Chem class.
Adam sat at the back of the classroom, one leg bouncing restlessly under the desk.
The ticking clock felt louder than it should, each second dragging like an anchor.
A girl stood at the teacher’s desk, Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, clearly aware of how ridiculous her excuse sounded.
“I, uh… couldn’t turn it in because the wind blew it out of my hand and it fell into a puddle. I tried to dry it, but… it, um… disintegrated.”
The class went silent for a beat.
The teacher leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
It was the kind that smelled of cheap superiority.
“Wow. The wind. Nature’s greatest villain.”
He tilted his head mockingly.
“How tragic. I suppose next time, you’ll be battling a rogue gust and a pack of wild dogs?”
The class snorted.
“You know what? Let’s all take a moment to mourn the noble sacrifice of your worksheet. May it rest in a shallow puddle, as soggy and unconvincing as this excuse.”
The students burst out laughing, some whispering comments under their breath.
Adam’s eyes darted to the girl, watching her face flush crimson as she stared at her shoes, trying to melt into the floor.
She mumbled something, barely audible, and shuffled back to her seat, her shoulders hunched.
It might’ve been ridiculous, sure. But the teacher’s reaction wasn’t just amused, it was cutting.
Cruel in a way that made Adam’s chest tighten.
The teacher’s scoffing laugh lingered, blending with the laughter around the room. It was growing louder, sharper in his head, morphing into something else entirely.
Something clicked in Adam’s brain, a cold wave of nausea washing over him.
It was that familiar laughter.
The same one that haunted his memories.
The same one SHE had perfected, her voice always carrying that same tone of sadistic delight whenever she pushed him to his limit.
The sound of it made his pulse spike. His hands curled into fists on his desk. His breathing hitched, and the edges of the classroom blurred.
He wasn’t in the room anymore. Not fully.
His mind dragged him back to places he didn’t want to be, and he couldn’t stop it.
The scoffing laughter echoed louder, overlapping with fragments of old memories.
Adam shot up from his chair, his sudden movement drawing the attention of several students.
His chair scraped noisily against the floor as he stood.
"Adam?" the teacher asked, frowning.
But Adam didn’t respond.
His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, and without a word, he strode out of the classroom.
He ignored the stares, ignored the questions, ignored everything.
He needed air.
He needed space.
He needed to not be here.
The hallway felt like it was closing in, his breath coming fast and shallow.
His feet carried him without thinking.
Away from the classroom, away from the suffocating sound of laughter, straight up the stairway, until he reached Nickie’s locker.
He leaned against it, gasping for air, pressing his forehead to the cold metal.
His mind raced, trying to claw its way out of the spiral.
He closed his eyes, trying to count his breaths.
“In... one... two...” But the panic clung to him, sharp and relentless.
|A strike at my face. Another one.|
|More laughter. Tears of shame. I shake to my core.|
The bell rang, and Adam stiffened as the hallway erupted with noise.
He tensed, expecting the chaos to worsen the dizziness, but then a familiar voice cut through the din like a lifeline.
“Bass Boy!”
Adam looked up, his gaze locking onto Nickie.
She stood a few feet away. Her smile faltered when she saw his pale face, the sweat on his forehead.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice dropping all its usual playfulness.
She stepped closer, her brows knitting in concern.
“You okay?”
Adam opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He shook his head, leaning harder against the locker.
Nickie didn’t hesitate. “Come on,” she said, slipping a firm hand under his arm.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
***
Say My Name
The nurse’s office was empty.
Nickie led Adam inside, guiding him toward the cot in the corner.
He didn’t argue.
He collapsed onto the mattress like the floor might swallow him if he stood any longer.
Elbows on knees, hands tangled in his hair, like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force.
Nickie crouched in front of him, her voice low, steady.
“Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay? Slow, deep breaths. Like this.”
She inhaled slowly, dramatically, holding her hand to her chest. Then exhaled with a quiet whoosh.
“In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Adam tried, but his chest still hitched on the inhale. His hands trembled.
Nickie noticed, but didn’t flinch. She placed her hand gently over his, barely more than a touch.
