Words That Cut Deeper

The fight wasn't ending.

If anything, it was escalating.

Caesar and Blythe had long passed the point of cold glances and passive-aggressive comments. Now, every interaction was laced with something meaner, something harsher, and neither of them seemed willing to hold back anymore.

It wasn't just arguments in the hallways or stiff silences in class. Their friends were starting to notice. Felix had stopped trying to mediate, realizing that neither of them wanted to hear it. Their classmates had grown used to the way they avoided each other—or, in some cases, how they didn't avoid each other at all, choosing instead to let every conversation become another battlefield.

It wasn't just tension anymore.

It was war.

---

It came to a head at lunch.

Caesar was sitting with a few people he barely talked to, focusing on his food and trying to tune out the conversation. Across the cafeteria, Blythe sat with her own group, laughing at something one of her friends said.

And for some reason, that really pissed him off.

She was fine.

Completely fine.

Meanwhile, he had spent the past few days feeling like he had lost something important, something he hadn't even realized he needed until it was gone.

And she?

She was laughing.

Like it didn't matter at all.

Before he could stop himself, he was already standing up.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do—he just knew that he needed to say something, needed to remind her that she didn't get to act like this wasn't killing him while he was drowning in it.

But before he could make it across the cafeteria, Blythe looked up, met his gaze, and did something that made his stomach twist.

She rolled her eyes.

Like he was nothing.

Like she was already over it.

And that?

That broke something in him.

---

"You think this is funny?"

Blythe barely looked up from her tray. "What?"

Caesar's hands curled into fists at his sides. "You. Laughing. Acting like everything's fine."

Blythe sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "I don't know what you want me to do, Caesar. Sit in a corner and mope? Sorry if I'm not devastated every second of the day."

His jaw tightened. "You don't even care."

She let out a short laugh. "Oh, I don't care?"

"You don't." His voice was flat, almost accusing.

Blythe stood up, her expression unreadable. "You don't get to decide that."

"I don't have to," he shot back. "It's obvious."

Something flickered in her eyes. Something dangerous. "Right. And you're the one suffering, huh? You're the only one who's allowed to be upset?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you mean, isn't it?" She took a step closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Because if you really cared, Caesar—if you actually gave a damn—you wouldn't have pushed me away in the first place."

His breath caught.

She wasn't done.

"You can't treat me like an afterthought and then get mad when I finally decide I'm done chasing after you."

Caesar opened his mouth to argue, but she was already turning away, already leaving him standing there with words stuck in his throat.

And this time, he didn't try to stop her.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

And that?

That was the worst part of all.

---

The days after that were the worst.

Not because they fought—no, that was the problem. They had stopped fighting.

Caesar had thought their arguments were unbearable, but this? This quiet, this nothingness between them, was worse.

Blythe didn't just avoid him anymore.

She acted like he wasn't there.

In class, she didn't glance his way. In the hallways, she walked past him without hesitation, as if she had already erased him from her life.

And Caesar, for all his pride, found himself waiting.

Waiting for her to snap at him again. Waiting for her to glare at him or mutter something under her breath. Waiting for her to care.

But she didn't.

And it was driving him insane.

---

It got even worse when he overheard her talking to one of her friends.

"I don't even know why you guys were friends in the first place," someone said. "You and Caesar are nothing alike."

Blythe's voice was flat. "Yeah, well. It doesn't matter anymore."

Caesar stopped in his tracks.

Something about the way she said it—so casual, like he was just some phase she had outgrown—made his stomach twist.

He wasn't sure what he expected. That she'd defend him? That she'd argue back and say that what they had did matter?

Either way, he shouldn't have cared.

But he did.

And that was the problem.

---

It finally exploded during group work in English class.

The teacher had assigned them another partner activity, and, of course, Caesar and Blythe ended up together again.

For the first few minutes, they worked in silence.

Then, out of nowhere, Caesar muttered, "Are you just going to pretend I don't exist forever?"

Blythe didn't even look up. "That's the plan."

His fingers clenched around his pen. "So that's it?"

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "What did you think was going to happen, Caesar? That we'd just keep going in circles forever?"

"I don't—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

Blythe finally looked at him. "Exactly. You don't know." Her voice was quieter, but somehow sharper. "You keep acting like I did something wrong, but the truth is, you don't even know what you want from me."

Caesar opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Because she was right.

And that? That was the worst part of all.

---

By the time the bell rang, he still hadn't figured out what to say.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was nothing left to say at all.