Chapter 7

"A little too arrogant for my taste,"he says, tilting his head toward me."My patience is short-lived. You'd better keep that forked tongue in check."

"Guess what,"he says, eyeing me."Nobody gives a damn what you like,"I whisper, glaring at him.

A nervous laugh escapes her plump lips, then she stands up, almost knocking over her chair, and says:"It will be difficult living with her under the same roof, Celeste, but as long as she keeps a safe distance from me, perhaps your dream of a perfect family won't be shattered so soon."

Celeste puts her head in her hands and murmurs, looking at Ethan:"Do something."

"Be less boastful."I stand up to confront him as well."You don't even know me! Anyway, I don't want to be too close to you. I don't particularly like cavemen like you."

"I don't even want to meet you,"he replies sharply, then gives Ethan a knowing look."You know what you've to do,"he says, nodding at me, and Ethan shakes his head dejectedly.

Damian takes a slice of toast and two strips of crispy bacon and leaves.

Celeste's son is eating breakfast in silence, his eyes glued to me. What on earth is he looking at? Did I grow another head without even knowing it?

I squeeze the napkin between my fingers until it wrinkles, then I throw it on the table and leave.

"Elara Marlowe!"Dad shouts behind me, but I ignore him and keep walking. I pass the gym and stop suddenly.

Damian has taken off his shirt and put on gloves.

I instinctively complain: - So you're the idiot the paper on the wall is referring to -.

He turns toward me as if he wants to tear me to pieces, then begins to advance with slow, purposeful steps. It feels natural to look at the brute's tense muscles in front of me, even though right now I'd like to get rid of them, even if it means looking away.

"Go to hell—he slams the door in my face, making me jump."

Anger rises inside me, but I'm not going to go in there and smash his face in, or at least try to, so I go to my room and bang on the door with all my strength.

Who the hell does he think he's to talk to me like that?!

Someone's calling. - It's Ethan—my almost half-brother says, and I roll my eyes.

I open the door and say: - If you came to apologize on behalf of that idiot, you should know that-

"I want you to stay away from him, from me, or possibly from all of us. Stay locked up here, which you like so much, or gossip with your friends and tell them how much you hate this family, watch tearjerker movies, or whatever you want, but don't torment us with your hot-tempered, whore-like temper."

"I hate it when people tell me what I should or shouldn't do. I really think I'll enjoy sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, since it bothers you so much,"I reply with a sadistic smile.

"Try it, and I promise we'll send you back to the garbage dump you came from. We accepted the presence of two parasites in this house without much objection. Don't make me change my mind,"he threatens with a smile, then turns his back on me.

Is that what they think of Dad and me? That we're two parasites?

I swallow and with trembling hands I close the door and let myself slide to the floor, tired and with tears in my eyes.

God, I'm so tired of pretending to be insensitive and tough in front of others and then crying in private.

Now more than ever I'll have to look for a job. I don't even know who Damian is. He called Celeste by her first name, so I doubt he's her son. So isn't he a parasite like me too?

"Damn bastards,"I muttered.

It's been four days since I last saw her eyes. Four days since I retreated to my room and cried until my eyes felt heavy and about to burst.

There are several rules to follow when breaking up, and one of them is: stop actively taking an interest in the life of the person who broke your heart.

Unfortunately, I failed miserably at pretending she doesn't exist anymore and checked her Instagram stories. I've discovered she's doing quite well even without me, with friends, evenings out, and new company.

And I feel like a mess right now.

I'd have stayed in Asheville just for him. I didn't live in the city at all, but near the clearing. Not the kind of place to hang out with friends, obviously. It would have been perfect for filming a scene in a horror movie.

However, we always went beyond the light of the streetlights that split the trees at night, and we got lost among the shadows that enveloped us and the wind that whispered among the branches.

With each twig that crunched under our feet, our hands gripped tighter. A laugh and a kiss in the moonlight, and then a secret dip in the river.

We both made it clear that after high school we would move away from that place, but that we would do everything we could to stay in touch. I had even applied to the university closest to hers.

I never felt worthy and always thought he was too good for me.

I got lost in my family problems and the hatred I felt for my father and the world, but he always managed to rise above the family dramas and stay on the straight path of his dreams. He got into Berkeley and I into CSUS, but I'm not as happy as I used to be. Knowing that in a few months I'll be less than two hours away from him no longer makes my heart race. I just feel a void in the pit of my stomach.

I know for a fact he'll become a completely different person, even though he promised me time and time again that college would never change him. But who are you kidding? What he posts on his stories says the exact opposite.

A photograph shows him with a beer bottle in one hand and his arm resting on the shoulders of a blonde girl.

The one who kept repeating -I hate to drink- and -I never smoke-.

That's it for the"you're the most important thing I've"part.

That's all for now -you're the only thing that makes me feel good-.

I turn off my phone screen and stifle a scream into my pillow.

He left me like I was worthless. Like all his existential crises, his arguments with his parents, and his constant"I'm disappearing, but know that I'll come back to you"meant nothing to him. I was there when he needed me. I've always been there for him, damn it.

I wipe away my tears and get out of bed. I look at myself in the oval mirror hanging on the wall and grimace. My eyes are circled with two purple smudges, and there are marks from the sheets on my arms. My black hair is disheveled, as if I haven't brushed it in days.

I take a change of clean clothes from the closet and go to the shower.

I'm not going to wear all those clothes Celeste bought me. They don't even reflect my taste. All those white dresses, crop tops, long and elegant tops, high-heeled sandals. God, no.

This is me: two thin legs in a pair of over-the-knee athletic leggings, a plain black t-shirt with not even a hint of cleavage, and my Vans.

I've heard that exercise helps calm anger. Well, I've never been to a gym in my life. My only physical activity consists of long walks and a little stretching in the morning, that's it.

But now I've a gym downstairs, where I won't smell other people's sweat and where no man will look at my ass like a pervert.

I gather my hair into a tight bun on top of my head and then go downstairs, more determined than ever.

After all, who the hell trains at six in the morning if not me?