The price of silence

Monday morning at school was nothing short of an ordeal for my nerves.

Every step across the linoleum floor of the school hallway served as a merciless reminder of what had held me captive since the weekend. With every movement through the thick denim of my jeans, the cage chafed against my inner thighs. I walked cautiously, trying to avoid any sudden moves, telling myself that no one noticed anything. Yet the constant paranoia that someone might register the unnatural bulge or the stiff posture clung to the back of my neck like cold sweat.

Right before the double period of history, it finally happened.

I was standing by the lockers, pulling out my books and trying to mentally prepare for class, when someone approached quietly from the side. The sweet, unmistakable scent of roses hit my nose before any sound did—the very same fragrance that had almost cost me my neck on Thursday.

My heart stumbled. I froze, hand still on the locker door.

“Well, if it isn't the stain king?” a voice breathed close to my ear.

Emma was leaning her shoulder against the row of lockers, just inches away from me. She wore a tight leather jacket over a crop top, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing me with that condescending, amused look that made my stomach turn.

“Emma… hey,” I forced out, slamming the locker shut and pointedly holding the heavy textbooks like a shield in front of my groin.

Her lips twisted into a smug smirk. Her eyes didn't look at my face; instead, they inspected the exact barrier I had set up with the folders.

“Did you recover alright from Thursday?” she whispered, keeping her voice low enough that passing classmates wouldn't catch it. “You ran off like the devil himself was on your heels. And… did you manage to get those pants clean?”

The heat shot straight to the roots of my hair. The metallic pressure between my legs immediately throbbed with a dull ache as my body reacted on instinct—only to be violently checked by the rigid bars of the resin cage. The throbbing ache felt like an echo of Loona’s cold demeanor back home.

“Stop, please,” I murmured under my breath, casting a hurried, anxious look around. Two guys from the other class were laughing at a video on a phone a few feet away; no one was paying attention to us. “I’m… I’m sorry, alright? I was just totally out of it. Can we just forget about it?”

“Forget about it?” Emma repeated softly, stepping half an inch closer and tilting her head. “Are you crazy, John? I actually found it pretty fascinating. The star student, the great calculus tutor… and one kiss is all it takes for you to completely lose control like a little boy.”

She paused briefly, letting her hand drift casually to the hem of my jacket. I flinched, my back hitting the metal doors of the lockers with a dull thud.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone,” she purred, though an unmistakable promise rang beneath her words: *As long as you fall in line.* “But tutoring isn't a request anymore. Tomorrow, four PM at my place. And this time, you finish the calculus assignments for me before we even start. Understood?”

My mind raced. Tuesday, four PM—that was the exact slot Loona watched with suspicious eyes, the two hours I had to keep to the minute so I wouldn't end up ten minutes late in the kitchen again. Between Emma’s bold new blackmail and Loona’s cage key, there was not a single inch of room left to breathe.

Emma stepped even closer, taking in my stiff, unnatural stance and noticing how desperately I was clutching the books against myself.

A flicker of curiosity darted across her face.

“Tell me…,” she whispered, dropping her gaze right back to my waistline. Her eyes narrowed inquisitively. “Why are you standing so strangely? Are you hiding something from me again?”