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.

ELLIOT

Fucking Asher.

That was the thought that kept blaring in my head on repeat, like a very annoying alarm.

I couldn't think of anything else, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even focus on my lectures.

Just like right now. And Professor Jenkins' class was my favourite.

My left leg jiggled nervously, up and down, in a furious pace.

Elsa shot me a look. "What is going on with you?" she hissed.

It was days after the cursed party. The party where I slept with Asher's girlfriend.

I had done it because it was easy. She had been throwing me looks, rubbing herself all over me any chance she got behind Asher's back, and that night, I thought why the hell not?

It was a cheap way to have sex and most importantly, it was a good chance to put Asher down. To make him feel less than.

It felt good to have someone pick me over Asher, the oh-so-perfect being that everyone wanted.

Only my action didn't have the desired outcome. Asher wasn't the one who got rattled.

I was.

I couldn't get his words out of my head. Or the look he gave me. Like he truly pitied me.

It was that look that crawled under my skin and stayed there.

Fucking Asher.

Where did he get off pitying people? Who asked him to feel sorry for me?

Who asked him to psychoanalyze me and provide an analysis on me- that was totally wrong by the way, because I was perfectly capable of forming relationships, I just chose not to- that nobody asked for?

I brought a finger to my mouth, chewing on my nail nervously. Elsa shot me another look that I ignored.

When the lecture was finally over, I didn't hesitate to start throwing my shit in my bag.

"That class felt like forever, didn't it?" I said to Elsa, trying to seem normal, composed.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising, considering you were zoned out for most of it."

I forced out a laugh that was way too loud and patted the back of her shoulder lightly.

That was totally normal, wasn't it?

Apparently not, because Elsa wrinkled her nose and looked at me closely. "Are you ok? You've been acting strange all day. Well, for the past few days really but most especially, today."

Where did I even begin? How could I begin to tell her that my stepbrother, that asshole, had successfully gotten in my head and rewired everything, until I felt like I was about to go insane from the pressure?

"Yep. Totally fine," I said instead, giving her a smile that felt like it was pasted on.

Elsa didn't look like she bought it but thankfully didn't push.

And that was why we were friends. It was the same with my other two friends– Lucas and Houston. Other people might view our relationship as superficial since we didn't talk about any deep stuff but I liked it that way. I didn't need people trying to figure me out. Like a therapist. Or fucking Asher.

"If you say so," she said. "Do you want to go to the cafeteria and get food?"

"No, not today." I swung my bag over my shoulder. "I'm going home."

Elsa frowned. "Home? We have another class in 30 minutes."

"Yeah...I'm skipping that one."

There was no way I could make it through another class without going insane. I barely made it through this one.

Elsa looked concerned now. "Are you sure you're alright? Since when did you skip classes?"

Since today. Since goddamn Asher had gotten in my head.

I didn't say any of that to Elsa. Instead, I uttered a simple, "Bye, Elsa. See you tomorrow."

I ignored her calling my name and hurried out of the lecture hall.

Fucking Asher was going to pay for making me a mess like this.

I didn't know how, yet, but he would.

I was sure to think of something.

****

I walked home instead of calling an Uber. I needed the time. The quiet. The space to clear my head.

Except, it didn't quite work.

With every step I took, Asher's voice replayed in my head.

Nobody actually wants you.

I clenched my jaw.

Liar.

If that were true, Sofia wouldn't have followed me upstairs. She wouldn't have touched me like she meant it. She wouldn't have chosen me.

Sh wouldn't have–

I stopped walking.

Sofia hadn't chosen me.

She'd chosen a moment of chaos. A moment of escape. She'd chosen something reckless because it was easier than staying faithful.

And I had let her.

I laughed again, the sound sharp and hollow in the empty street.

Asher thought he knew me. That he'd seen through me.

But he was wrong.

He didn't understand anything.

I wasn't looking for intimacy. I was looking for proof.

Proof that I was alive. That I was wanted. Proof that I wasn't invisible.

When I finally reached the house, I didn't check to see if anyone else was at home.

I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at my hands.

They were shaking now.

I exhaled slowly, leaning forward until my elbows rested on my knees.

Asher's words echoed again, uninvited.

You're self-destructive.

I swallowed.

Maybe I was.

But if destroying things was the only way I could feel something, then was I really to blame?

I lay back on my bed, shoes still on. I stared up at the ceiling, counting cracks I'd memorized years ago.

I had won. I had succeeded in finally causing Asher's nonchalant facade to break.

So why did it feel like I lost?

I closed my eyes.

I was in the middle of falling asleep when a knock came at my door.

I stiffened.

For a brief, stupid second, I thought it might be Asher.

Then I heard her voice.

"Elliot?"

Of course. I'd forgotten that Margaret would be at home. She owned a florist shop but she was usually home by this time, leaving her employee in charge.

I considered pretending to be asleep. Considered saying nothing at all. Maybe she would get the hint and go away.

She knocked again, softer this time.

"I just want to talk."

I sighed. I couldn't even get a minute to feel sorry for myself in this house and hate Asher in peace without someone wanting to 'talk.' What a travesty.

"Come in," I said flatly.

The door opened and Margaret stepped inside, closing it behind her. She was still dressed, her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, her cardigan pulled tight around herself. Her green eyes, so similar to her son's, were narrowed in concern.

She looked at me the way she always did-careful, tentative, like I was something fragile that might shatter if she said something or touched me wrong.

That irritated me instantly.

Did she also pity me like her son did?

"Are you alright?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Do I look like I'm dying?"

She winced but didn't back off. It was almost admirable. "You aren't supposed to be home yet. Did you skip your classes?"

I snorted. "What? Are you stalking me now?"

Her brows knit together. "I just want to make sure you are ok. Are you sick?"

I didn't answer.

She took a step closer. "I'm just worried.This isn't your usual time–"

I sat up slowly, resting my elbows on my knees. "You really should stop pretending you care," I said.

Her lips parted. "Elliot-"

"You don't have to worry about me," I continued, voice calm, measured. "That's not your role. Save the concern for Asher."

Her face fell.

I could have stopped there.

I didn't, of course.

"You're not my mother. You're just the woman my dad married because he couldn't stand being alone," I said. "A placeholder. A distraction."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

I stood, unable to stay still, pacing the room like a caged animal. "So maybe stop trying to act like my mother. It's embarrassing."

Silence stretched.

"I was only trying to help," she whispered.

I turned back to her.

And saw the tears.

They slid down her cheeks slowly, quietly. No dramatics. No sobbing. Just pain she didn't bother hiding.

Something twisted in my chest.

I ignored it.

"Well," I said coldly, "you're really bad at it. And I wish you'd stop."

That did it.

Her hand flew to her mouth as a soft, broken sound escaped her. She shook her head, eyes shining, like she couldn't quite believe I'd said everything I said.

"I don't understand why you hate me so much," she said.

I felt the words rise instinctively, sharp and ready.

Because hating you is easier than missing her.

Because if I let you be kind, everything falls apart.

Because I don't know how to exist without anger.

Because anger is better than feeling nothing.

My mouth remained closed.

Margaret wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, nodding to herself like she'd made some realization.

"I'll... I'll leave you alone," she said softly. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

She turned and walked out before I could even think to stop her.

The door clicked shut.

I stood there, breathing hard, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.

Victory tasted like ash.

I sank back onto my bed, dragging my hands down my face until my palms pressed into my eyes.

Asher's voice echoed again, unwanted and relentless.

You're self-destructive.

I laughed under my breath, the sound hollow.

Yeah.

No shit.