Chapter 2
TWO
ROMAN
My hand burns where it’s touching the skin not covered by his pink T-shirt, and I can only blame my surprise at opening my door and finding him standing right outside for not releasing him immediately.
The last person I’m probably in the mood of seeing right now.
Jesse Williams, as my father has drilled into my head for the past weeks.
My new stepbrother.
His clear, light blue eyes are wide when they meet mine, an exhale stuttering out of him, grazing the hollow of my throat. And it’s that delicate breath that makes me realize just how close we’re actually standing.
I let go of his arm, taking a step back, already regretting getting out of my room, wanting nothing more than to turn around and forget everything about this fucking day.
I’m pretty sure there’s nothing welcoming in my expression right now, judging by the way he tucks his long, golden hair behind his ear with a faint tremble in his hand.
“Hi,” he says in a soft voice and a small smile. “I’m Jesse.”
Of course, I think, torn between groaning and laughing hysterically.
Of course he would be soft and polite.
Of course he would make it so fucking hard for me to be an asshole to him, when what I should be doing is slamming the door in his face.
Of course my father would get the perfect little family he’s always wanted.
My hands clench into fists, the anger that’s been simmering in my blood heating up so fast I feel the control slipping from me with each passing second, with every poisonous thought.
Pain twists my insides, resentment warring with my own self-loathing until all I am is the bitterness that threatens to choke me.
A feather-light touch on my arm makes everything still, pause, anchoring me to the present. My eyes fall to the point of contact, to the pale, slender fingers brushing hesitantly against my forearm, before I trace that touch back to its source.
Back to those clear, blue eyes full of concern.
“Are you alright, Roman?”
He says it so seriously, like he actually wants to know, like he actually cares about my answer, and that’s the only reason why I don’t shake off his touch and his concern.
Why I’m honest with him.
“I’m sorry. It’s just not a good time right now.”
I can tell I’ve taken him by surprise, his lips slightly parting. He probably thought I was two seconds away from biting his head off with the way I glared at him when I found him outside my door.
Except.
Except neither he, nor his mom are at fault. He doesn’t deserve any of my bitterness and resentment. It’s best that I stay out of his way and that he does the same.
“Oh. Yeah, of course.” He nods quickly, dropping his hand hastily. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’ll just leave you be,” he adds, already walking backwards towards his room next door. “It’s not like you don’t know where to find me, right?”
His self-conscious chuckle sits heavy on my chest as he turns away.
“Hey, Jesse?”
He faces me once again, his expression so open and honest, hiding nothing of his wistfulness and faint sadness.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell him, and despite all the complicated emotions ravaging me about this whole thing, I mean it.
His face practically transforms before my eyes, as if glowing from within, and he gives me a smile that is as soft as his touch was.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Roman,” he says and slips into his room, the door shutting with a small click.
I stare at the spot where he stood long after he’s gone.
***
Jesse’s mom, Laura, seems to be nice when I run into her briefly in the kitchen later, which makes me wonder what the fuck she’s even doing here.
She has a kind smile that’s similar to her son’s, and even though she’s probably half my size, her gaze is steady and sure, like she’s seeing straight through me.
And I hate it.
We don’t say much and I leave the minute my dad comes in, sparing myself from seeing another look of disappointment on his face, or his favorite one—complete indifference.
“Try not to do anything to ruin this for me, will you?”
His words play over and over in my head the minute I forget myself and let the thoughts flow in, but I shake my head, trying to clear it, trying to focus on the rough sketch I’m working on, letting the music drown out my surroundings.
I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to remember this day. I don’t want to feel anything else but the movement of the pencil on my beat-up notebook and let the lines consume me, let the dark graphite stain my fingers until they look as if dipped in tar.
Until there’s nothing else but its familiar darkness.
One more year.
I just have to make it one more year. Be done with senior year and then, get the hell out of this place, leave everything behind—the disparaging looks, the cutting words, the constant reminder that I was not good enough for her to stay.
That I’m not good enough for anyone. That I will always be too much.
I pour everything on the piece of paper in front of me, until the vines that are wrapped around the hand reaching out for help twist and turn in a vicious grip, until the thorns are so sharp they pierce the skin.
My heart races as if I’ve run for miles and miles by the time I’m done, and I don’t even realize that the music has stopped, or that the sky is dark outside, or that I can hear the sound of warm laugh filtering through the walls of my bedroom.
It’s low and it stops as soon as it’s started, but it echoes even afterwards. It makes me want to touch my arm, to feel for the whisper of something that for the briefest of moments reminded me of something soothing. Of something safe.
My thoughts are restless when I try to fall asleep a little while later, my heartbeat refusing to slow down, but even as the vines drag me down in my dreams like they always do, the tips of my fingers still manage to brush against that soft sound.