Kai
The bass rattles through the floor, the living room packed wall to wall with bodies, laughter, smoke curling into the ceiling. I stand at the edge, drink in hand, pretending to be present, pretending to give a fuck.
Then the front door slams open.
And there she is.
Scarlett.
Her hair tangled, her mascara streaked, tears crawling down her face in rivers she can’t hide. She shoves past people without seeing them, her whole body shaking, until she disappears up the stairs.
The sight punches the air right out of me. My chest caves, rage and panic clawing at my ribs.
‘Yo, man.’ Jax’s voice cuts through, pulling me back. My best friend claps a hand on my shoulder, grinning drunk, oblivious. ‘What the hell was that? She looks wrecked.’
I don’t answer. My eyes are still locked on the staircase, the ghost of her wet face burned into me.
Jax laughs under his breath, shaking his head. ‘Damn, Kai. I didn’t know your sister could party that hard. Guess she can’t handle her liquor, huh?’
My jaw tightens so hard it aches. Sister. The word makes me sick. She didn’t look drunk. She looked broken.
‘Hey.’ Jax nudges me, searching my face. ‘Seriously, what’s up with her?’
I force a shrug, the lie scraping my throat. ‘Don’t know.’
But I do.
I know enough, and seeing her like that—eyes wet, shoulders trembling, lips pressed tight like she’s holding in a scream—breaks something in me I can’t put back together.
Jax takes a long swig from his beer, eyes flicking towards the stairs where Scarlett disappeared. ‘She’s hot when she cries, though.’ He smirks, elbowing me like it’s a joke. ‘Bet half the guys here wouldn’t mind—’
The red hits me before the words even finish. My fist curls so tight around the neck of my bottle it creaks.
‘Don’t,’ I grind out, low and sharp.
Jax blinks, caught off guard. ‘Relax, man. Just saying. She’s not a little kid anymore—’
I turn my eyes on him so hard he finally shuts his mouth. ‘Drop it.’
The smirk fades. He studies me for a beat, confusion flickering. ‘Jesus, Kai. Fine. You’re wound tight tonight.’
I force a laugh that tastes like blood, tip the bottle back to my lips, and swallow hard enough to choke. ‘Yeah. Guess so.’
He claps my back, already turning towards the music, pulling some other guy into conversation, forgetting me in seconds.
But I can’t forget.
I can still see her face — wet and broken, burned behind my eyes. The way her body shook, the way she shoved past everyone like she was running from fire.
Jax is still talking, the music still pounding, the party still raging, but I don’t hear a damn thing.
All I hear is the crack of her bedroom door upstairs.
All I feel is the pull in my chest, dragging me to her whether or not I want it.
I plant myself in the corner, bottle in hand, and try to pretend. Pretend I’m listening to Jax’s bullshit. Pretend I care about the music, the smoke, the girls laughing too loud across the room.
But my head’s upstairs.
Every time I blink, I see Scarlett’s face — streaked with tears, eyes red, shoulders trembling as if the weight of the world were crushing her. And I wasn’t there. I didn’t stop it.
The bottle creaks under my grip. My knuckles ache, white against the glass.
Someone bumps into me, giggling, their perfume sweet and suffocating. I mutter something sharp enough to send them spinning away. Jax glances over, smirking like he thinks I’m brooding over nothing.
If he knew what I was really thinking, he’d never look at me the same. Because all I can picture is whose hands made her cry like that. Who touched her. Who thought they could even look at her like she was theirs.
Heat floods my chest, rage boiling higher until I feel like I could snap every neck in this room just for existing near her.
I drag in a breath, force it out slowly, but it doesn’t help. The anger doesn’t settle. It only festers, crawling under my skin, coiling tight around my ribs.
Every laugh, every cheer, every thump of the bass feels like nails in my skull.
All I want to do is storm upstairs, rip her door open, and see her. Make sure she’s safe. Make sure she’s mine.
I don’t move. Not yet.
I stew, burning alive from the inside, rage licking through me with every second she’s out of my sight.
I know when I finally go up there — I won’t come back down the same.
The laughter grates, the bass thunders, the smoke suffocates. I can’t take another second of it.
I grab a half-full bottle from the counter, the glass slick in my fist, and push through the crowd. Someone calls my name, Jax shouts something behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
Each step up the stairs is heavier than the last, the bottle clutched like a weapon, rage hot enough to burn through the floorboards. All I can see is her face wet with tears. All I can hear is the crack in her voice when she whispered my name in the car.
