When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The Chains that He left behind

"Oh." I hadn't heard about Mr. Clayton stepping down as Mayor. That would be weird—he'd been in office for as long as I could remember.

"Yeah. And since the bare minimum requirement to be Mayor here is to be a high school graduate, his successor is coming back to finish his graduation," Daniel added.

"Successor? Wow. That's some serious overconfidence. Ever heard of democracy?" Ashley snorted.

"Seriously, babe," Daniel smirked, kissing her cheek, "who could win against us? Look around—the town was built by the Claytons."

"Successor?" I repeated, trying to understand, making them snap out of their love bubble.

"Marcus, who else?" he said.

The words knocked the air out of me. My books and folders slipped from my hands and scattered on the floor, drawing attention. But I didn't care.

Everything around me faded. I backed away until my spine hit the red metal lockers.
No. No. No.
Don't lose it, Myra. Just breathe.

I told myself it was fine. But I knew it wasn't. It never was. Not with him.

"Myra, are you okay?"

Ash's voice tried to reach me, like a life preserver through a storm. I wanted to grab on, let her pull me out. But I couldn't. Her voice didn't help.

Nothing ever helps.

My breathing grew rapid, shallow. I was sweating in this air-conditioned hallway, yet I was freezing—shivering.

"You're mine, Red. Don't ever forget that."

His voice echoed in my ears—and I died.

At least, I thought I did. But I didn't.

I woke up with a jolt in a room I recognized all too well. I'd been here before—thanks to him. The white lilies confirmed it: the nurse's office.

"Hey, sweetheart, you're awake?" came Nurse Samantha's soft voice. Ashley rushed over, her eyes red—she'd been crying.

"This is my fault. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry, Myra-bear," she whispered.

"Shhh, it's okay," I hugged her tightly. Too tightly—to silently tell her to stop. We had ears on us.

I gave Nurse Samantha and Ms. Anderson, our student counselor, a small, polite smile. Great. Now there'd be questions.

"Ms. Myra, why don't you and I have a little talk, huh kiddo?" Ms. Anderson said with a voice so sugary it made my stomach churn. Why? Did I say something? I looked at Ash, confused. She shrugged. What does that even mean—yes or no?

With no real choice, I found myself in the counselor's office, sipping glucose from Nurse Samantha to "regain strength." Not that it would help.

Nothing ever helps.

Ms. Anderson gestured toward the chair, her British accent crisp and perfectly put-together—like the rest of her. Her supermodel looks were the reason Crenshaw's counselor's office was suddenly popular with teenage boys. A massive upgrade from the ancient Mr. Johnson.

"Well, sweetie, you can always come here if you're facing any issues," she said, resting a hand over mine.

I nodded. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Might just be the weather," I lied, silently thanking God my mom wasn't here. She would've gone ballistic. That's the thing about her—zero chill, zero solutions. Sometimes I swear Ash is more like her than I am.

But Ms. Anderson doesn't know the truth. She doesn't know that she can't help. No one can help—not with him.

It's not like I didn't try before. I once told the middle school principal about him bullying me. He got a yellow slip and a warning. I got scars. Literal and otherwise. And in high school? It's a whole different game.

Everyone fears him. Those who don't—worship him. He's the town's golden boy. Captain of the football team. Crenshaw hasn't lost a single interschool competition since he joined. Even after dropping out, his "legacy" continues. People seek his approval.

Even I do. He's trained me for ten years—to never do anything he wouldn't approve of.

"Yeah, only if this was about the weather," Ms. Anderson said, leaning in. "When you were unconscious, you said something—"

My heart stopped.
"What... what did I say?" I asked, terrified. Did I say his name?

The silence was louder than any scream.

"You said..." She hesitated, her cheeks turning pink. I swallowed hard. Dread pooled in my stomach. I was about to break when—

"She said nothing."

Daniel's voice cut through like a knife.

"Thank you for your help, Ms. Anderson. Come on, Myra. We're leaving."

Silence.

Complete, oppressive silence filled the room. You could hear a pin drop... down the hall.

Daniel had that effect—authoritative, commanding. He was the Mayor's son, and now, with his brother returning to contest as Mayor, he was practically royalty.

"Myra?" he repeated when I didn't move.

I blinked, then nodded slowly, coming back to reality.

"Wait—I'm still talking to her," Ms. Anderson protested, standing up.

"I appreciate your concern, Ms. Anderson," Daniel said smoothly. "But her mother needs her. And if Myra ever needs help, I'm sure she'll come to you. Right, Myra?"

His words were wrapped in sugar—but laced with warning.

I nodded and smiled faintly. "Ms. Anderson, I'm fine. Really. I'll come see you if I need to. Promise."

She didn't look convinced. But she didn't push. No one pushes when it comes to the Claytons. Everyone knows better.

"Wha-what did I say?" I asked hesitantly while settling in the back seat of his car.

"You called out his name" said Dan, with resignation in his voice. "Have an explaination to give for that?" his words met my silence. In a way he helped in avoiding an awkward situation with the student counsellor.

"Myra, you know we are here for you, right?" came the concerning voice of Ash and I nodded with a smile and we drove off. Ashley talking nonstop in the front seat. I drifted out—numb and muted.

The car came to a halt, jerking me back.

We were in front of my house.

My house.....that is owned by him.