003

Scarlett's body ached like she'd been hit by a truck. Every muscle screamed as she rolled over, squinting at the morning light creeping through her curtains. Her dreams from last night felt like a hangover—fuzzy around the edges but leaving behind this weird heaviness she couldn't shake.

Sure, watching Claire get what she deserved had felt good. Really good. But now? Now she just felt drained, like something had sucked all the energy right out of her.

That guy though. The one with the white hair.

Scarlett pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to clear the image of those silver eyes from her mind. They'd looked so real, so... alive. Not like the blurry faces she usually saw in her dreams.

"Get it together," she muttered, forcing herself out of bed. "It was just a dream. Just another stupid dream."

Her reflection in the mirror told a different story. Dark circles hung under her eyes like bruises, and her skin looked almost gray in the early morning light. Great. Just what she needed—to look as dead as she felt.

The smell of pancakes drifted up from downstairs, and Scarlett's stomach turned. Food was the last thing she wanted, but she knew her mom would worry if she didn't show up for breakfast. So she pulled on her uniform—the same boring navy skirt and white button-up she wore every day—and covered it with her favorite oversized hoodie. The soft, worn fabric felt like armor against the world.

Her feet dragged as she made her way downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The kitchen light was on, casting warm yellow light into the dim hallway. Her mom stood at the stove, humming softly as she flipped pancakes.

"Morning, Mom," Scarlett said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mom turned, and Scarlett's heart dropped. The bruise on her mom's cheek was worse than yesterday—deeper purple now, spreading across her pale skin like spilled ink. Her mom tried to hide it with makeup, but nothing could cover the slight swelling.

"Morning, sweetheart!" Her mom's voice was too bright, too cheerful. Like if she just smiled hard enough, everything would be okay. "I made your favorite—blueberry pancakes."

Scarlett wanted to scream. Wanted to ask why they were still here, why her mom kept forgiving him, why they had to pretend everything was fine when it so clearly wasn't. But the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind years of learned silence.

"Thanks," she managed instead, sliding into her usual seat at the small kitchen table. The wood was scratched and worn, marked with memories of better days.

Her mom watched her pick at the pancakes, worry creasing her forehead. "You look tired, honey. Are you sleeping okay?"

No, Scarlett wanted to say. No, I'm not sleeping okay. I'm losing myself in dreams where I torture my bullies, and now there's this weird guy showing up, and everything feels wrong. Instead, she just shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... school stuff."

"Those girls still giving you trouble?" Her mom's voice softened, and something in Scarlett's chest ached at the concern there.

"It's nothing," Scarlett mumbled, pushing a piece of pancake around her plate. "I can handle it."

Her mom reached across the table, her cool fingers brushing Scarlett's wrist. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

Scarlett looked at her mom's hand—at the fading yellow bruise around her wrist that matched the one on her cheek. What right did she have to complain about school bullies when her mom was living through her own private hell?

"I know," she lied, forcing a smile. "I should get going. Don't want to be late."

Her mom's face fell slightly, but she nodded. "Okay, honey. Have a good day. And remember—"

"I'm stronger than I think," Scarlett finished for her. It was her mom's favorite thing to say, even if neither of them really believed it anymore.

The walk to school felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the weight of exhaustion dragging at her feet, or maybe it was just dread making every step feel like she was walking through mud. The morning was quiet, just the sound of gravel crunching under her shoes and—

"Hey! Crestwood girl!"

Scarlett jumped, her heart lurching into her throat. She spun around to find a guy jogging toward her, his blonde hair messy like he'd just rolled out of bed. He wore a different uniform—dark blue blazer with silver trim instead of Crestwood's black and gold.

"Sorry!" He grinned as he caught up to her, not even slightly out of breath. "Didn't mean to scare you. I'm Liam. I've seen you walking this way before."

Scarlett stared at him, trying to process what was happening. No one talked to her on her way to school. No one talked to her, period. Unless they were making fun of her.

"Um," she said brilliantly, her social skills rusty from lack of use.

"You don't talk much, huh?" His smile was easy, genuine in a way that made her suspicious. "That's cool. I talk enough for two people anyway. My mom says I never learned when to shut up."

Scarlett's mouth twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but wasn't sure how anymore. She kept walking, and to her surprise (and mild horror), Liam fell into step beside her.

