ASHER

He's obsessed with me.

I thought to myself as I caught Elliot Rourke glaring at me for the hundredth time.

He was seated with his friends in the cafeteria, a few tables ahead of me. His friends were laughing and talking all around him and yet, his attention was solely on me. I doubt he had even touched his food. At this point, it might as well have been there for decoration.

So damn obsessed.

He looked as he always did when he stared- messy blond hair falling into his brown eyes, lips pressed together, left leg bouncing beneath the table, fingers clenched around a plastic fork like he might snap it in half.

I had never thought that being hated could feel so heady.

But that was exactly what being hated by Elliot Rourke made me feel.

I could not explain why it did.

If anything, it should've made me angry. Made me dislike Elliot in return. But it didn't.

I had always been a good child. The perfect one. The one everybody loved.

The one who was good at sports, at academics, at making friends, at anything you could name. I was popular. Everybody loved me.

Yet, for some reason, Elliot didn't feel the same as everyone else. It fascinated me.

From the very moment he had set eyes on me, before I could even say a word, Elliot had decided I was going to be his worst enemy.

He was angry. Angry at me, at his dad, at the world, at the fact that I existed in the same space as him.

At first, I thought he resented me because he viewed me as a 'replacement' for his family but I was beginning to realize it was deeper than that.

I met his gaze and waved.

He rolled his eyes and finally averted his gaze, turning to speak to his friends.

I did not know what to make of this pointless 'rivalry' between us. And yes, it was pointless because it was entirely one-sided.

For the past six months now, Elliot has done everything to antagonize me. He had put glue in my toothpaste, intentionally left suds on the bathroom wall (because he knew how much it drove me crazy), put spice and salt in my drink, made snide passing comments about how robotic I was, broke my laptop by 'mistake' and the list went on.

It was weird and quite frankly, childish.

Everyone was starting to notice too, but that didn't deter Elliot.

We've been doing this dance for way longer than necessary but quite frankly, I wasn't tired of it yet- I didn't think I'd ever be.

"Hey, babe," a soft voice said beside me.

A wet kiss on my cheek followed as Sofia, my girlfriend, took the space beside me on the long chair. Balanced perfectly on her hands was a tray containing grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, salad and yoghurt.

She placed the tray on the table and tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder, the motion causing the scent of her strawberry mixed with lavender shampoo to linger in the air.

With her gray eyes, a graceful nose, and pouty, red lips, Sofia was insanely pretty. Which meant she was perfect for me. Perfect for the role I'd crafted for myself.

"Your stepbrother is staring at you again," she said as she wrapped her lips around a straw. Her gaze was on a distant table in front of us. Where my darling stepbrother was sitting. "He looks like he wants to kill you."

I looked up and surely enough, Elliot was staring at me like he was already imagining me six feet under.

I winked at him.

He pulled a disgusted face and looked away.

It worked every time. The key to winning our little battles was to act unruffled. It pissed him off even more.

Sofia sighed beside me. "If only he didn't scowl so much all the time, he would be so hot. Something about his messy hair just does it for me. It's so... sexy."

I shot her a look. She had her chin in her hand, a dreamy expression on her face as she stared at Elliot.

Something hot unfurled in my stomach. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Sofia laughed when she caught my look and curled her hands around my bicep. "Oh babe. You look like you want to murder someone. I'm just joking."

Somehow, I didn't think she was.

"Excuse me if I don't find you calling my stepbrother hot funny."

She rolled her eyes. "I might be dating you but I have eyes too, you know. I can't turn them off." She planted a fat kiss on my cheek. I didn't have to check to know I probably had a lipstick stain on the right side of my cheek.

I forced out a smile to reassure her.

She wrapped her arms around my neck. "Don't worry, I'm still yours. You don't have to be jealous."

Yeah. The problem was I wasn't sure it was her I was feeling jealous over.

"You look exhausted," Sofia said as she released me, now focused on taking a bite of her chicken.

"I had an early lecture," I replied, shrugging. "And a late night."

She raised an eyebrow. "Studying?"

I smirked faintly. "Always."

She laughed, unconvinced but willing to let it go. Sofia was like that-warm, easy, content to take people at face value. It was one of the things that made being with her... comfortable.

I took a bite of my sandwich, then felt it.

The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I looked up and our eyes met.

