When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Confessions Over Textbooks

Myra

Ash and I were sprawled across the floor of my room, textbooks opened but abandoned, their pages glaring up at us like they knew we weren't paying attention. The hum of the desk lamp filled the silence, its light spilling unevenly across highlighted notes and unanswered practice problems.

But my mind wasn't here. Not on equations, not on essays, not even on the looming shadow of finals.

It was still stuck in the kitchen. In the soft scrape of a fork against porcelain. In the sweetness of syrup. In the way Marcus had looked at me when he set those blueberry pancakes down—like I was the only person in the world worth his effort.

The memory clung to me like sugar on my skin. Sweet. Gentle. Yet terrifying, because I knew what it meant. Every moment he gave, every kindness he let slip, wasn't freedom—it was another link in the chain. The more he softened, the harder it became to breathe. The more he loved me, the more caged I felt.

Ash nudged me sharply with her elbow, snapping me out of the spiral. Her brows were furrowed, her wide eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You've been weirdly quiet all morning."

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she'd already solved but wanted me to admit to. "Spill. What's going on with you?"

I hugged my notebook tighter against my chest, the corners digging into my ribs. My lips trembled around a lie I almost let slip—something casual, dismissive, safe. But it died before it ever left my tongue.

Instead, what came out was the truth I had been choking on for weeks.

"It's Marcus."

Her frown deepened instantly, a storm brewing in her eyes. "What about him?"

My pulse roared in my ears. I forced myself to look at her, even though my voice wanted to hide. "I've been meaning to tell you this for a while."

Ash's eyes flickered, her expression caught between impatience and worry. She looked away, then back at me, her tone softer now but edged with the sharpness of someone who already knew what was coming. "I know. I've been waiting too... for you to finally say it."

My throat felt like it was closing, a noose pulling tighter with every second. Saying it out loud would make it real—irrevocable. But Ash was my anchor. She'd always been the one person I couldn't lie to. And yet you lied to her the most

So I whispered it, almost too quietly to hear.

"I think I'm in love with him."

Her mouth fell open, her head jerking back like I'd just confessed to a crime. "What? Myra—are you serious?"

I nodded, panic tightening in my chest. "He's... complicated."

Ash let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Yeah, like that covers it. Complicated doesn't even scratch the surface, Myra."

"Ash..." My voice cracked.

"Myra, I have known Marcus through you. Trust me, if I separate you from him, he is a great guy. Yes he is arrogant, he generally keeps it to himself, but I have never seen him actually hurting anyone. He is a good Mayor for the town. But with you.....the Marcus I see is not just the arrogant brooding politician, but an obnoxious, cruel, controlling manipulator. When I see him from your eyes, all I see his how cold he is.

"Ash....I know....but I don't know. It's been since forever. You know he's always been there. And I tried—God, you have no idea how much I tried to run. But he always wins. He always finds me. He gets under my skin and no matter how far I try to push him out, I can't. I can't shake him."

Ash's glare softened at the rawness in my voice, but I could see the frustration simmering underneath.

"Myra..." she whispered, shaking her head.

I rubbed my arm, staring down at the scuffed floorboards because I couldn't bear the disappointment in her eyes. "So how am I supposed to run from that? How am I supposed to walk away, when he tears me apart one moment and puts me back together the next? My whole life has started to circle around him, Ash. Where would I even go?"

The silence stretched. I felt her gaze on me, but I couldn't look up.

Then the words slipped out, fragile, terrifying, almost too soft to hear.

"Sometimes... I think he's already inside me. And there's no part of me left that isn't his."

Ash sucked in a sharp breath, flinching like I'd physically struck her. Her hand hovered for a moment, then landed over mine, gripping it tight. The gesture nearly undid me.

I still didn't dare meet her eyes. Because if I did, if I saw pity or anger or heartbreak, I would unravel right there on the floor.

"I know you hate him," I whispered, voice trembling. "But... can you please, just for me—"

"Did you guys do it?" she blurted out.

I froze. My head snapped up, my cheeks burning as heat flooded my face. "Ash!"

Her eyes were wide, demanding, her tone sharp with urgency. "Oh C'mon Myra, Its Marcus Clayton. You have to tell me"

For a long, painful beat, I just stared at her. Then, slowly—hesitantly—I nodded.

Ash's jaw dropped. Her hand flew to her mouth before she squealed so loud I was sure half the house heard. She nearly toppled her textbook in her scramble to scoot closer, eyes sparkling with scandalized excitement.

"Oh my God, Myra!" she shrieked, shaking me by the arm. "You actually did it? With Marcus Clayton?"

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Please stop."

"No chance. No way. You cannot drop that bomb and then hide your face." She tugged at my wrists until I reluctantly peeked through my fingers, her grin wild and unstoppable. "C'mon. You have to tell me. What was it like?"

"Ash!" I whined, mortified.

"What? Don't act like this isn't the juiciest thing ever." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though her grin only widened. "He's Marcus Clayton. Mr. Brooding Mayor, walking storm cloud. And you—you actually slept with him. You cannot keep the details to yourself."

Despite the heaviness still weighing down my chest, a shaky laugh escaped me. Her energy was relentless, infectious. "You're unbelievable."

Ash giggled, practically bouncing as she clutched my arm. "Unbelievable? Myra, I'm your best friend. This is my right. I've suffered through years of you being secretive about this guy—you owe me!"

I shook my head, laughter bubbling up despite myself. The sound felt strange—rusty, fragile—but it loosened something in me.

Ash collapsed back onto the carpet, laughing with me, her hair fanning across her notebook. For a fleeting, impossible moment, it felt normal. Like we were just two teenage girls gossiping about crushes and confessions, and not... whatever it was that Marcus and I had tangled ourselves into.

Not love laced with chains. Not tenderness wrapped in control.

Just friendship. Just us.

And God, I needed that.

I needed my girl to talk to. I needed her laughter to drown out the storm in my head.

Because even if Ash couldn't fully understand—maybe even if she never accepted him for me—I knew in that moment she was trying. For me.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt content.