I shove her door open without knocking, ready to tear the world apart—then freeze.
She’s on the floor.
Scarlett, curled tight against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, face buried, her whole body shaking. The smeared makeup, bunched sweatshirt, and trembling bare legs that peek out beneath the fabric hit me like a blow.
The bottle slips from my hand, thudding onto the carpet. My chest caves, the fury collapsing into something far worse.
‘Scar…’ My voice breaks, raw and low.
She doesn’t lift her head. Doesn’t even flinch. Just shudders like she’s already gone somewhere too far away for me to reach, and it fucking destroys me.
I cross the room in two steps, sink to my knees beside her, and gather her up. She’s weightless, limp, damp with sweat and tears, and when her head drops against my shoulder, I swear something inside me cracks clean in half.
I kick the door shut behind us, shutting out the pounding music, the voices, the world. The room falls silent but for her broken breaths.
Carrying her to the bed, I lay her down gently, brushing the hair from her damp cheeks with hands that won’t stop shaking.
My chest aches, my throat burns, my vision blurs, because for all the things I’ve called her—sin, obsession, temptation—right now she just looks fragile, and I don’t know how the hell to protect her from me.
Her sobs don’t stop when I lay her down. They rip through her, raw and jagged, shaking her body until it feels like she might splinter apart in my hands.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, pulling her into me again, my hand cradling the back of her head, rocking her without even thinking. My chest feels like it’s caving in, every sound she makes cutting me deeper than any blade could.
‘Scar,’ I whisper, my voice rough, low, almost pleading. ‘Tell me what happened. Please.’
She shakes her head hard against my chest, tears soaking through my shirt, her fingers fisting in the fabric like she’s trying to hang on.
I tilt her chin up with trembling hands, wiping at her wet cheeks with my thumbs, pushing the hair from her face. ‘Hey… look at me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ll fix it. I swear I’ll fix it.’
Her red eyes flick to mine, shining, hollow. Her lip trembles as she chokes the words out. ‘Stop.’
My stomach twists. ‘Stop what?’
Her hands shove weakly at me, her voice breaking. ‘Stop being nice to me. I don’t deserve it.’
The words gut me. I smooth my palm down her hair, stroke it back as gently as I can, even as my throat burns. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.’
She squeezes her eyes shut, sobbing harder, but I can’t let go. I keep holding her, keep wiping her tears, keep whispering her name like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.
Maybe she thinks she doesn’t deserve kindness.
But I know she doesn’t deserve to break like this.
Her sobs soften for a moment, but her body still shakes in my arms, fragile as glass. I keep stroking her hair, brushing the damp strands back from her face, pressing soft shushes into the crown of her head like I can soothe the storm tearing her apart.
Then she whispers it.
‘You were right.’
My chest tightens. ‘About what?’
Her breath hitches, her voice so small I almost don’t catch it. ‘I shouldn’t wear what I wear. I shouldn’t… act how I act. I brought it on myself.’
My stomach knots so hard it makes me dizzy.
‘No,’ I rasp, cupping her face, forcing her wet eyes up to mine. ‘Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever fucking say that.’
She tries to turn away, but I hold her steady, thumbs brushing the streaks of tears down her cheeks.
‘You don’t understand,’ she chokes. ‘It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.’
Rage floods hot in my chest, but it’s not for her. It’s for whoever made her believe this, whoever put those words in her mouth.
I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking. ‘Fuck, Scar… did someone touch you?’
Her body stiffens, her eyelashes fluttering shut. Silence.
Her breath comes faster, uneven, but she doesn’t answer. Doesn’t deny it either.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to shake the truth out of her, to storm out and put my fist through someone’s skull. My hand trembles as I stroke her hair again, gentler now, kissing her temple without thinking.
‘You can tell me,’ I whisper, almost begging. ‘Please. Tell me who.’
But she just buries her face deeper into my chest, her silence louder than any scream.
And it’s killing me.
Her silence cuts deeper than any truth ever could. But I don’t push. I don’t rage. I just hold her tighter, my hand smoothing down her hair, my thumb brushing over her damp cheek like I can wipe the night away if I just keep going.
Her breathing slows, but every tremor in her body still bleeds into mine. I press my lips to her temple, soft, careful, trying to give her something steady when I feel like I’m shattering in my own skin.
Minutes stretch. The party thunders beneath us, muffled through the floor, but in here it’s only us. Her and me. The only thing I can hear is her ragged breaths; the only thing I can feel is the fragile weight of her curled against me.