He didn't look away.

His glare felt almost like a challenge.

The corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it.

Sofia's voice drew my attention back to her, her knee brushing mine under the table. "So," she said in a sing-song voice, "there's a party this weekend. Friday night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Hayden's throwing it. Off-campus. Everyone's going."

I considered that for a moment longer than necessary. It was on the tip of my tongue to say no. I didn't feel like partying this weekend. I wasn't even fully recovered from the last one.

But everyone had a role to play. Including me.

"Are you coming?" Sofia asked, tilting her head. "You always say you might and then you don't come. And when you do come, you're nowhere to be found minutes later. You just... disappear."

"I don't 'disappear'," I corrected mildly. "I just... leave."

She rolled her eyes. "Same thing."

I glanced across the cafeteria again, just briefly this time.

Elliot was still watching me.

"Maybe," I said. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On my mood."

Sofia reached across the table to lace her fingers through mine. Her touch was warm, grounding.

In front of me, I watched as Elliot's jaw tightened.

A strange sense of satisfaction ran through me.

"Come with me," Sofia said. "Please. I don't want to spend the whole night explaining to people that yes, I do have a boyfriend, and no, he's not imaginary."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "Fine. I'll come."

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Really."

She squeezed my hand once more before letting go. "Good. I'll text you the details."

As she turned back to her food, I looked up again.

Elliot was staring openly now, fury etched into every line of his face. There was something reckless in his eyes, something that looked dangerous.

I held his gaze. Didn't look away. Just watched him right back.

Whatever game he thought he was playing, he was already involved far deeper than he realized.

And soon, it was going to be impossible to ignore.

I was already anticipating that moment. The moment when the tension between us would finally snap.

One way or another.

ELLIOT

I hated all aspects of this farce that my father forced me to participate in, but this was the moment I hated the most.

The moment when we all sat around the table for dinner, pretending we were one big, happy family.

It was a sick, twisted play. One my father forcefully made me a character in. And not even an important one. I was not the main character or even a supporting character. I was the background character. The extra. The one nobody gave a fuck about.

Sometimes, I felt he included me just to feel less shitty. I'm sure he'd have loved to be alone with his new family. Without my pesky presence interfering.

I would have loved to move out, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave everything behind. This was where the memories of my mother and brother lived and I refused to give it up.

Besides, it was probably what my dad wanted so he could be free to do as he wished, so why would I give him what he wanted? Who knew what this house would turn to if I left him to do as he wished?

"Are you enjoying your classes?" Dad asked. The question wasn't directed to me, of course. It was directed to Asher.

I almost scoffed. It was the same routine every night. We would all gather for dinner and Asher and Dad would start talking about school, sports- whatever tickled their fancy at the time- with Margaret, Asher's mum, chiming in from time to time.

And me? I was always in the background. Neglected. Ignored.

How were they not tired of re-enacting this boring play every night?

Dad certainly never did any of this when my Mum and Daniel were still alive.

"They're going great," Asher replied. He swallowed a bite of pasta before he continued. "I started a new class today. I think it'll help with my path in Computer Science."

Dad nodded, looking proud. In that moment, you'd have believed Asher was his biological son and not his stepson. "Great job," he said. "Your first year is the year when you should get as much theoretical knowledge as possible. Luckily for you, Westbrook is a good university. You'll learn a lot."

I couldn't help it then. I laughed. Hard.

I laughed so hard that my chest hurt and even then, I couldn't stop. Wasn't it hilarious? The same man who could not answer what course I was studying in school if a gun was pressed to his head, was now the same person offering his stepson advice about school.

Fucking hilarious.

"Can you share with the table what is so funny?" Dad asked. He didn't even sound angry anymore, he just sounded exhausted. Like he was tired of my very existence.

Aww... Dear dad, don't give up on me just yet.

All eyes were on me now. Including Asher. Who stared at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

Whatever. Fuck him.

I shrugged casually. A move I knew would piss my dad off. Sure enough, he gripped the edge of the table tightly like it was his lifeline, knuckles white.

Margaret cleared her throat. Rushing to the rescue as fucking always.

"Are you enjoying your classes too, Elliot?" she asked, a polite smile on her face.

I hated that smile. It was the smile she pasted on when she was trying to be nice. It felt fake. Forced. Too try-hard.