“You’re safe here,” she said. “Just focus on me.”
His eyes met hers for a second. Then dropped. But he was listening.
“Let’s do it together, yeah?” she said. “In… and out.”
After a few rounds, his breathing began to slow. The panic still sat in his chest, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore.
“You’re doing great,” she encouraged. “Again. In… and out.”
Nickie reached out and tapped his knee. “Better?”
Adam nodded slightly.
“Yeah,” he said, voice thin and rough.
Nickie gave him a soft smile.
“You scared me for a second, you know.”
He huffed. Something between a breath and a laugh.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Bass Boy.”
Adam paused. Then quietly, sincerely:
“Thanks, Nickie.”
Nickie’s chest tightened.
It was the way he said it: soft, careful, like he didn’t say names often and didn’t want to mess it up.
Like he was saying thank you and please don’t leave and I trust you all at once.
There was no sarcasm. No deflection.
Just this quiet sincerity, so rare coming from him that it hit her deeper than she expected.
The moment hung there for a second too long.
Nickie tried to play it off with a grin, like it hadn’t knocked the wind out of her.
Like her heart wasn’t suddenly paying too much attention.
But it stayed with her.
The sound of her name in his voice.
And that…
That scared her a little more than she wanted to admit.
She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were, how still the room had gotten.
“Don’t get used to me playing nurse,” she said lightly. “I charge extra for trauma support, Adam.”
His breath caught.
It wasn’t just the sound of it.
It was this quiet warmth tucked behind the syllables.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, something inside him unclenched.
Like his ribs had been wrapped in barbed wire, and the sound of his name in her voice had loosened it. Just a little.
He looked at her, eyes softer now. “That’s new.”
Nickie smirked. “What, me being nice?”
“No. You calling me by my name,” he said, his voice low.
“Didn’t hate it.”
They locked eyes briefly, no teasing this time, just a quiet moment of understanding.
Then Nickie broke the silence with,
“I’m not dropping ‘Bass Boy,’ though.”
“Didn’t expect you to,” Adam replied, chuckling.
“Wouldn’t be you otherwise.”
***
The music was the first clue.
His vocals… Each scream feels like it should tear his throat raw.
But he never flinches.
Like pain is just… how he keeps time.
I’ve seen David sometimes looking away when Adam hits certain screams. Not because they’re bad.
Because they’re too honest.
And the lyrics he writes… Raw, dark, brutal… Sometimes feel like pages torn straight out of a diary.
Pages he didn’t mean for anyone to read.
Then there were the scars.
That one time I brushed his wrist, and I felt them.
They weren’t random or self-inflicted.
They were… deliberate. Too precise.
Like someone had done something to him. Something awful.
And the rage…that’s the hardest part to ignore.
It’s not always there, but when it hits, it hits like a storm. Sudden. Wild. Dangerous.
I’ve seen Adam lose himself in it, and I’ve seen the way he looks afterward.
Like he’s drowning in the guilt of what he almost became.
And now?
Now there’s this... panic.
Watching him fall apart today in school, his breath catching like he was fighting to stay above water… it hit me harder than I expected.
I don’t know what he’s carrying, what memories are haunting him so badly that it can break him in half.
But I’m starting to see the patterns.
Certain sounds.
Certain touches.
Pain.
The way he tenses when someone stands too close.
The way he goes silent when he’s overwhelmed.
The way he checks the exits without even realizing he’s doing it.
It’s all starting to add up, but the full picture still isn’t clear.
‘What happened to him?’
I’ve asked myself that more than once.
But I already know the answer:
It’s not my place to ask.
If Adam wants to tell me, he will. On his terms.
But it’s hard… so hard not to ask.
Not to reach in and pull the truth out just so I can hold it for him. Just so he doesn’t have to carry it alone.
Maybe that’s not what he needs.
Maybe he just needs to know someone’s in his corner.
No questions asked.
Someone who won’t flinch when the rage comes.
Someone who won’t vanish when the silence drags on too long.
I’ll wait.
As long as it takes.
And if he never wants to talk about it… that’s okay too.