Chapter 27 #3
Liam’s expression shifts, his shoulders stiffening just enough to be noticeable. He sighs, stepping back slightly. “He’ll delete it,” Liam says, glancing at me briefly before turning back to Will.
Will doesn’t say anything, just adjusts the camera strap on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to say it; I know he won’t delete anything.
“She’s right,” Christian says out of nowhere, catching me slightly off guard. “About her sisters,” he clarifies, his eyes meeting mine. “We’ll make sure they live comfortably. Don’t worry.”
I don’t even know what to say to him. The look on his face is so sincere, so genuine, I don’t know whether I should smile or cry, because the truth is, I can’t remember the last time someone did anything for me.
“Oh! I almost forgot to show you this,” Liam says suddenly, leaning toward me and pulling out his phone.
He taps the screen a few times before holding it up for me to see.
“It’s an app,” he says, seemingly very impressed with himself.
He talks like he’s showing off a new toy.
“It detects movement outside the house and captures it. See?”
On the screen is a live feed of what I assume is the outside of his own house. Liam points to a small red bell icon in the lower left corner. “If you see anything suspicious, press this button,” he says. “It’s an alarm.”
Bea’s eyes widen slightly as she leans in to get a better look. “So, it’ll scare them off,” she says, looking at me excitedly. “That’s perfect.”
If they’ve gone to this extent just to protect the house, I might as well just stay there.
It’s practical. Logical. But at the same time, a tiny voice in the back of my mind tells me it might be exactly what I need.
I need a bit of distance from my sisters.
For once, I have to think of myself. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, Kai is right.
It is exhausting. Maybe this time, just this once, I can take a step back. For me.
Mason
One year ago
I wake up with a pit in my stomach, the memories slowly coming back in small fragments.
Flashes of noise. Music. Someone’s laughter too close to my ear. Pills spilled across the sink that I had to hide from my parents. A bottle half-finished. A voice, I think it was mine. It was saying, I’m fine. I’m fine. Just one more.
I look down at my hands, then briefly at myself in the mirror, and gag.
What have I done?
I don’t get much time to dwell on it, because one moment I’m on the floor, and the next I’m rushing to the bathroom, hand pressed to my mouth, knees bruising against the tiles as I retch again and again.
It burns.
My throat, my chest, everything.
This is normal now. Routine, even. I’ve lost count of how many mornings have started this way. On the floor, trying to remember what happened, wishing I didn’t.
It’s not even because I’m sick. My body just starts rejecting me.
At least that’s what it feels like.
When it’s over, I collapse against the tile, back pressed to the cool wall.
Happy birthday.
Right. It’s today. Mine and Addie’s.
God, what a joke.
I don’t even remember what she said to me yesterday. I think she tried to talk to me. Maybe I ignored her. Maybe I said something awful. I usually do.
She probably hates me. And honestly? She should.
I don’t even know when it happened. When I went from being her brother to her burden. When I stopped being a person to her, but a problem.
I’m still trying to figure out if there was a specific moment, or if I’ve just always been like this.
She just doesn’t understand what it’s like looking at her sometimes.
I wash my face, though it doesn’t help much. The reflection still looks like someone I don’t want to know. Like something disgusting. Something ill.
For some reason, my feet take me down the hallway, to her door. I don’t knock. I just open it.
She’s not here.
The light coming through her window is gentler than in mine, I notice. Her books are stacked neatly on the desk, a jumper draped over the back of her chair.
I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to mess anything up. It smells like lavender.
I don’t even know what I’m doing. Why I’m here.
But the guilt… it feels like it’s eating me alive.
I pull out my phone and stare at the screen for a few moments.
Then, for some reason, I open the recorder.
“Hey… it’s me. Obviously. Um… I don’t really know what I’m trying to say.
I guess, I’m sorry. For everything. For being the way I am.
It’s not you I hate. It never was. It’s me.
I just… there’s something wrong with me.
So, I know I make it hard to care about me.
But thank you, for trying anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve it. ”
I pause. Swallow. My throat burns.
“You deserve better than what this place has given you. I mean that. I hope one day you leave this town and never look back. I hope you find something real. Something good. I hope it feels like home. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I just didn’t want you thinking I never cared.”
