Chapter 51
ALEX
I shouldn’t have texted Kai that I’d see him in school tomorrow.
I really had meant it at the time. I’d sat there staring at my phone, trying to convince myself that I could just… pretend everything was normal.
Pretend I wasn’t hurting.
Pretend I could walk into school without anyone noticing anything.
But I hadn’t expected him to text back. Or call. Or worry.
Connor was the reason I couldn’t go to school.
He was the reason I’d been stuck here all week.
He’d bruised my face - not badly enough to break anything, but enough that anyone with eyes would’ve asked questions.
And questions were the one thing he couldn’t risk.
So he’d called the school every morning, putting on that fake polite voice he used with adults, telling them I was sick.
I hated being at home.
Hated the walls. Hated the silence. Hated the way every sound made me flinch.
Even though it had been a week, I was still struggling to walk far. My ribs were still purple, a deep, ugly colour that spread like spilt ink, and my eye was still slightly swollen, the skin tender when I touched it.
I didn’t want Kai to see me like this.
I didn’t want anyone to.
And when he called - when I heard his voice, soft and worried and so painfully kind - something inside me twisted. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear him say my name again. I wanted to tell him everything.
But I couldn’t.
Connor’s voice was still in my head.
Don’t go telling our business.
You keep your mouth shut. You hear me?
So I pushed Kai away. Again.
I told him to stop calling. Stop texting. Stop caring.
And the second I hung up, I hated myself for it.
But what else was I supposed to do?
If he saw me like this… If he asked questions… If he got involved…
Connor wouldn’t just hurt me.
And that was the part that scared me the most.
When I’d finally been able to stand again without my legs giving way, I cleaned up the shattered Xbox from my bedroom floor.
It was exactly how he’d left it - pieces scattered like someone had dropped a plate.
The remnants of Kai’s jumper were still charred in the bottom of my bin, the smell long gone, but the memory sharp enough to make my stomach turn.
From Monday to Wednesday, I couldn’t do anything but lie in bed.
Usually, I’d play COD, lose myself in it for hours, but Connor had taken that from me, too.
I was so bored I felt like I was going mad.
So tired of this house. Tired of this hell.
And now, thanks to Alfie, I didn’t even have a job to escape to.
I was sinking, struggling to stay afloat.
I hated admitting it - even to myself - but Kai had been on my mind constantly. Every time I closed my eyes. Every time my phone buzzed. Every time I stared at the ceiling and wished I were anywhere else.
I wasn’t used to having straight friends who actually cared about me.
I wasn’t used to having straight friends at all.
Which was another reason I had to push him away.
He was getting too close.
Making me trust him.
Making me feel things I shouldn’t feel. Things I couldn’t afford to feel.
But he didn’t know what he was doing.
He was straight.
He didn’t think about me like that.
He had plenty of guy friends.
He was just trying to be my friend.
But that was dangerous.
Because I knew now that I wanted more.
And eventually, I’d do something he wouldn’t like.
Eventually, he’d pull away.
Eventually, our friendship would end.
So it was better to cut my losses now.
Before, it took more than just the anchor.
Before it took pieces of me I couldn’t get back.
“Why are you ignoring Kai Fields again?” Rach’s voice hummed through the phone, casual but edged with that knowing tone she always used when she was about to corner me.
“It’s better this way,” I breathed, a sigh slipping out before I could stop it.
“Well, he seemed pretty worried asking about you today.” She said it lightly, but the words hit me like a shove, and I sat up straighter without meaning to, my ribs protesting every movement, wincing as I leaned back against the wall.
“He asked about me?” I questioned, disbelief thick on my tongue as I shifted the phone to my other ear.
“Yes,” she stated, and I could practically picture her frowning through the line. “You should really call the boy; he looked really worried.”
“I can’t.” It came out too fast, too final, and I rubbed my forehead like that might soften it.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” she said dryly, her voice crackling faintly through the speaker, “you don’t exactly have a roster of friends to choose from, Alex. I don’t think you can afford to be picky.”
I ignored the jab, staring at the floor. “It wouldn’t end well.” My fingers tapped restlessly against my knee.
“I know you think that,” she said, her tone gentling, “but I’ve noticed a change in you.”
I swallowed, throat tight. “What change?” I asked, shifting in my seat like the question itself made me uncomfortable.
“Since you’ve been friends with him,” she said, “you’ve been happier.”
I closed my eyes, leaning back against the wall as the words settled heavier than I wanted them to.
Happier.
Yeah.
I had been.
Even with everything going on at home, even with the bruises, even with the fear - Kai had made things feel lighter. Like the world wasn’t always closing in. Like I wasn’t completely alone in it.
But that was exactly the problem.
Because I wasn’t supposed to feel that way about him.
Because he didn’t feel that way about me.
Because he was straight.
Because he didn’t know what he was doing to me.
And because wanting him - wanting more - would ruin everything.
“Rach,” I whispered quietly, pressing the phone tighter to my ear, “you don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think,” she said. “You push people away before they get the chance to leave. That’s what you’re doing.”
I didn’t answer. My throat locked up, and I stared at the ceiling like that might steady me.
Because she was right. And because hearing it out loud hurt more than I expected.
“Alex,” she said gently, her voice soft through the speaker, “he cares about you. That’s not nothing.”
I pressed my thumb into the edge of my duvet, grounding myself in the fabric. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she insisted.
But I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it, my fingers curling tighter in the blanket.
“It’s safer this way,” I whispered.
For him.
For me.
For whatever fragile thing we’d built that was definitely going to break.
Rach sighed on the other end - long, frustrated, tired.
“You’re going to lose him if you keep doing this.”
“I know,” I said, the words barely a breath.
I was planning on it.