll want to put yourself together before school starts," he offers kindly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

In spite of myself, I nod. "Sure."

And as seven o'clock ticks into place on the clock above our heads, the hall comes alive with the alarms of hundreds of students, all at once.

☆☆☆