I stop the recording. My thumb hovers over the Send button. One tap. That’s all it would take. One second and it would be hers.
But I don’t press it.
Maybe I hesitate because I’m scared. Maybe because it’s too honest. Too late.
I lock the screen and slide the phone back into my jacket.
Later, I tell myself. I’ll send it later.
But later never comes.
Because before I even leave the room, before I so much as try and get out of her bed, I’m already gone.
Adeline
One year ago
I’ve just gotten back from the corner shop, plastic bag in hand, its contents clinking together—another box of candles for a cake I’ve bought myself, again. I glance at the receipt. Sixteen candles. I’ve been doing this since I was seven.
It’s always been a sort of quiet ritual to remind myself it’s still my day, even if no one else notices. Or cares. And yet I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll keep doing this—how much longer I’ll sit in my room, in the dark, buying my own candles and singing to myself because no one else will.
My brother has always taken up the space, the attention. The prodigy, the golden boy, the one everyone adored, the one I once looked up to. Not anymore. They love him, but they haven’t seen his halo slip the way I have.
I refuse to be na?ve anymore.
I step inside the house and temporarily glance around at the aftermath of Mason’s party. It’s not as messy as last time, and definitely quieter than last time.
I see Sam, my older sister, in the kitchen leaning against the counter as she watches me with an expression I can’t quite place. Concern? Annoyance? It’s hard to tell. “Where have you been?”
“Why do you care?” My words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t stop to soften them. I drop the bag onto the table with a dull thud.
Sam crosses her arms. “You missed the party.”
I exhale slowly, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Sam, when have I ever wanted to stay for the party?”
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue. She knows I’m right. “You could’ve still been here,” she says instead, her tone quieter now.
“For what?” I ask, a thread of exhaustion slipping into my voice. “To watch Mason blow out the candles? Again?” Sam doesn’t answer right away. She looks down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of her sweater. “Where is everyone?” I ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.
She hesitates, then shrugs. “Mum and Dad took Naomi to get more food for dinner.”
Of course. “Their usual dinner to celebrate his birthday,” I mutter under my breath, the words more bitter than I intend.
Sam hears it anyway. She shifts uncomfortably. “Addie—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off, waving a hand. “It’s always the same.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I remind them that it’s my birthday too, they’ll console me, but in the end nothing ever changes.
I don’t say anything else, don’t trust myself to. Instead, I head upstairs, the old wood creaking under my weight. But when I reach my room, I stop.
My door is open.
That’s strange. I always shut it. Always.
A flicker of unease curls in my stomach as I step inside. My gaze sweeps the room, landing on the bed—and my breath catches.
Mason.
He’s lying there, sprawled across my covers, his limbs at awkward angles. His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and I can smell the faint tang of alcohol even from the doorway. My shoulders tense.
He’s drunk. Again.
I walk over, my movements careful, my heart pounding for reasons I can’t quite name. “Mason,” I sigh, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Mason?” I repeat, a little louder this time. I shake his shoulder, but he still doesn’t move.
That’s when I notice that he isn’t breathing.
His chest isn’t rising. His lips are parted, but there’s no sound, no movement. His eyes—god, his eyes—are open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Lifeless.
“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible. My gaze drops to the floor, and that’s when I see it.
A tub of pills, the cap off, a few scattered across the carpet. His phone lies next to it, the screen cracked, a missed call flashing across it like some cruel joke.
No. No, no, no.
I feel the scream before I hear it, a raw, animal thing tearing its way out of me. “Mason?”
My knees hit the floor, hard, but I don’t feel it. “Mason!” I’m shaking him now, shaking him harder than I should, but he doesn’t respond. “Wake up!” My voice cracks, splinters, breaks. “Please.” The world blurs through the flood of tears. I can’t see his face clearly anymore, but I don’t let go.
My screams turn into choking gasps, and my whole body trembles with the force of it. The room is spinning. My vision blurs, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. My hands are trembling so violently I can’t even press them to his chest. His face is pale, too pale, and his hand is cold when I touch it.
“Mason,” I whisper this time, my voice shattering into silence.
But he doesn’t answer.
And I scream, and scream, and scream until there’s nothing left. Nothing but the heaving of my chest, the ache in my lungs, and a cruel, sharp thought: It was his birthday, too.