Chapter 2 – He Said My Name Like a Sin

I never told anyone what happened that night.

But even if I tried, I wouldn't know where to begin how do you explain a boy soaked in blood, walking past you like a ghost in human skin? How do you confess that something about it excited you?

And more than that… how do you explain the shame of wanting to see him again?

I told myself I was just curious.

But curiosity isn't supposed to feel like an ache in your chest or a flame behind your ribs. It isn't supposed to make your palms sweat every time someone walks into the room hoping it's him, dreading it's not.

The next few days passed slowly, yet everything felt heavier with his presence. Raven barely spoke in class, but his silence was louder than any voice. Every now and then, I'd catch him looking out the window, his face unreadable like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

His fingers were always tapping. On the desk. On his knee. A rhythm only he understood. Sometimes slow, sometimes sharp like Morse code.

I started noticing more things.

Like how no one ever sat beside him.

How even the teachers seemed uncomfortable around him.

And how every time he passed by someone, they unconsciously leaned away, like instinct warned them to fear him before logic could.

But I didn't lean away.

I leaned in.

It was Friday when something changed.

We were dismissed early, and I decided to stay behind to organize my notes. Everyone else had left except Raven.

I didn't notice him at first. He was sitting at the very back, eyes closed, head tilted as if listening to the ticking of the clock.

When I finally stood to leave, he spoke.

"Why do you keep looking at me?"

I froze, halfway through packing my bag.

"I-I don't."

"Yes, you do." His voice was soft. Too soft. It made my skin crawl in the best and worst way.

I turned slowly. "Maybe I'm just curious."

He smirked without opening his eyes. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing."

"So is silence."

That made him open his eyes. He stared at me for a moment, then stood. He walked toward me slowly, his presence heavy, magnetic, almost suffocating.

When he stopped in front of me, we were too close.

He looked down at me not taller by much, but enough to feel overwhelming. His eyes flicked to my lips, then to my throat.

"You're not like the others," he said, almost thoughtfully.

"Because I talk to you?"

"No," he said, "because you're not pretending you're not scared. You're just choosing to stay anyway."

I swallowed. "Maybe I like danger."

Raven's eyes glinted. "Then you're in the right place."

Later that night, I found something strange in my locker.

A black envelope. No name. No message. Just a folded piece of paper inside, marked with a single sentence:

"Do you want to know what I did that night?"

My breath caught in my throat.

It couldn't be from anyone else.

I stared at the paper until my hands started shaking. I wasn't sure if it was fear or anticipation, or both twisted together like a knot.

I didn't sleep again.

The next day, he didn't come to class.

And neither did I.

I followed my gut something told me he'd be at the old gym. The one that had been abandoned after the roof collapse years ago. No one went there anymore. Except maybe someone like Raven.

I wasn't wrong.

I found him there, sitting on the edge of the broken bleachers, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his silhouette like a halo made of ash.

"You came," he said without turning.

"You invited me."

"I never said it was me."

"You didn't have to."

He turned slowly, eyes sharp. "And what if I told you the blood that night wasn't just some random fight? That maybe someone died? Would you still stand here?"

I didn't answer immediately.

Then: "Yes."

He tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because you could've killed me already if you wanted to."

His lips curved into something between a smile and a threat. "Who says I don't still want to?"

I didn't flinch.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he patted the space beside him. "Sit."

I did.

Silence hung heavy in the air between us. And then he asked, "What's your name?"

I blinked. "You never asked before."

"I'm asking now."

I told him. And when he said it out loud, it sounded different. Like my name became something dirty and sacred all at once.

He repeated it again, slower this time, lips lingering on each syllable.

And I hated how much I liked it.

"I didn't kill anyone that night," he said suddenly.

I glanced at him. "But something happened."

He nodded slowly. "Something always happens when I lose control."

I waited for him to explain.

He didn't.

"I wasn't always like this," he continued. "But some people break, and others are built from the pieces."

His eyes were distant now. Haunted.

I wanted to reach out. To ask him more. To understand him.

But before I could, he looked at me again. Really looked. And I felt something shift.

A connection.

Or maybe a curse.

"Stay away from me," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because you're the only person I don't want to ruin."

He stood up, walked away, and didn't look back.

But I knew.

It was already too late.