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.

ASHER

Music thudded through the walls of Hayden's house, bass vibrating beneath my feet and straight to my ribs. It was a song I barely recognized but one that people apparently enjoyed as bodies pressed together on the dance floor, gyrating to the music. Or maybe they just wanted to dance to anything.

Laughter and shouted conversations overlapped. Someone pressed a red plastic cup into my hand without asking. It smelled like a mixture of cheap beer and something sweet.

The air was thick with perfume, sweat and the sharp bite of alcohol.

The entire thing felt claustrophobic rather than fun. Do people really do this every weekend? Willingly?

I took a sip of the contents in my cup and winced, the burn familiar, grounding. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed and cheers erupted. I pretended not to know what was happening behind it.

I leaned back against the chair in the corner I was sitting in, cup warm in my hand. I couldn't help but feel that strange mix of belonging and distance-surrounded by everyone, yet oddly alone.

Without meaning to, my gaze flew to the corner of the living room.

Where Elliot was standing with his friends.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, half-shadowed, half-lit by the flickering party lights. A drink hung loose in his hand, untouched. His friends were talking around him but he stayed silent. Not contributing.

When his eyes flicked up-out of habit, instinct, whatever it was-I met his gaze.

He looked away.

He'd been doing that all night.

Every time our gazes almost met, he turned his head. Looked at the floor. The wall. Anything but me. Like the memory of that night, the memory of me seeing him break, was something he wanted to forget. Or something he wanted me to forget.

Unfortunately for him, it was ingrained in my head.

Embarrassment, I realized.

He was embarrassed.

I hadn't expected that. I'd expected defiance. Hatred. Anger. Another challenge.

Not this quiet avoidance.

"Hey," Sofia said, tugging lightly on my sleeve as she settled in beside me.

I looked down at her. She smiled up at me, bright and easy, like nothing in the world weighed on her shoulders.

"You okay?" she asked. "You've been staring into space for, like, five minutes."

"Yeah," I said automatically. "It's just... really loud in here."

She laughed. "That's kind of the point."

She leaned in to kiss me, her lips warm, familiar. The scent of her perfume, sweet and floral, wrapped around me. I returned her kiss because that was what I was supposed to do. Because this was normal. Safe.

Sofia talked about the party she wanted us to go to next weekend, about midterms, about a professor she hated. I nodded at the right moments, laughed when she laughed. I was there, but part of me wasn't.

I was wildly aware of Elliot's presence across the room.

I didn't let myself look at him again.

After a while, Sofia frowned. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom before the line gets insane. Don't disappear on me."

"I won't," I said.

She pecked me on the lips before slipping into the crowd.

I watched her go.

Then, as if my eyes had a mind of their own, I glanced at the corner.

His friends were still there, laughing and drinking, but Elliot himself wasn't.

I told myself I didn't care where he had gone off to.

I was here with one person only. Sofia. That was who my attention needed to be focused on.

Not Elliot and his sad eyes.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

I waited for Sofia to come back, getting more and more bored every second that passed. Surely, the line at the bathroom wasn't that long?

I debated leaving but I'd promised Sofia I wasn't going to disappear and so, I was going to stay. Even if it felt like the music was killing off my brain cells every second.

The music shifted. People came and went. Someone spilled a drink near my shoes. Another vomited half a foot away from me.

I moved to the side, checked my phone.

No message.

I waited another ten minutes before unease settled in properly, curling low in my gut.

I called Sofia.

It rang. And rang.

No answer.

I frowned, pulling the phone away from my ear.

I tried again. Nothing.

I gritted my teeth, starting to get irritated. Where the hell was she? And why did she abandon me at this party she forced me to come to?

I decided to look for her.

"I swear to god, if she's getting high with her friends..." I muttered to myself.

I moved through the house, pushing past bodies, scanning faces. I finally found one of Sofia's friends near the kitchen.

"Hey," I said, raising my voice over the music. "Have you seen Sofia?"

She blinked at me, clearly drunk, then shook her head. Even that move looked like it cost her a lot. "No," she slurred, "Thought she was with you."

My stomach tightened.

I turned away, heart picking up pace. The music thinned the further I went, replaced by muffled laughter behind closed doors.