"So," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Crestwood, huh? Must be nice. All fancy and stuff." He wrinkled his nose. "We've got mold in our cafeteria that's probably older than the school itself. Pretty sure it's evolved enough to start teaching classes soon."

A small laugh escaped before Scarlett could stop it. She quickly ducked her head, letting her dark hair fall forward like a curtain.

"I made you laugh!" Liam sounded way too proud of himself. "Mission accomplished."

"I wasn't..." Scarlett started to protest, but her voice came out all scratchy from disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I wasn't laughing."

"Sure you weren't." He grinned, and something about it made her chest feel weird. Not bad-weird, just... different. "So, what's your name? Unless you want me to keep calling you Crestwood girl."

She hesitated. Names had power—that's what all the stories said. But this wasn't a dream, and Liam was just... a guy. A weirdly friendly guy who probably had some ulterior motive she hadn't figured out yet.

"Scarlett," she mumbled finally.

"Scarlett," he repeated, like he was trying it out. "Nice. Very mysterious. Like a character from one of those dark academia books."

She glanced at him sideways. "You read dark academia?"

"Ha! No way. My sister's obsessed though. Won't shut up about some book with a clock and orange trees or whatever."

"The Secret History?"

"That's the one!" He snapped his fingers. "See? I knew you were the bookish type. You've got that whole..." he waved his hand vaguely at her, "brooding intellectual thing going on."

Scarlett tugged at her hoodie sleeves, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't brood."

"Everyone broods a little." He shrugged. "Some people just make it look cooler than others."

They reached the intersection where their paths split. Liam stopped, adjusting his bag strap. "Well, this is me. East Haven's that way." He pointed down the street that branched off to the right. "Maybe I'll see you around, Scarlett the Mysterious Brooding Reader?"

She should say something. Thank him for talking to her, maybe. Or at least goodbye. But her tongue felt tied in knots, and all she managed was a small nod.

He didn't seem to mind. With another easy smile and a little wave, he headed off toward his school, leaving Scarlett standing there feeling... weird. Kind of warm, but also like she might throw up. Was this what normal social interaction felt like? No wonder she avoided it.

The rest of her walk to school was quiet, but her head was loud with thoughts. Why had he talked to her? What did he want? People like that—bright, friendly, actually nice—they didn't just talk to people like her for no reason.

School was just as awful as always.

In gym class, Claire and her gang—Brittany, Lila, and Ava—wouldn't leave her alone. They cornered her by the lockers, throwing their usual insults.

"Nice hoodie, Hayes. Which dumpster did you find that in?" Claire smirked.

Scarlett kept her head down, biting her lip to keep quiet.

"Aw, look at her, she's sad," Lila added, voice dripping with fake concern.

Their laughter followed Scarlett as she walked away, her nails digging into her palms. By the time the bell rang, she felt ready to explode.

When she got home that afternoon, she was a mess. She didn't even take off her shoes, just dragged herself upstairs and threw her bag on the floor. The whole day felt like a weight on her chest.

She fell onto her bed and let out a shaky breath, grabbing her blanket tight.

"They'll pay," she whispered. "They'll all fucking pay."

That night, as she fell asleep thinking about lucid dreaming, she could still hear their laughter and see their sneering faces. Claire's mean voice was loud in her head, every word stinging like it was fresh. In the dream, Scarlett clenched her fists, anger boiling up inside her.

Like always, she found herself in Crestwood's hallway. It was the same every night. Her dreams always brought her here—her school, but not quite. The walls seemed to go on forever, and the air felt heavy, like it was pushing down on her. The shadows moved like they were alive, sliding along the lockers.

But this time, everything was different.

Claire was there, standing in the middle of the hall like she owned it. But instead of having her usual backup—Ava, Brittany, and Lila—they were behind Scarlett.

"Well, look who showed up," Claire sneered, arms crossed. "Scarlett Hayes, still pretending she belongs."

Scarlett's fists tightened. She'd heard it all before, every insult and mean comment. But here, in her dreams, she was in control. She could finally say all the things she couldn't in real life.

"Shut up, Claire," she shot back, stepping forward. Her voice didn't shake this time.

