Turning away from him, I walk toward the foot of my bed and sit down. “Eli, it’s hard, okay? But I’m honestly trying. I hate bothering you all with everything. You have your own problems, and I feel like I’m only burning you all out with mine.”
Elijah lets out a dry laugh from across the room. “I thought Leonidas was the stupidest sibling, but all along, I was wrong. It’s you if you think that.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “If you’re in my life, I care a shit ton, Amelia. Don’t act like you don’t know that this kills me.”
See, all I do is hurt people around me.
“I’ll try harder,” I say to please him.
“For who?”
With a small smile, I answer simply, teasing him, “For you.”
Elijah raises an eyebrow while tilting his head to the side.
“For me,” I correct myself.
Clapping his hands, Elijah nods. “Good. To the kitchen we go.”
I muffle a groan in my hands as I stand and slowly follow him through our quiet house. As I rejoin everyone in the kitchen and return the small smiles they send my way, all I want to do is lock myself in my room and cry.
That’s what I deserve, isn’t it?
I wasn’t always like this. I used to be the biggest foodie. But when all the fame and attention came my way, so did the haters—tons of them. Pointing out my body, telling me there was too much meat on my bones. The constant comments—like I should be eating more salads,like every other girl—eventually killed me.
I’d never even liked salad…but I listened to them and only ate greens.
The paparazzi have now taken it too far. Whenever I’m caught eating in public, which is rare now, they snap a photo and always make it a bigger deal than it needs to be. I used to laugh it off when my brothers got worried; however, they didn’t look convinced in the slightest.
When this all started, I tried to ignore the hate. I told myself that they didn’t know me. But at the end of the night, I would always find myself standing on a damn scale. The glowing numbers mocked me, laughed in my face as I curled forward, and all the hope that the numbers would be different would vanish from within me. Then, I would lock my bathroom door, turn on the fan, hold my hair up, and stick my fingers in my mouth until I felt empty.
After a while, it became a cycle—go on my socials, read hateful comments, laugh it off with a smile on my face, and go to the bathroom.
Fame has absolutely broken me, and only four people in the entire world know. When I look in the mirror, I no longer see the girl I used to love. I see a stranger.
As I fork up a piece of cucumber and shove it into my mouth, I keep repeating one thing in my head.I need to try. I need to try.
Yet I feel like I’m trying for everyone but me because, right now, all I’m itching to do is go to the bathroom and continue being a stranger to myself.
CHAPTER2
LEVI
Icrave the feeling of bitter liquid traveling down my throat as I glance at my surroundings.
Bright lights flash all around, and bodies crowd the dance floor as the music blasts in this small, confined space, making me want to cover my ears for some sort of relief. My fingers grip the cup in a death grip as my gaze moves down to the floor, where my boot taps impatiently on the tiles.
“Looking a little lonely here,” a seductive voice suddenly whispers from somewhere on my right, making my body tense. “Wanna dance?”
My finger glides along the rim of my glass as I imagine the bronze liquid. I try to ignore the twentieth girl who’s come up to me, but she just continues to open her mouth.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” The annoying voice gets louder and more demanding.
Does she not get the hint?
I deal with girls like this every day. They think I’m clueless, like I don’t know they’re only coming up to me just because I have lots of money and fame. Why else would anyone bother a grumpy-looking guy, sitting alone in a corner with an empty glass in his hand?
“Do you not talk?” She laughs.
Yes, only to some people though.
