Chapter Six : The Hours After

I left his place feeling… lighter.

That alone should’ve scared me.

The sun was already up when I stepped outside, the morning air cool against my skin. I checked my phone—9:00 a.m. My first class wasn’t until noon. I still had time. Time to breathe. Time to think. Time to pretend the last twelve hours hadn’t completely rerouted my life.

Keathan’s driver waited by the car, door already open.

“I’ll have him take you home,” Keathan said casually from the doorway, arms crossed like this was already decided.

I shook my head immediately. “No. I’ll take a cab.”

His eyebrow lifted. “You’re still dizzy.”

“I know,” I said, firm despite the faint swirl in my head. “That’s exactly why I don’t want… this.” I gestured vaguely between us. Between his world and mine.

He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

I didn’t look back.

The cab ride home took about thirty minutes. Long enough for the alcohol haze to fully settle into a dull ache behind my eyes. Long enough for my thoughts to spiral—about his voice, his rules, the deal we’d just made.

Lessons.

The word alone sent a strange thrill through me.

When I finally reached our place, I paid the driver and stepped inside quietly.

The smell hit me instantly.

Smoke.

I followed it down the hall and found Asher sprawled on the couch, hoodie half on, headset on, eyes glued to some game, a joint burning lazily between his fingers.

Something in me snapped.

“Asher.” My voice was sharp.

He barely glanced at me. “Morning—”

I crossed the room in three strides and yanked the joint straight out of his hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped.

He shot up, pulling his headset off. “Yo! What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” I shot back. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“It’s just pot,” he muttered, reaching for it.

I moved it out of his reach. “You’re in the middle of the damn living room. In the morning. You have class.”

“So?” he shrugged. “It helps me chill.”

“No,” I said coldly. “It helps you avoid dealing with your life.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “So?”

I rubbed my temples, the headache flaring again. “Asher… do you need therapy or something? Because you haven’t been the same since—”

He stiffened instantly.

“Don’t,” he snapped.

I stopped short, already knowing what I’d been about to say. Since Mom and Dad died. The words hovered between us like a loaded weapon.

“You don’t get to lecture me,” he continued, standing fully now, anger flashing across his face. “Not you.”

My brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He laughed, sharp and humorless, and took a step closer. “You reek of alcohol, Lenon. You walk in here at nine in the morning smelling ohol, Lenon. You walk in here at nine in the morning smelling like last night, and suddenly you’re the responsible one?”

“That’s different,” I shot back, though my voice wavered.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “Different how?”

“Because it was my birthday, Asher!” I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “It was one night. One stupid night.”

He blinked.

Just once.

And that was all it took for the shift to happen.

“My birthday,” I repeated, quieter now. “Yesterday.”

Silence fell between us, thick and uncomfortable.

For a second, his face went blank—then something flickered behind his eyes. Realization. Guilt. It hit him hard, I could tell. His jaw tightened, and he looked away almost immediately, like if he didn’t meet my gaze, he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Oh,” he muttered.

That was it.

No apology. No explanation.

And maybe that hurt more than if he’d said nothing at all.

I swallowed, my chest tightening. “You forgot,” I said softly. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.

He dragged a hand through his hair, irritation flashing over his face as he tried to cover it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, Lenon.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “And I can’t even blame you. I forgot too, okay? If it wasn’t for Nevian and Stephanie, I wouldn’t have remembered at all.”

That was true. And somehow, that made it sting less—and more—at the same time.

Still… it hurt. He was my brother. The one person who was supposed to remember, even when everything else fell apart.

He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable, then turned away. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Happy birthday. Late.”

It sounded forced. Defensive.

He grabbed his hoodie, shoved his phone into his pocket, and headed for the door.

“I’m going out.”

“Where?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, then let out a slow breath.

I sighed, rubbing my temples again.

Some days, it felt like we were both just pretending we knew how to survive this.

And some days… pretending was all we had.

I retreated into my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a second longer than necessary.

The silence felt heavy—but quieter than the living room had been.

I stripped out of my clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. Steam filled the bathroom almost instantly, curling around me as I tilted my head back and let the water pound against my scalp.

