Chapter 31 You’re So Annoying
Music had always stayed with me.
Not in the way it was for Apple, loud, competitive, meant to be witnessed, but in a quieter, more private way. Something internal. Something that didn’t ask for applause.
Even after the accident.
Even after my hand stopped obeying the way it once had.
Even after the piano in our living room was sold off like an inconvenience we no longer needed.
I still found my way back to it.
Sometimes during lunch. Sometimes after school.
I slipped into the music room when it was empty and sat at the old Steinway by the window.
The keys were chipped, yellowed with age, the upper register permanently out of tune.
None of that mattered. I played simpler pieces now, slow ones.
Music that didn’t demand speed or brilliance, only intention.
Music wasn’t about proving anything to me anymore.
It was a place to put the things I couldn’t say out loud.
A few weeks ago, our music theory teacher announced an optional composition assignment. A written score only. No performance. It would be judged on structure, emotional coherence, and storytelling.
Apple had smiled the moment it was announced. She always did when music was involved. She was a performer. A prodigy. This was where she thrived.
“It doesn’t matter,” she had said lightly. “Everyone knows who’s going to win.”
I didn’t tell anyone I was submitting anything.
I worked quietly at home, taking my time.
I didn’t aim for complexity. No fast passages. No unnecessary flourishes. I stayed within my limits, the way pain had taught me to.
The composition was simple, but deliberate. Quiet. Controlled. Built around loss, around pauses that said more than sound ever could. A melody that knew when to stop.
Apple’s piece was beautiful on the surface, but empty underneath. Decorative. Like a room with no doors.
Now, weeks later, on one of the final days of the school year, the results were being announced.
The classroom buzzed. Our teacher stood at the front, papers in hand. Apple sat ready, already certain of the outcome.
“This year’s submissions were remarkably strong,” she said. “However, one composition stood apart.”
Apple straightened. Her friends leaned closer.
“The highest score,” the teacher continued, “went to a piece that demonstrated exceptional restraint and emotional clarity.”
A pause.
“The top composition… belongs to Ashley Richards.”
The room went silent.
Surprise rippled across a few faces, then the clapping began, hesitant at first, then louder.
I rose slightly from my seat, nodded once in acknowledgment, and sat back down.
The teacher kept talking about structure, balance, emotional control, but her words blurred into background noise.
Apple didn’t move.
I could feel it, the heat of her anger, sharp and humiliated. The way her jaw locked. The way her fingers curled against the edge of her desk. She didn’t look at me. She stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge that someone she considered broken had outperformed her.
She didn’t clap.
She didn’t even pretend.
That night, as I was heading upstairs, I nearly collided with Apple coming down.
She stopped short. Her fist clenched at her side, knuckles whitening, eyes flashing with something raw and ugly.
I lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed, and moved to step past her.
But she grabbed my wrist.
Her nails dug in, sharp crescents of pain biting into skin.
“Ashley,” she hissed. “You’re so annoying.”
Here we go again.
I looked down at her hand on my skin. Then back at her face.
“Let go,” I said calmly.
She didn’t. Her lips curled instead.
“Mom only loves me,” she said softly, savoring every word. “She only cares about me. That must drive you insane, doesn’t it?”
I almost smiled.
She still thought I was the same girl, still waiting, still desperate to be loved.
But this, confronting me like this, was new.
In my past life, she had never dropped the mask. Not once. She had played the sweet sister perfectly, smiling, gracious.
Now she wasn’t even pretending. Over the months, I had won too many small battles.
Her mask was slipping. Badly.
I stared at her, utterly unimpressed.
“I don’t care who she loves,” I said. “But if you don’t let go, I’ll make you.”
Something in my tone finally reached her. Panic flickered behind her eyes, quick, instinctive. Her grip loosened.
She let go.
I glanced down at my wrist. Red marks bloomed where her fingers had been. Some faint. Some already darkening. One had broken skin.
I let out a soft, disdainful breath. “How pathetic.”
Her face drained, then flushed, fury twisting her features.
“Ashley.”
My father’s voice cut through the hallway.
He’d stepped out of his study without us noticing, one hand still braced against the doorframe. His expression was dark, sharp with disapproval.
“Is this how you talk to your sister?” he snapped.
“I don’t see a problem with it.”
The words came out flat.
Ever since I’d learned the truth, that the man standing in front of me was an unfaithful liar who had built his life on betrayal and illegitimacy, I could barely tolerate the sight of him. I spoke to him only when necessary, out of obligation, not respect.
This man didn’t deserve the title father.
I pressed my lips together and added evenly, “If there’s nothing else, I’m going upstairs now.”
I turned to leave.
“Stop right there!” Brandon barked.
I halted mid-step and looked back at him, silent and unreadable.
“Apologize to Apple,” he demanded.
A cold, humorless smile curved my lips. “What?”
“You heard me,” he snapped.
Before I could answer, Apple slipped seamlessly into motion.
“Dad, it’s my fault,” she said, touching his arm.
“I shouldn’t have grabbed Ashley’s wrist. Especially knowing how much she hates that.
” She glanced at me, then back at him, eyes shining.
“Please don’t get upset. You’ve been under so much stress at work lately.
This really isn’t worth affecting your health. ”
He exhaled sharply, still glaring at me. “Even so, Ashley shouldn’t have said something like that.”
Of course.
So fast, so effortlessly, he slid right back into the role he always played.
Defender of the golden child.
If only he knew the truth, the only thing golden about her was the reflection of her glowing, satanic eyes.
I let out a quiet laugh.
Not amused. Just… tired.
“There’s no chance I’m apologizing,” I said. “Not when you didn’t even bother asking whether I was hurt.”
His brow furrowed.
“You jumped to her defense immediately,” I continued. “Didn’t question anything. Didn’t ask why she grabbed me. You’re just like Mom, quick to accuse, slow to listen. And when you realize you’re wrong, you smooth it over with a few words and some money, like that erases everything.”
I rolled my sleeve up deliberately and cradled my wrist, lowering my gaze like someone trying not to cry.
The marks, red and raised, stood out starkly against my skin.
“Apple just admitted she was wrong,” I added quietly. “Yet you’re yelling at me.”
Apple’s sweet smile snapped off her face the moment she saw them. She hadn’t realized how hard she’d dug her nails into me.
Brandon saw it too.
His gaze darkened as he stepped closer. He took my wrist in his hand, turning it slowly, inspecting the marks with growing tension.
I let my voice soften.
“I didn’t mean to be harsh,” I said quietly. “It just… hurt.”
The shift was immediate.
“Apple,” Brandon snapped, fury sharp in his voice. “How dare you put your hands on your sister like that? Apologize. Now.”
The irony almost made me smile.
Apple swallowed, jaw tight, pride bleeding through the apology forced from her lips.
“I’m sorry, Ashley.”
I felt nothing.
No relief. No validation. No warmth.
One moment of concern couldn’t erase years of neglect. His sudden protectiveness meant nothing.
Less than nothing.
Still—
Watching her choke on her own scheme?
That part was satisfying.