I found another one of Sofia's friends in the hallway where the bedrooms were located. He was leaning against a wall, a lit cigarette hanging from his fingertips.

I approached him. "Matthew, do you know where Sofia is?"

His eyes widened in fear when he saw me. As if he wasn't expecting to see me there.

A sinking suspicion settled in my gut. "Where is she?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes, shifting on his feet.

He hesitated. "I– look, I don't want any drama, man."

"Tell me," I commanded sharply.

He swallowed. "Down the hall. In one of the bedrooms." He pointed at the last bedroom down the hall.

I didn't thank him.

I didn't think about what she might be doing there. I just walked.

Each step down the hallway made the feeling in my gut worse. A certainty settled in, unwelcome and undeniable.

Whatever I was about to see, it wasn't going to be good.

I stopped in front of the last door.

For half a second, I considered turning around.

Then I pushed it open.

The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. Clothes were scattered across the floor. I recognized Sofia's red crop top as one of them.

Sofia froze.

She was on the bed, breath hitching, hair disheveled, her perfect makeup smeared. Her eyes widened, guilt flooding her expression so quickly it was almost impressive. She would do well in acting.

"Asher–"

Elliot straightened slowly beside her, shirtless, skin flushed. A blanket covered the lower half of his body. I didn't have to check to know he was naked underneath it.

I expected him to react in a multitude of ways. Maybe shock. Or guilt. Or even defiance.

But I should've known Elliot wasn't a sane person. He smiled instead.

That fucker smiled. Like this was funny to him.

He didn't look embarrassed. Or startled. He looked proud.

"Well," he said lightly. "This is awkward."

Something inside me went cold.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I said, my voice dangerously calm.

Sofia scrambled off the bed, fully naked and crouched to pick her clothes off the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean-"

"We're done," I said coldly. I didn't look at her as I did. I kept my gaze on Elliot's smug face.

I heard Sofia gasp.

Elliot rose from the bed, shoving the blanket away. I was proud of myself for not looking down and keeping my gaze squarely on his face.

"Get dressed," I added flatly. "And get out."

Sofia hesitated, eyes flicking between us, then nodded rapidly. She clutched her clothes with shaking hands and rushed past me without another word.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Elliot shrugged, looking utterly unbothered as he ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair. The twinkle in his eyes was visible even from here. It was almost as if this was fun for him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said. "It's not my fault she wanted something better."

I laughed sharply.

"Better?" I echoed.

He stepped closer, eyes bright, unabashed in his nakedness. "Someone less like a perfect robot. Someone who actually feels something."

My hands curled into fists.

I charged forward. I continued until I was close enough to see every smug line of his expression. For a moment, I imagined my fist connecting with his jaw. Imagined wiping that stupid smug expression off his face.

Elliot looked like he was daring me to. He lifted his chin in defiance, that annoying smirk still on his face.Like he enjoyed watching me unravel.

I stopped. And smiled.

"I feel sorry for you," I said.

That threw him.

He tilted his head, brows knitting. "What?"

"I feel sorry for you," I repeated, softer now. "Because you get a kick out of ruining other people's relationships. Out of stealing other people's easy girlfriends. And that's because you don't know what it's like to have one. Because nobody actually wants you."

His smile faltered.

"You're self-destructive, Elliot," I added. "You're doing all these, thinking you're hurting everyone else around you but all you're doing is hurting yourself. And you know what the worst part is?" I stepped closer to him until we were toe to toe. "The worst part is you're too blind to see it."

Heat flooded Elliot's cheeks, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it ached.

"Nobody wants to get involved with you," I continued, my voice steady, cutting. "Nobody wants to stay. And you know why?"

Silence stretched between us.

"Because you're a terrible human being."

Something dark flashed across his face. Anger, maybe. Or maybe it was fear.

I stepped back, disgust settling in where anger had been.

"You win this round," I muttered. "Enjoy it."

I turned and walked out before he could respond.

The music swallowed me whole as I made my way back through the party, but it all felt distant now. Muffled, unreal. My chest was tight, my hands were shaking.

Whatever this was between Elliot and me, whatever had just started, it had crossed to something dangerous. But I knew one thing for certain.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.