Page 6 of Brutal Titan

Elliot

“So, you gonna tell me what’s going on?” I ask, grabbing a water out of the fridge. As I sit at the island, Asher does an awkward shift before downing half a bottle of water.

“Nothing important.”

“Hope not since you’ve failed to clue in your very best friend.”

“That tells you it’s not important so drop it.”

“Or it’s so important that you don’t want to or can’t deal with it yet.”

Looking to me, he says flatly, “Drop it.”

“That answers a lot.”

He shakes his head, not saying anything. There’re few people who can call either of us on our shit, but that doesn’t mean it’s always what we need, which is clearly evident as Victoria strolls into the kitchen. Stepping to the fridge, she doesn’t acknowledge either of us sitting there.

“Where’s your new friend?” Asher asks Victoria, to which she responds with only an eye roll.

“I thought we were dropping it?” I chuckle, earning me a glare from Asher as I let him know it’s clear to me that Quinn has something to do with his prickly demeanor.

“How’d you even become friends with her?”

“Well, she was sitting at a table alone, and I knew she didn’t like you, so it was a win-win,” Victoria teases, heading out of the kitchen, though Asher appears unamused.

“Stay away from her,” Asher says, causing Victoria to halt in her tracks. She turns slowly, looking between the two of us.

“Tell me why I should, and I’ll consider it.” Victoria smirks, knowing she’s backed her brother into a corner.

“Yeah, I’d like to know too,” I chime in, enjoying the moment until Victoria turns her glare on me.

“Nobody is talking to you.”

“That never stops him,” Asher mumbles, making a sad attempt to change the subject.

“Truth,” I agree, nodding to Victoria. “But we’re still waiting on an answer.”

“Keep waiting.” Asher promptly stands, ramming the barstool back as he exits the kitchen in a huff. As annoyed as Asher is, he’s left me with a supremely pissed off Hastings who has her glare set on me.

Doubt I’m going to get the answer I want, but I ask anyway. “You ready to start talking?”

“Yes, to anyone except you,” she replies, walking out of the kitchen.

I take the opportunity to aggravate her a little more while she’s still in earshot as I yell, “Later, Bitchtoria.”

Looking around my best friend’s vacant kitchen, I’m not in a hurry to leave. Even with two pissed off Hastings under the same roof, it’s better than my house any day of the week. Dropping my elbows on the marble counter, I feel nothing but tension in my neck and shoulders as I try to relax but it’s no use. Asher will come around when he gets his head sorted out. The other Hastings, that’s an entirely different beast. Since it was the first day of school, there was no workout or weight lifting, and I need to channel this somewhere. Hopping off the barstool, I head to the home gym I’ve used just as much as my own, if not more. A workout usually clears my head, until recently that is. The view from the weight room torments me, yet I go back for more. Gladly. Because the gym overlooks the indoor swimming pool, separated only by floor-to-ceiling glass walls, which Victoria frequents often to swim laps. And my eyes are drawn to the unoccupied pool every other minute throughout the workout. Coming up empty each time leaves my head jacked up. I’d spent the entirety of the intense workout wondering if she really is done with my shit.

Heading out of the gym, I cuss under my breath, knowing it’s a mistake, but my feet lead the way while my brain doesn’t seem to be in control. It’s risky with her brother just down the hall, but I need to talk to her.

Taking one glance around the empty hall, I reach for the doorknob, turning it slowly before slipping inside her bedroom. It’s more than likely I’d be able to bullshit my way out of being caught by telling Asher that I was hanging out in here since he was all puffed up over Quinn. But eventually, I’m worried he will see straight through my BS because he’s usually the only one who can. It’s easy to put up a happy front for my awaiting audience, my best friend is another story, and I’m not ready to explain what’s going on with his little sister because I’m not sure myself.

Sitting on a loveseat near the window, she doesn’t notice me since her back is to the door and earbuds are in her ears. She scribbles away in a black leather-bound sketchbook, similar to the many I’ve witnessed her doodling in over the years. My guess is she has dozens of sketchbooks stashed away somewhere because it’s not often she is without one in hand—but only at home (meaning hers or mine) have I ever noticed her drawing.

Looking at the paper, I watch as she shades a magnolia flower, the charcoal pencil smoothly gliding over the page. I enjoy her fluid strokes and soak in the last moment of tranquility on her face, knowing I’m really about to infuriate her and all the serenity will be gone in a blink.

Leaning forward, I intend to pluck the earbud from her ear, but instead, my fingers brush across the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear, the same spot my face was buried against when she’d straddled my lap.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips, and she reflexively slaps at my hand, jumping to her feet as the sketchbook and pencil fall to the floor. Her shock is quickly replaced by annoyance as she looks to me. “What are you doing in here?”