Claire blinked, caught off guard. She looked at Ava, Brittany, and Lila for help, but they didn't move. Instead, they smirked and moved closer to Scarlett.

"You heard me," Scarlett said, feeling stronger. "Funny, isn't it? The queen bee all alone for once. How's it feel?"

Behind her, Ava let out a small laugh. Brittany and Lila nodded, switching sides in a heartbeat.

Claire's smirk disappeared. "You think this changes anything?" she hissed, backing up.

Scarlett smiled, walking closer. "It changes everything."

Claire stumbled back into the lockers with a bang. Scarlett didn't have to touch her. This was her dream, her world. Here, Claire couldn't hurt her.

But just as she was about to speak again, the air changed. That heavy feeling came back, pressing on her chest. Scarlett froze. Someone else was there. She could feel eyes on her.

She turned around and there he was—the white-haired guy.

He was leaning against the lockers at the other end of the hall like he belonged there. His silver hair seemed to glow even in the dim light, and his gray eyes locked onto hers, looking amused.

"Scarlett Hayes," he said, voice smooth and calm. "You never disappoint."

The hallway started twisting and blurring, the lockers stretching until they faded away. Claire and the others vanished, leaving Scarlett alone with him.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He pushed off the lockers and walked toward her, taking his time with each step. "Who do you think I am?" he asked, like they were sharing some private joke.

"I don't know," Scarlett snapped. "But I want you gone. Leave me alone."

He tilted his head, silver hair falling over one eye. "Gone? That's not how this works. You don't want me to leave."

"That's not true," she said, backing up. "I don't even know who you are."

He stopped walking, his eyes locked on hers. "You don't need to know who I am. The real question is..." He paused, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Do you know who or what you are?"

Scarlett felt her breath catch. His words hit her harder than they should have. "What does that mean?" she whispered.

"You'll figure it out," he shrugged, his voice teasing but somehow dark. "Eventually."

Scarlett tried to use the same control she'd had with Claire, but it didn't work. No matter how hard she focused, he didn't budge.

"You can't get rid of me," he said, his voice softer now, almost kind. "I'm not like them. I'm not just something your brain made up."

"Then what are you?" Scarlett demanded, her voice shaking.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer until there was barely any space between them. Scarlett's heart pounded as he stared into her eyes.

"You'll find out soon enough," he said quietly. "For now, just remember this—you're not as powerless as you think."

Before she could say anything, the dream started falling apart. The hallway melted into darkness, and Scarlett woke up with a gasp.

Her heart was racing as she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. The room was so quiet she could hear herself breathing. She blinked hard, trying to shake off the dream—or maybe it was a nightmare?

His words kept echoing in her head like a stuck record.

*You're not as powerless as you think.*

Scarlett shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to stop the chills running down her spine. How could a dream feel that real? The way he looked at her, like he could read every thought she tried to hide. How the air got heavy around him, making it hard to breathe. And how she couldn't control him—no matter what she tried, he stayed there, solid and real, like he wasn't just part of her dream.

She rubbed her arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps. "It's just a dream," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Just a stupid dream."

But it didn't feel stupid. And it definitely didn't feel like her other dreams. Weren't lucid dreams supposed to be fun? A way to control everything and escape real life for a while? This... this was something else. It felt alive, like someone had walked into her head and changed all the rules.

Her mind kept racing as she thought about everything—the dark hallway, how Claire and her gang disappeared, and how he just showed up, all calm and smug, like he'd been waiting for her. Scarlett buried her face in her hands. She hated how small he made her feel, how his words shook her up more than Claire ever could.

But deep down, there was something else. Something she didn't want to admit.

It wasn't just fear.

There was this pull, this weird curiosity she couldn't explain, like some part of her wanted to know more—wanted to know him.

"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I'm not doing this again."

Scarlett threw off her blanket and paced around her room, her bare feet cold on the floor. She used to love lucid dreaming. It was her escape, her chance to make the world work her way. But now, just thinking about closing her eyes and going back there made her stomach twist.

What if he came back?

She looked at herself in the mirror across the room, her face pale and her eyes wide. "No more lucid dreams," she said out loud, like saying it would make it real. "Not for a while."

The thought made her chest hurt, but it was the only way to stop this—whatever this was.

Those thoughts followed her as she fell asleep again.