Page 109 of Hidden

Miles sits across from me at Grounds every morning. He walks the same campus I walk; he uses the same library. He has been at the same table, in the same proximity, since Lileah pulled our two groups together and the border between them dissolved.

Ghost said you see me almost every day.

I close my eyes letting all the thoughts move through my head. I’m trying to put the pieces together; there has to be something I can link them with.

Miles has two laptops open every time I see him. In the library, and at Grounds. He’s always running things on the computers that I've never asked about because it never felt like my business.

I open my eyes, and I sit up. I’m going to give myself a headache thinking this over and over again. There’s nothing I can pinpoint that connects them.

On the nightstand, where my phone usually sits, there's a bracelet. It’s different to the one I’m already wearing.

It’s a gold chain, with a tiny camera charm, the lens is detailed, and the body of the camera is exactly like my camera. How is it that Ghost knows me better than anyone else ever has?

I pick it up.

Maybe I believe it because some part of me already knew where the knowledge came from. I mean Ghost hacked into my laptop, my phone, and broke into my dorm. If he wants to know something about me, I'm sure he’ll find it.

Maybe they are the same person, maybe not. I think this is going to be a long day with me overthinking it.

I fasten the bracelet around my wrist, and it looks so nice paired with my violet one.

The reasoning lines of Ghost and Miles meet up too cleanly to be coincidence. The way it feels identical when I’m being watched by Ghost and being looked at by Miles. I don’t know how to explain it; there’s something about it that feels so familiar.

Yep, I’m definitely going to go crazy. I sit on the edge of the bed. The violets are fresh on the counter, and I can’t help but smile. No matter what is happening in his life he’s thinking about me.

I look at them from here, purple violet, precisely placed, with fresh water, and think about a man who sits across from me at Grounds every morning and has apparently been coming into my locked room since September to leave flowers.

My eyes glance over to the camera lying on the nightstand.

I reach for it slowly, like it might burn me. I know it won't, it's my camera, and I've had it long enough now. The screen lights up when I turn it on, and the last photo is still open. It’s us, from last night.

He’s behind me, his black mask covering the top half of his face, with his black t-shirt still on. One gloved hand is gripping my neck, the other holding the camera out. My back is arched, with my hair falling over one shoulder, my face is turned just enough that you can see the flush on my cheek and my parted, swollen lips. My eyes are half-closed, my mouth open on a moan he must have captured the exact second the shutter clicked. I look at the way the light hits us and makes everything look raw, filthy and intimate at the same time.

I stare at it and heat floods my face and rushes straight down between my legs. My pulse kicks hard in my throat. I can still feel him inside me when I look at this picture, the stretch, the weight of him, and the way he held my throat while he fucked me. Seeing it like this, frozen, and permanent, makes my thighs press together tighter. My breath turns shallow. One finger traces the edge of the screen over the curve of my own back, over the place where his hand is gripping me.

I should delete it, but I can’t. I keep staring at it, my cheeks burning, my body already responding. The memory of how hard I came for him crashes over me again, and a soft, helpless sound escapes my throat. I’m wet just from looking at it. From knowing that somewhere, he has this same image, and it’s proof of exactly how badly I needed him last night.

I bite my lip and set the camera down carefully, still open at that photo, then fall back against the pillows with my heart racing. I already want him again.

One thing I will say, today I’ll find out who Ghost is, even if I have to remove the mask myself.

***

I have practice today and I’m feeling really good about it. I’ve no idea why, but my mind is feeling so much more free. I don't know if it’s because Dan is finally helping me, or because Ghost came over last night. Whatever the reason, I'm happy about it.

I warm up on the floor, running through the opening sequence slowly, feeling where each movement lives. Debussy plays in my head without the actual music, I've run it enough times that my body has memorized the timing, the breath points, and the places where the music drops and I drop with it.

Coach Pearce watches from the side without saying anything, which means she's seeing what she wants to see, and I think that helps me move. When she’s angry or annoyed with me about my movement, it always makes me tense on the floor. But not today, today I feel free.

At the end of my routine, I smile because I think this is the best I’ve ever done. It feels so good.

I move to the beam, this one I’m still working on. There are a few movements I need to be better at. Anyone watching me for the first time won’t notice anything wrong, but I know. I know about the slight imbalance when I land on my feet, I notice the small details which I’ll be marked down on.

I stand beside the beam, take in a deep breath, and get ready. I can do this, today is the day I can do this.

The turn sequence hits clean on the first attempt. Then again. Then a third time, each repetition building confidence, making me feel like I can do it.

"Elliot." Coach Pearce's voice carries across the gym. "That's what I want every time." I smile at her, giving her a nod. From her, that's everything and I can already say today is going to be amazing.