11. Alex

Chapter eleven

Alex

E ver since Daphne’s birthday dinner, we’re having sex every chance we get. Which, in my humble opinion, still isn’t nearly enough. Most notably because Celeste and I are still fake dating. Therefore, Daphne and I are holed up in her suite while her roommates are in classes.

I watch Daphne scribble in her notebook, her brows knitted in concentration. The silence of the room is comfortable, just the sound of pen on paper and the occasional turn of a page. She looks up, hazel eyes meeting mine, an apology forming on her lips.

“Sorry this is taking so long,” she says.

“No worries,” I reply, leaning back on her bed. The walls here are bare, unlike my place crammed with posters and random stuff my roommates put up. Her room smells like calming lavender.

I can’t have her over at my suite. Not today. The guys are home, and there’s no telling what they might say or do. Here, it’s just us.

Safe.

Am I a coward? Yes, but I’m too afraid to lose her .

Anxiety gnaws at me, a familiar beast that’s always lurking. The thought of losing Daphne tightens my chest.

Need to keep it together.

But it’s tough when I’m isolated with my own thoughts. They’re my deadliest weapon.

Naturally, I think how high school feels like a whole other world from the one I’m experiencing now. When Celeste came into my world, I suddenly became somebody. People who never looked my way started showing up just because I was with the hot girl. It was crazy. With her, the stuttering faded a bit and the nerves calmed down. I worked hard on that, on not tripping over every word. What terrifies me is reverting back to my old self and showing Daph that I’m still a dweeb. What if she runs? She likes who I am now, so I will myself as I’m expected.

“Done,” Daphne announces, closing her books with a finality that pulls me back to the present.

“Great.” I manage a smile, but inside, everything’s still churning.

She stacks her textbooks with a soft thud, one on top of the other. I watch her hands, how they linger for a moment on the book covers, before she turns in her chair. Her fingers brush past a pile of envelopes, hesitating over a specific one.

“Hey,” I say, nodding towards the letters. “What are those? ”

She glances at me, then back at the stack. Then she picks up the envelope on top—cream-colored, addressed to her in neat script. Lynn. The name means nothing to me, but the way she holds it says more than she probably intends. Is it from family?

“Nothing. I’ve got it.” Her voice is forced, overly casual in a way that makes me uneasy. She shuffles the letters, hiding Lynn’s beneath a bill or some advertisement.

I raise a brow but let it go. I don’t know the specifics of what happened with her mom or dad, but I do know that she’s had a complicated upbringing. If she wants to tell me, she will. When she’s ready.

Still, there’s something about that letter that feels off. Even to me. I can’t shake the feeling.

“All right, if you say so,” I respond, keeping my tone light.

She smiles at me, but her gaze doesn’t quite meet mine. There’s a wall there now, one that wasn’t there a second ago. In an effort to appear nonchalant, I stare out the window where the sky is turning shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.

“Eden will not be back until late,” Daphne murmurs, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved into the wood of her harp on the floor next to her. “Victoria and Celeste have that extended class, remember? ”

Eden’s cello bow won’t scrape against strings until nightfall, Victoria’s haughty laughter won’t pierce these walls for hours, and Celeste’s high heels won’t click across the floorboards. Score!

I nod, the restless energy inside me clawing its way to the surface. I glance at the harp, then to Daphne, my thoughts darkening with desire. “Play for me,” I say, the rasp in my voice betraying my hunger. I’ve always loved her music, but in addition to a musical appetite, I’m hungry for something else. “Naked.”

A spark of mischief ignites between us. “Only if you cook me dinner afterwards. And”—she pauses, biting her lip in a way that drives me insane—“you let me suck you off while you play video games.”

Right away, images conjure in my mind of her kneeling at my feet. I’ll brace my foot on the coffee table for resistance as I sprawl out on the sofa, controller in hand.

I’ll play the game while she plays my cock.

Despite the sensual scenario, I still can’t help but laugh—a deep a genuine sound that bursts from my chest. It’s so like Daphne to request such a thing, and completely not something I’m used to. “Deal,” I finally answer with a wide smile.

It’s funny, because that’s the second time she’s asked me to cook her food. No one asks me to cook and play games. Celeste’s idea of a good time is going to a five-star restaurant and doting on her. If I played video games, I’d probably get the controller wacked on the back of my head.