I rolled my eyes. "Relax, you don't have to act like you care."

Margaret's expression fell, her features marred with hurt.

"Don't worry," I continued, driving the knife deeper. "My dad will never divorce you. He likes the fantasy a little bit too much." I smiled thinly as I leaned forward. "So you can keep the fake caring mother act all to yourself. I don't need it."

The table shook and dishes rattled as Dad brought his fists down on the table. I couldn't help it, I flinched.

Margaret's face crumpled, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. I almost scoffed. She was exceptionally good at crying. Sometimes I wondered if she secretly had her lacrimal glands altered. Was there even surgery for that? It would certainly explain a lot.

Asher's arms were around her, comforting her, while he leveled a glare at me, his eyes narrowed in anger.

Good. I was beginning to think he wasn't capable of being angry. He was becoming a little too easy-going for my taste.

Dad stood up. "I don't know what has become of you, Elliot, but you've gone too far." He gritted his teeth. "You'll apologize. Immediately."

I stood up too. "I have nothing to apologize for," I spat.

Dad shook his head and the disappointment in that one single move made my chest tighten.

I hated it. Hated he still affected me this way.

Hated that I still gave a fuck about his opinion of me.

"This isn't the son I raised," he said.

I let out a laugh. It was a bitter, disbelieving sound. "Get over yourself, dad. You make it sound like you weren't a shitty father."

I felt the whoosh of air before the slap landed on my cheek. Hard. My head snapped to the other side from the impact. My right cheek felt hot and I knew very soon, a bruise would start to bloom.

Across the room, I heard Margaret gasp.

I was frozen for a few seconds. I was in shock. My father and I might have had our differences but he had never laid a hand on me. Not even when I crashed his car when I was sixteen. But he did it now. Why? For his new family.

"Simon," I heard Margaret say. "Calm down, please."

"I've been very understanding of your tantrums, thinking you were just grieving. But now, you've crossed a line," Dad said, his voice shaking with anger. "When are you going to stop punishing me for the deaths of your mother and brother? It's not my fault they died. You're not the only one who's grieving. I lost them too."

I whipped to face him, ignoring the stinging sensation in my cheek. "You're not acting like you lost them," I said bitterly. "It's barely been 2 years since they passed and you've already found their replacements." I gestured to Margaret. "A new mother." Then to Asher. "And a new brother."

"Elliot–" Margaret started.

I held up a hand, cutting her off. "No. You guys can pretend all you want, I don't care. All that I ask of you is that you keep me out of it. Leave. Me. Alone."

I kicked my chair backward and the chair fell to the ground.

I didn't give a backwards glance as I exited the table.

I stormed off to my bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Inside of my room, I brought a hand to my chest as I tried to regulate my breathing. Tried to bring my emotions in check.

I was a mess. A huge mess.

And I was spiraling bad.

It was only a matter of time before I broke. Or exploded.

I had barely had time to myself for two minutes when Asher stormed in. There was fire in his eyes. He looked like he was about to murder me.

I pressed a hand to my temple, too tired to even be angry. "What part of leave me the fuck alone did you not understand?"

Asher ignored my words, getting into my face. "What the hell is your problem? My mum was trying to be nice and you–"

"You!" I shouted. "You and your mum! You're the goddamn problem!"

Asher recoiled back, as if shocked at my outburst.

"Look, I understand–"

I shook my head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. Nobody does."

I could feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, hot and wet. I hated myself for it. For breaking down and looking vulnerable in front of Asher of all people. But I couldn't help myself.

The tears flowed like a dam and I was helpless, unable to stop them.

The anger faded away and Asher's green eyes narrowed in concern.

Fuck him. I didn't need his concern. Or his pity.

"Elliot–"

"Go. Leave. Leave me alone!"

I didn't check to see if he obeyed as I turned my back to him.

He'd already seen enough. He didn't need to see any more.

I thought he was going to ignore me purely out of spite but I heard his footsteps receding as he left the room.

And I finally allowed myself to drop onto the floor, sobs emanating from me.

It was almost embarrassing, really.

But I was past the point of being embarrassed.

My family was ruined and I couldn't do anything to save it.

I was officially alone.

ASHER

The house felt different after dinner.

It was like the calm after the storm.

