Room 214- Chapter 2! ;More YA content and much shorter :(

Chapter 2

Flashback; Two weeks before Blackthorne Academy, my life was already falling apart.

Back then, I still thought dating Landon Hayes was the closest thing to feeling understood. Everyone else thought he was perfect—the captain of Brookthorne High’s football team, all charming smiles and expensive hoodies—but they never saw what he was like when nobody else was around. They didn’t see how quickly his attention stopped feeling like affection and started feeling like ownership. How his mood could shift in an instant, or how silence from him didn’t feel like space—it felt like being monitored, like something in him was still there even when he wasn’t speaking.

The way his hand would suddenly lock around my wrist whenever he thought I was “disrespecting” him, not hard enough to leave marks, just enough to remind me I didn’t get to move away first. At first, it was little things disguised as “protectiveness.” He hated when I talked to other guys, hated when I wore certain outfits, hated when I didn’t answer his texts fast enough. Then it became constant checking, constant calling, and showing up places; he wasn’t invited—never officially, never openly, always positioned like coincidence, like I was supposed to believe I was imagining the way he kept finding me.

One night, after I ignored his calls during dinner with my mom, he showed up outside my house anyway, throwing pebbles at my bedroom window until I came outside.

Landon stood under the porch light in a dark varsity jacket with BROOKTHORNE stitched across the chest, sleeves pushed up like he’d been there longer than he admitted. His jaw was tight, hair slightly messy, eyes locked on me like I was already guilty of something I hadn’t said out loud yet.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Landon snapped the second I stepped outside. His voice was low, controlled, too controlled—like he was choosing every word instead of letting them spill out. “Do you know how long I was sitting out here calling you, do you hate me now! Am I nothing to you! Is your stupid-ass brain working to see it's me?”

“Please calm down, I was with my mom—” I gasped.

He slapped me. “Yeah, you keep saying that like it fixes it.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I’d done something he was trying to understand. “You just disappear, Dixie. And then you act like I’m insane for noticing.” He grips my arms.

“That’s not what I did.” I looked at him, my eyes glittered, scared.

His laugh came out quiet, sharp at the edges. “You don’t even hear yourself, do you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

That was when his expression changed—not into anger, not exactly. Something quieter. Still.

“You always say that,” he said, and his voice is softer now. “Like I’m the only one reacting to you.”

Every argument somehow became my fault, and every apology came with flowers, late-night phone calls, and promises that he’d change. I kept believing him until the night I realized I was starting to feel nervous every time his name lit up my phone.

So, I ended it.

“You’re seriously breaking up with me!? Are you out of your fucking mind!?” Landon snapped outside my car after school, his voice low enough that nobody passing by would notice.

He was wearing his football practice hoodie now, damp at the collar, like he hadn’t even bothered going home first—like he’d been waiting instead.

“Yes,” I said firmly, even though my hands were shaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His reaction was immediate—but not loud.

It went still.

“Because of what?” Landon asked, his voice deep. “One stupid-ass argument that was your fucking fault?”

“It wasn’t one argument... and it wasn’t my fault.”

I reached for my car door, but Landon grabbed my wrist before I could open it. Hard.

Painful, frightening—he gripped harder, causing me to wince. My wrist already felt like it would bruise.

“Landon... you are hurting me...” I said, a few tears falling down my face.

“I don't fucking care, you don’t get to walk away from me,” he said quietly.

“Let go of me,” I said, just as quiet.

Instead of pulling away, he looked down at his hand like he was noticing it there for the first time.

Then he let go.

Too slow.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” he asked, almost tired now. He pushed me against the car.

I slammed into the door, bouncing off, hitting the street. Fear crawled up my spine, but I forced myself to stand up, opening my car door. “We’re done, Landon. For good... I’m not doing this.”

For a second, he just stood there. Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching me like he was memorizing something he didn’t want to lose.

“No way in hell, bitch, we are staying together, you don’t get a fucking choice!” He pulled me out of the car. He shoved me into the passenger seat, started driving to his house.

His varsity ring caught the light as he gripped the wheel, knuckles white, hoodie sleeves pulled tight over his forearms like he was trying to hold himself together.

“See you tomorrow, whore...”

He walked off. I got in the driver seat, crying as I drove home.

Over the next few days, it didn’t get better.

He was more aggressive, more abusive. He shoved me against the locker after I refused to skip class to do “stuff”...

His name appeared on my phone, I didn’t answer. Friends laughed a little too fast when I mentioned him, obviously scared too... Conversations stopped mid-sentence when I walked into a room. He made his friends, my friends, think I was “overthinking it” while refusing to look me in the eye.

I felt as if I was going crazy.

A day later... it was worse.

My locker was already unlocked when I knew I’d locked it. My backpack rearranged just slightly enough that I noticed immediately. A message request with no name, just a photo of my street taken from farther away than I liked thinking about. Suddenly he shoved me into my 6ft tall, 5ft wide locker—gripping my arms, standing there, scary, unknown... He finally moved, kissing my hand, forcefully before walking out...

Now all the time, I couldn’t bear the empty hallways; I had the unbearable feeling of being observed—like I wasn’t alone, even when I was. My body trembled in fear.

I told myself it was in my head. This wasn’t true... at least I hoped...

Until the day later, he slammed his fist against my car after school after hearing from a “friend” I was going to end it.

“You’re going to regret that... you bitch, trying to break up with me, Dixie.” He held me by my waist, tight, hurting me. He kissed my cheek. “You aren’t anyone else's.” He sounded insane... possessive, scary. He let go, shoved me harder than before into the car, causing me to fall, hitting my head.

Three days later, he was in the hospital. I didn’t visit. I was too scared—feeling free, but still trapped, terrified he would do something worse.

End of flashback

Back on Blackthorne’s rooftop, the cold wind suddenly felt too sharp against my skin. Noah stared at me while I clutched the newspaper in my fist, my mind replaying memories I had spent weeks trying to bury. The screaming reporters outside Brookthorne High. The police lights flashing across the parking lot. The dozens of texts flooding my phone asking if Landon was alive.

“You dated him?” Noah asked quietly, like he already knew the answer.

I swallowed hard. “For almost a year.”

His expression darkened. “Dixie, I didn’t know. I'm sorry. That bastard was horrible to you.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I snapped, standing so fast the blanket slipped onto the rooftop. “You nearly killed him before we ever met. To me, he deserved it...”

Noah stood too now, his green eyes locked on mine.

The space between us tightened.

Down below, Blackthorne Academy glowed under the night sky, calm and perfect like nobody inside it had secrets capable of destroying people. My chest tightened as I looked back at the article one more time, Landon’s name staring back at me in bold black letters.

Then I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.

At the bottom of the clipping, partially hidden beneath Noah’s handcuffed photo, was another line printed in smaller text.

Police still searching for second student involved in the riot.

Slowly, I looked back up at Noah.

His expression told me he already knew what I was about to ask.

Because Noah Owens hadn’t acted alone.