Erica's POV
I met Daniel by accident.
Which is funny, because lately my life felt like everything happened on purpose. Too watched. Too timed. Too heavy with meaning. But Daniel came the way normal things do—without warning, without weight.
It was in the library.
I remember because I was sitting there pretending to read while my mind ran itself into the ground. Jackson's voice. The pause before he spoke. The way he looked at me like I was both a mistake and something he didn't want to lose.
My head was loud. My chest tight. I hadn't turned a page in ten minutes.
Then someone cleared their throat beside me.
Not aggressively. Not rude. Just… present.
"You gonna actually read that, or is it emotional support?" he asked.
I looked up, ready to be annoyed.
Instead, I laughed.
A real laugh. The kind that startled me because it didn't hurt to let it out.
"I'm thinking about it," I said. "We're still negotiating."
He smiled. Not charming. Not calculated. Just easy. Like he wasn't trying to be anything special.
"I'm Daniel," he said, tapping the empty chair. "Mind if I sit? I promise I won't talk too much."
I shrugged. "As long as you don't judge my unread book."
"No promises," he said, sitting anyway.
And that was it.
No sparks. No electricity. No sudden awareness of my own body.
Just calm.
And maybe that should've been my first warning.
We started studying together after that. Not intentionally. Just overlapping schedules, shared complaints about deadlines, quiet jokes scribbled in the margins of notes. Daniel talked when he had something to say and stayed quiet when he didn't. I liked that. He didn't treat silence like a problem that needed fixing.
With Daniel, I didn't feel examined.
I didn't feel like one wrong step would change everything.
I could breathe.
He never asked why I flinched when someone mentioned lecturers. Never questioned why I left rooms quickly or sat near exits. Never asked why my phone stayed face-down like it might explode if I checked it.
He just accepted me.
And somehow, that messed with my head.
Because comfort shouldn't feel like betrayal.
But sometimes it did.
Sometimes I'd be laughing at something stupid he said, like how he once failed a test because he "overthought himself into nonsense," and suddenly Jackson would cut through my thoughts.
His seriousness. His restraint. The way everything with him felt loaded. Dangerous. Important.
Daniel felt easy.
Jackson felt true.
And I hated myself for thinking I had to choose between peace and honesty.
One afternoon, we sat on the low wall near the park, sharing fries I didn't even remember buying. Daniel talked about his childhood, moving a lot, never staying long enough to get attached.
"I don't do messy," he said casually. "Life's already complicated. If something feels stressful from the start, I'm out."
My chest tightened.
"Must be nice," I said.
He glanced at me then. Not intense. Just curious. "You okay?"
There it was. The opening.
I could've told him everything.
About Jackson. About how my heart raced in lecture halls. About how being seen that deeply terrified me. About how I didn't know if I was falling or already gone.
The words sat right on my tongue.
But fear won.
I smiled instead. "Yeah. Just tired."
He nodded like that was enough.
And I loved him a little for not pushing.
The day Jackson saw us wasn't special.
That's the worst part.
Daniel made a stupid joke. I laughed too hard. I nearly tripped, and he pulled me into a quick hug to steady me. Two seconds. Normal. Nothing romantic.
But when I stepped back, I saw him.
Jackson.
Standing there.
Watching.
His face didn't change much, but I knew that look now. The tightening. The way his jaw set like he'd swallowed something sharp.
Guilt hit me first.
Then confusion.
Why did I feel guilty?
Daniel wasn't my boyfriend.
Jackson wasn't mine.
So why did it feel like I'd broken a rule I didn't remember agreeing to?
Daniel noticed immediately. "You good?"
"Yeah," I lied. "Just zoning out."
He accepted it. Again.
Later that week, something shifted.
It was small at first.
Daniel started disappearing during study sessions. His phone buzzed more often. He'd step away, lower his voice, come back distracted. I didn't think much of it; everyone had something going on.
Until one evening, curiosity, or maybe a gut punch I couldn't ignore, pulled me toward the science block.
I saw him behind the building, tucked into the shadows where the security lights barely reached. I saw the way he leaned close to another student, casual, practiced. I saw the small clear packet pressed discreetly into a waiting palm. I saw the quick exchange of cash, folded tight, passed like it meant nothing.
It wasn't weed.
It wasn't cigarettes.
It was molly.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I'd missed a step on the stairs.
I froze.
My brain screamed at me. No. This isn't real. Walk away. Forget it. Pretend you didn't see it.
But my eyes didn't move.
Daniel hadn't seen me. He was too focused, too calm, too practiced in the way he handed over the tiny crystals and the money.
And that… that was the worst part.
It wasn't illegal in the loud, obvious way, like someone drinking in the street. It was invisible. Hidden. Efficient. Familiar. Normal. And my heart felt like it was shattering into small, jagged pieces in my chest.
I backed away, not daring to make a sound. My hands trembled. My legs felt like noodles. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
And then I ran.
I ran until my lungs burned and my shoes squeaked against the tile floor of the quiet hallways. I didn't look back. Not once.
That night, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, breath shallow. My mind replayed the scene in an endless loop. The way my heart had raced immediately after seeing him. The way my palms had gone damp. The sharp, sudden panic. The sick twist of betrayal, not from him, not from anyone, but from the world shifting under me.
Because once you see something like that, you can't unsee it.
Daniel's calm didn't feel like safety anymore.
It felt like distance.
It felt like layers.
Like the version of him I thought I knew, the one who laughed easily, shared fries, sat beside me like the world wasn't heavy, was just one layer of a much bigger, darker reality.
And Jackson… Jackson's world was risky, yes, but visible. Transparent. Lines drawn. Rules clear. Consequences obvious.
Daniel's world? Quiet. Hidden. Slipping under the surface until it wasn't.
And that scared me in a way I couldn't ignore.
Because quiet danger doesn't announce itself.
It waits.
It pulls you in slowly.
It makes you complicit before you even realize you've crossed a line.
I thought about how easily I'd laughed with him earlier that day. How close I'd stood. How easily someone could assume.
A cold wave of panic hit me.
What if someone already knew?
What if Jackson had seen more than I realized?
What if Sophie had?
What if this wasn't just Daniel's secret anymore?
My chest thudded harder at the thought.
I curled inward, pressing my hands into the mattress.
One man made me feel exposed, like every look, every pause could be read and judged.
The other made me realize how little I really knew, and how dangerous ignorance could be.
And lying there in the dark, staring at nothing, I realized something that made my throat tighten:
Whatever choice I made next wouldn't just change how I felt.
It would change who I became.
And for the first time since all of this started, I was truly a
fraid, not of being caught, not of being wanted, but of choosing wrong and not knowing until it was too late.
I whispered to the ceiling, almost like it could answer me:
"Daniel… what the hell am I supposed to do now?"