I stayed there longer than I meant to.

Thirty minutes, maybe more.

I scrubbed like I was trying to erase the night—alcohol, smoke, the faint trace of someone else’s world clinging to my skin. My head still throbbed, a dull ache settling behind my eyes, but the heat helped loosen the tight knot in my shoulders.

When I finally stepped out, the clock on my phone read 10:00 a.m.

I dried off slowly, wrapped myself in a towel, then crossed the room to my wardrobe. Comfort first. Always.

I pulled on a tight, long-sleeve body-hugging top, soft but fitted, and a pair of joggers. Sneakers followed. Practical. Grounded. Something that made me feel like myself again. I tugged a cap over my head, then hesitated—before slipping it off and letting my jet-black hair fall freely instead.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused.

I added just a touch of makeup—nothing heavy. Something subtle that worked with my pale skin. A little concealer. Mascara. Lip balm. Enough to look awake. Enough to feel human.

I sprayed my perfume lightly and inhaled, grounding myself in a scent that belonged to me.

My phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

Two notifications, back to back.

Stephanie

Are you okay??? We didn’t see you after—

Nevian

Lenon, please tell me you’re safe. Call me.

I stared at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Not yet.

I just wanted to finish getting myself together first. Answering them would open everything back up—and I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed into the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave read 10:37 a.m.

I made something small—toast and eggs, nothing fancy. The smell filled the space, warm and familiar. I leaned against the counter while the pan heated, exhaling slowly.

My head still ached. Not enough to stop me, but enough to remind me I’d pushed myself too far.

As I plated the food, I thought about everything I wasn’t saying. Everything I hadn’t answered yet.

Keathan.

The deal.

Asher.

Nevian and Stephanie waiting on the other side of my silence.

I took a bite, chewing slowly.

One step at a time, I told myself.

Just… one step at a time.

Soon enough, my plate was empty.

I rinsed it in the sink, set it in the rack, and wiped my hands on a towel before heading back to my room. My body felt steadier now—still tired, still aching faintly—but grounded enough to move on with the day.

I grabbed my bag from the chair and started packing it without thinking too hard about it. My notebook went in first, then the book I’d been meaning to finish for class. I tucked my headset into the side pocket, slipped in my lip gloss, and hesitated for a second before adding a small travel-size perfume spray—just in case. I tossed in a few other girly essentials, zipped it up, and slung it over my shoulder.

I checked the time.

11:00 a.m.

I had an hour until class, but the ride to campus took at least thirty minutes—longer if traffic decided to be cruel. And it usually did.

Better early than late.

I grabbed my keys, took one last glance around my room, then headed out, locking the door behind me. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. Asher still wasn’t back.

I pushed the thought aside.

Outside, the air was warmer now, the day fully awake. I waved down a cab and slid into the back seat, giving the driver my campus address before leaning my head lightly against the window.

The ride took longer than usual.

Traffic clogged the main road, cars inching forward while my head rested against the window, eyes half-lidded as the city blurred past. By the time the cab finally pulled up near campus, forty minutes had slipped by.

I checked the time as I paid the driver.

Still twenty minutes before class.

Enough.

I stepped out, slinging my bag higher on my shoulder as the familiar noise of campus washed over me—voices overlapping, laughter, footsteps, music bleeding from someone’s speaker. Students moved in clusters, everywhere at once, like the world had decided today was the day to be especially loud.

I grimaced.

God, I hated crowds.

Too many people. Too much noise. Too many eyes. It was overwhelming in a way I never quite knew how to explain. Maybe that was why I only ever kept my circle small. Two friends. That was enough. More than enough, honestly.

I walked faster, weaving through bodies, keeping my gaze down as I headed toward the building. The closer I got, the calmer my breathing became. Familiar halls. Familiar steps. Somewhere quiet to sit and work.

I found a seat near the back, dropped my bag beside me, and pulled out my notebook. I flipped it open, trying to focus, trying to let routine ground me the way it usually did.

Pen in hand. Breathe in. Breathe out.

That was when—

“LENON!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.