With the grace of the melodies she coaxes from her strings, Daphne rises and undresses. Her clothes fall away, revealing skin I’ve dreamt of touching more times than I can count. She is all sharp jaw and soft curves, and when she sits before her harp again, she is the most beautiful instrument in the room.

The music starts—a haunting melody that wraps around me, through me, as if her bare fingers don’t just pluck strings but also tug at my very soul. I move behind her, unable to resist the siren call of her body. My lips find her nape, brushing against her warm skin as softly as a shadow.

“Alex,” she breathes out. The sound of my name on her lips is sweeter than any note ever played. With her, I can breathe through the fog and the dirt sprinkling through the air, clogging up my lungs.

“Keep going,” I murmur. She can’t expect me to not touch her, especially not when she’s so exposed, both lyrically and physically.

My hands roam over her, desperate need growing more insistent with every chord she plays. The room fills with the sounds of our symphony, one composed of flesh and desire, an opus only we will ever know .

Her moans harmonize with the lingering notes of the harp. “Alex,” she pants, the music faltering as her fingers still against the strings. “I need more.”

Longing urge surge through me, and I obey, eager to taste the sweetness that lies between her thighs. Daphne’s back arches, a silent invitation that speaks louder than any plea. I smile against her skin, my breath hot upon her most intimate flesh.

“Please,” she whispers, a single word that is both a command and a benediction. The clever minx then gently moves her harp to the side, knowing I can’t say no to her.

I explore her with my tongue, savoring the way she shudders under my touch. There’s nothing but the slick warmth of her and the heat building inside me, demanding release. She’s an instrument of pure pleasure, and I’m determined to play her to the fullest.

“Alex.” She gasps while her fingers tangle in my hair, urging me on. The room spins around us, a vortex of desire that pulls me deeper into the abyss. Her body sings beneath my lips, a symphony of sighs and whimpers that drives me to the brink of my undoing.

The moment crashes over her, and her cry fills the air—a raw sound of ecstasy that carves itself into my memory. It’s the sound of her unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and I’m the thread pulling it all loose .

As her tremors fade, I lift her, my Daphne , in my arms, bridal style. The weight of her trust is heavier than her body, and I carry it with a reverence reserved for sacred things. Depositing her gently onto the bed, I trail kisses across her flushed skin, worshipping at the altar of her breasts. Each lick, each nip, is a prayer spoken in the language of flesh.

“God, Alex,” she murmurs, her eyes heavy-lidded with passion. Her hands roam over my shoulders, down my back, branding me with her touch. I am lost in this moment, in the feel of her beneath me, the taste of her on my lips.

“Only for you,” I whisper against her skin, my voice raw with emotion. “Always for you.”

Hunger tears at me, primal and insatiable, as I gaze down at Daphne sprawled out like a feast before me. Her hazel eyes, dark with lust, lock onto mine, silently begging for the release only I can give. I position myself between her thighs.

“Move,” she breathes. Anything for her.

In one swift motion, I drive into her, burying myself to the hilt. The warmth of her welcomes me home. It’s a struggle to not come immediately. Daphne is a wet dream, bathing my cock in her tight channel. It makes me wish I’d only ever known her pussy. Fuck any other .

Once I get my balls under control, I slowly pull away, only to thrust back in. Fuuuck, it’s so good. “Tell me you love me, baby,” I say as I slam back into her. This may sound self-centered, I know, but I can’t control it. Because she hasn’t told me yet, and I’m coercing her to during sex.

“Alex, yes.” Her spine aches, brushing her nipples against my chest. Then, with no hesitation, she says, “I love you! I love you so fucking much.” Mouth gaping in complete ecstasy, she moves her hands to my ass and holds on. Every tender caress of her skin sends goosebumps down my body. I swear it’s like she can heal me with even the simplest of touches.

“Yeah, you do,” I say, mustering up an arrogant cockiness I don’t have. Truthfully, Daphne is an angel. I’ll pray to every god every fucking night if it means keeping her for a little longer.

My hips piston back and forth, each thrust a claim marked by her keening moans. The room fades away until there’s only us, two bodies moving in perfect, desperate harmony.

