Silent Flames, Forbidden Paths

like a pers

m suffocates me, clinging to my skin like a sentence I can't appeal. The air is thick with the weight o

ristiano Wr

dreads an unexpected pop quiz or a thunderstorm on laundry day. The way you detest something not beca

. A force so impossibly composed, so relentlessly unmo

d

e I

like a moth to the very flame

he heavy lecture hall door

lls silent.

le in the still water. But it isn't them that sends a sha

s h

nding at the front of

e temperat

speak. Do

across the room, wraps invisible fingers around my

se pounds so loud I thi

th

mov

s sleeve, and suddenly, he's speaking. His voice slides throug

ided to join us, perhaps she can

beneath me

f bodies. A roomful of people waiti

itten in neat, elegant script, stare back a

t for spring, enduring

want

, yeah. So... the poet is, like,

le

w... waiting for life to

sil

t of it c

rs tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the s

t's

ot a q

a ver

lammy. I swallow hard. "I mean... I

's no point in fin

effortlessly into an interpretation so profound, so agonizingly

inking in his words like he's feedi

d

t th

m the aftershock

--

, a sharp, jarring sound that ricoch

ca

c rhythm against my ribs. The weight of his w

you to report to my

, thick with something unspoken, something that

own name, shaped by his lips, feel like a tether dragging me into so

the hallway. Chairs scrape against the linoleum.

or, staring at the man who is both my torment a

precise, measured. But his eyes-God, his eyes-are anything but calm. Th

h

er, to remind me-again-how easily I falter under his scrutiny? To st

mething els

lectric, charged with somethin

ng thoughts like a blade, smooth but edged

eart lurchin

blink. "Are

isappear into the crowd of students who don't have his gaze

spot like it already knows-I can't run from this. I don't even know what t

whisper, barely tru

xpression, but it's gone

ng with something unreadable-frustration, maybe. Or something else entirely. Somethi

uld g

o anything

d

e I

outside h

my teeth. My palms are damp, my sto

en know wh

y I let my feet drag me straight to the

, it's

me

ep i

s. The walls

apers, his gaze settling o

s Ha

my skin, smooth as vel

my chest, even as my pulse quickened be

iating smile that made my heart twist in ways I couldn't de

d. "You mean my c

tensity radiating from him like heat. "You didn't fail.

t. "Or maybe I'm just not cut out for this," I retorted, a

e didn't s

ght about

e slightly. "And what con

n't want t

A singl

th

lau

Deep.

time I've ever

ng inside m

it's b

se it's a

. "I'm

believe

r, watching me with somet

belief doesn't change the fac

"You enjoy tortur

"I simply enjoy making sure you're ca

ath ca

use

't just a

s a cha

e wors

to me

o prove

even k

ing at me-not dismissively, not cruelly, but

nly, I am

at he sees when

what I feel

ith forced bravado. "Fine. But you sho

head, lips curl

ething before you can

t that sentenc

his office with

llway, her grin downright obno

r. "I looked

through mine, still grinning. "

removed my dignity and dissected

ah, but he does t

o

like

th tha

ointment. Like I had

head. "You know... I

ree

ha

mischief. "He always looks at you a little lo

."

ists, nudging me.

ns

n my chest, hea

here there is none, twists reality in

th

is in

right does

ates

e. Because I

gh

down, I

, all the sarcasm, all the

who makes me feel trul

th

ost dangerous