After Elliot's outburst, everyone retreated to their rooms. Of course, dinner could not go on.

It made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I hadn't felt this kind of quiet since five years ago when my father died.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over my chest.

I hadn't meant to storm into Elliot's room.

The truth was, I had been angry. Angry on my mother's behalf. Angry at the way he'd spoken to her, like her kindness was an insult. Angry that he'd made her cry.

But that wasn't the only reason why I had gone to his room.

If I was being honest, I had gone because the look on his face when his father slapped him didn't look defiant.

It looked... shattered.

I closed my eyes.

When Elliot had told me to leave him alone, there hadn't been venom in his voice. Just exhaustion. Pain stripped bare. And when he'd started crying-

I sat up abruptly.

Don't.

Thinking about it did nothing good. It only made my chest feel tight in a way I didn't like.

Why did I care about what Elliot was feeling anyway? Who cared if he was hurt? It was what he deserved for treating my mother like she was dirt beneath his feet.

A soft knock sounded at my door, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I said.

Mum stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked smaller somehow, like the evening had weighed on her. Her eyes were tired, rimmed red, but she smiled anyway. She always did that. Just smiled like everything could still be okay if she just tried hard enough.

She sat on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping softly. "Can we talk?"

I sat up. "Of course."

She folded her hands in her lap. "I know what happened at dinner wasn't... ideal but I don't want you getting mad at Elliot. I need you to... be nice to him."

I didn't respond immediately.

I couldn't believe she was asking me this. But that was my mother for you. Always nice to everyone, even if they didn't deserve it.

I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. "I'm trying."

And that was the truth. It wasn't my fault Elliot had decided, in his own head, that I was the villain.

She looked at me, like she was searching my face for something. "I know you are. I just don't want you to hate him. He's now your stepbrother."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Why do you want me to be nice to him?" I asked. "He doesn't like you. He disrespects you at every turn. Tonight-" I cut myself off, jaw tightening. "Tonight wasn't the first time."

She sighed, long and weary. "He doesn't hate me. Not really."

She couldn't possibly believe that.

"Mum-"

"He's grieving," she said gently. "Grief makes people cruel. It twists things. He lost his mother. His brother. And now he feels like he's losing his father too."

"That doesn't give him the right to hurt you."

Her shoulders slumped a little at that.

I swung my legs off the bed, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. "I can take it," I said quietly. "All of it. The pranks. The comments. The glares. If he wants to hate me, fine. But hurting you?" I shook my head. "That's where I draw the line."

She reached out, placing her hand over mine. "I don't want this to tear the family apart."

Family. I hated to break it to her but the chances of all of us being a family were very slim. At least where Elliot was concerned. He'd rather burn himself alive than think of us as family.

"I don't want Simon to leave," she continued softly. "I don't want to be a mistake he regrets. I don't want to be another mistake."

I turned to her sharply. "Simon is nothing like that bastard. He loves you. He won't think of you as a mistake."

I didn't think I could hate that bastard that called himself my father anymore than I already did, but somehow I kept surprising myself.

I hated him in a way I'd never hated anyone else. It was a good thing he was rotting away in the ground. Right where he belonged.

Mum shook her head. "You don't know that."

"I do," I said firmly. "He wouldn't have married you if he didn't. He wouldn't be trying-failing, maybe, but trying-if he didn't care. You're a good person, mum. A lovable, caring person. Not a mistake. And Simon is smart enough to see it. Trust me."

She smiled sadly. "You're really a good son. I'm lucky to have you."

This. This was what I strived for. To be the perfect son that made my mother happy. It was the least I could do after making her give up her dreams.

She squeezed my hand, then stood. "Just... try to understand Elliot. That's all I'm asking."

After she left, the room felt too quiet again.

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting, against my will, to the image of Elliot in his bedroom. Crying. Alone.

I didn't like that I'd seen him like that.

Didn't like that it had felt intimate. Vulnerable. Like we'd shared a moment.

I told myself I was nonchalant. That I didn't care what happened to him.

But nonchalance didn't knot itself in your chest like this.

Didn't follow you into silence.

Didn't make you lie awake wondering if someone was okay.

Didn't make you want to get up and check on said person.

I stared at the ceiling a little harder, trying to blank out my mind.

I was trying.

God help me, I was.

Somehow, I knew this was only the beginning.