A tall brunette girl.
My heart skips a beat.
Cold expression, golden eyes, and a black beret perched perfectly atop her head, along with headphones that she wears around her neck.
The girl from the café.
The realisation sends a jolt of surprise through me. Realisation and confusion, because I had been sure she was younger than me.
“This is Kym Ca —” the teacher gets cut off.
“It’s Kym Lawrence.” Kym interrupts, ice in her tone.
The room falls into an uneasy silence as Kym’s golden eyes sweep across the faces in the room, completely unbothered. But when her gaze lands on Will, something changes. Her composure falters for just a second, and a flash of nervousness ripples across her features.
She goes white.
And Will stiffens.
I can’t help but notice the way Will’s hand clenches the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white under the strain. It’s clear there’s something between them, or therewas.
An old flame, maybe?
Yet there’s an insistent part of me that knows it’s something else.
Kym’s expression hardens again as she walks to the back of the room. Her eyes find mine for a moment, and I see nothing but hatred. It’s bitter and cutting, and something I feel in my chest like a physical blow.
I want to ask why, but I already know I won’t.
Some answers are better left alone.
Adeline
Three years ago
I shift uncomfortably on the couch; gripping my pencil so hard it might break. The blank page mocks me, and the frustration bubbling under my skin is enough to make me want to scream. It’s been weeks since I’ve drawn anything worthkeeping, and I’ve been beginning to wonder if maybe I’ve lost my mind.
My lack of focus is interrupted by soft laughter. The sound is too familiar, and my heart sinks before they even enter the room. Naomi and Mason appear. He whispers something in her ear, and she playfully hits his arm before linking hers with his. The sight ignites something hot and ugly inside me. Anger. Resentment.
How can they act so normal? How can they pretend everything’s fine when it’s not? When it’s never been?
Everyone else is so blind, so stupid, and I don’t understand how they don’t see it. It’s always shocked me, how blinded everyone is by the truth that screams so loudly. There’s a loneliness in knowing the truth too, a burden in bearing witness to the darkness that lurks beneath his skin. A darkness nobody but me seems to acknowledge.
For as long as I can remember, Mason’s been the golden boy. Loved and utterly idolized by Naomi and Sam. And perhaps, at one time, by me too. Although eventually I began to notice the way he looks at me: like I’m a problem. Like I disgust him.
He doesn’t look at Naomi and Sam that way.
Funny how quickly perspective can shift. Now when I look at him, all I feel is shame—for not noticing the obvious sooner. For looking but not truly seeing. Because behind the exterior that everyone loves, and the pure heart everyone is convinced he has, I see the face of the boy that ripped mine to shreds a long time ago. I see the face behind the mask.
And the face, well, it’s the scariest thing I have ever seen.
Mason’s gaze briefly meets mine, and he grins—a smile I know he doesn’t truly mean. It’s a surprising act, considering he usually avoids me like the plague. Unless he’s drunk, or high, of course.
These moments are the worst, the times when my brother becomes a complete stranger.
There were always times when all he needed to do was be my brother. But it always seemed like he was for everyone apart from me. Every disapproving look, every cruel comment, it made me wonder what I did wrong. Why was it only me he felt this way toward?
Driven by a new surge of anger, I clench my pencil harder and begin to draw. In these moments, I’m not in control of what I’m creating; the pencil moves with a force of its own. The strokes are quick, messy. The lines are harsh and in no way organized or thought through.
