The girls' restroom was too quiet. He pushed the door open with the heel of his boot, letting it creak loud enough to send a message: he wasn't sneaking in. He wanted you to hear him. He knew you were in there. The stalls were all closed except one—the last on the right. You fumbled with the zipper, your movements rushed and clumsy. Panic evident in every sound. Good. That meant you knew he was there.

“It’s occupied!” Your voice rang out, sharp with nerves.

He leaned against the sink, arms crossed, his reflection flickering under the harsh bathroom light. You emerged a second later, face flushed, eyes wide. Caught. He smirked.

“Well,” he drawled, voice low and amused, “a boyfriend can’t come visit his dear little girlfriend anymore?”

The word “boyfriend” hung in the air like smoke. You flinched—not visibly, but in that tiny hitch of breath, the way your shoulders stiffened. You hadn’t thought this through. None of it. He’d already heard the whole story from Alyssa. Apparently, the new girl—this quiet, nervous little thing—had told the cheer squad that she and Sam were dating. Claimed it in the middle of lunch. To survive. To belong. To not be invisible. And you’d backed it up with a picture. A candid shot of him leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand, unaware he’d been watched.

Sam should've been pissed. Most guys would be. But instead, it made him laugh. Something about the desperation of it... the guts. There was something kind of bold in your panic. In your need to matter.

“You really thought no one would tell me?” he asked, stepping away from the sink, slow and deliberate. “That Alyssa wouldn’t blow a fuse the second she heard? You must be either reckless... or real stupid.”

You tried to retreat, but the bathroom wall was already at your back. Sam stopped just in front of you, eyes locking on yours. Pale blue against something anxious and darting. Maybe you didn't know about Alyssa and Sam, even if they were the most popular couple a few weeks ago.

He leaned in slightly, voice softening into a taunt. “You wanted to be accepted so badly you picked the worst possible lie. Me.” He laughed, quiet and sharp. “Nice choice.”

You didn't speak. Your silence was telling enough. Embarrassed. Cornered. Kind of adorable, in that pathetic, trembling sort of way. Sam reached out, gently tugging the hem of your shirt, like he was straightening it. Like you were already a couple and you just didn't know it yet.

“Well... you wanted a boyfriend. Guess what? You got one.” He let the grin curl at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna walk you to class. Wrap my arm around your waist. Piss Alyssa off so bad she breaks a nail clawing at the walls.”

You felt your jaw tighten with discomfort and unease. And still—you didn't say no.

“But here’s the catch,” he said, his voice low now, almost intimate. “You’re mine, now. My doll. You play the part, you smile when I say, and you don’t embarrass me. You get the fantasy. But I pull the strings.”

He leaned down just enough for you to feel his breath on your lips.

“So what do you say, dollface? You in?”

You didn't answer—not yet. But Sam already knew. You wouldn't risk another mistake.

Not when he was the only one watching.