“Fuck,” I groan, feeling every inch of my cock engulfed by her. She clings to me, nails digging into the globes of my ass, urging me deeper, harder. I’m lost in the rhythm, spiraling towards oblivion.

“Alex!” she cries, her walls clenching around me, and that’s all it takes to send me over the edge. I spill into her with a guttural shout, each pulse of release painting her insides, branding her as mine.

We collapse into a tangle of limbs, panting and spent. The afterglow is brief but potent. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest, and I tighten my arms around her, unwilling to let go.

We hold each other for a minute until Daphne murmurs against my skin, “Food. You owe me dinner.”

“Shower first,” I reply, already mourning the loss of her warmth as she untangles from my arms. Then an idea strikes—a chance to prolong the intimacy longer. I scoop her up again, her surprise melting into laughter as I carry her to the bathroom.

Steam envelopes us like a cocoon as I grudgingly wash the evidence of our passion. Careful hands explore her, lingering between her legs with a gentleness that belies my earlier fervor. She leans into me, trusting and pliant, and I feel the weight of her history, her struggles, pressing against my soul.

“Let me check my work,” I murmur, lowering myself to taste her once more. Her response is immediate, her hips arching into my mouth as I lavish attention on her. The water cascades over us, but thankfully, her moans drown out everything else.

“Alex. Oh God, don’t stop.” Her plea is raw and real, and it stirs something deep within me. This isn’t just sex; it’s affirmation, connection, and healing. I worship her with my tongue until she shatters again, her climax washing over her in waves, leaving us both breathless and clinging to each other in the aftermath.

“Always for you,” I vow, even as the water grows cold. “Always.”

Several minutes later, I’m tugging on a plain white tee when Daphne emerges from the bathroom, her dark hair damp and curling at the ends. Her hazel eyes are bright, contrasting with the soft gray of my old sweatshirt that drapes over her like a dress. She looks cozy, unguarded, and for a moment, I can pretend we’re just a regular couple without secrets or scars.

“Ready for that dinner?” I ask, holding out my hand. Her fingers intertwine with mine as I lead her to the kitchen. It’s not a grand gesture—just a guy cooking for his girl—but with Daphne, every simple act feels significant.

She perches on a stool by the counter, watching me move. After turning on the stove so the frying pan heats, I collect ingredients from the fridge: fresh herbs and cream. The sizzle and pop of garlic hitting the pan fill the silence between us.

“Smells amazing,” she says, a note of genuine admiration in her voice.

“Wait until you taste it,” I reply, feeling a flicker of pride. Cooking has always been my secret passion, a way to create and control when so much of my life is dictated by the Whitmore legacy.

Plus, Daphne and I have something in common. Our respective grandmas motivated us to follow our dreams. Or, past dreams, in my case. A Whitmore doesn’t do such things. We only take.

When I was eight, Grandma guided me in the art of making of said sandwiches. It started off as a joke because Dad said poor people eat sandwiches with cheese. Therefore, he naturally refused to let our chef dabble in such “low class” meals.

So, Grandma cooked it for me and guided me in learning how to too. Add rosemary, and you’ve got an earthy, piney flavor. Caraway seeds add a bitter nutty taste. Even the type of cheese can change the classic. Blue cheese for boldness and salt, havarti for a creamy take, and provolone for a melty, stringy sandwich.

Once I mastered the basics of spices and simple dishes, I continued to practice and experiment until I eventually learned how to create more complex dishes, like French Confit De Canard. Simply put, Confit De Canard is a dish that uses an entire duck.

As I stir the sauce and boil the pasta, I uncork a bottle of red wine, pouring two glasses. We clink them together.

“Cheers,” we say in unison.

Dinner comes together quickly, plates of creamy pasta garnished with a sprinkle of parmesan and a few basil leaves from the windowsill. We sit opposite each other, knees touching under the table, and I’m struck by how normal this feels, how right .

“Alex,” Daphne starts, cutting through the rich flavors with her gentle voice. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Truthfully, she’s right. All this cooking reminds me of how much I used to love it. Missing it has led me to remember why I stopped.

I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. How do I explain the weight of a name? The pressure of expectations? My gaze drifts to the window where the city lights blur into the night.

“Being a Whitmore is like wearing a suit that’s tailored for someone else. You try to fit, but it’s never quite right.”

“Your dad?” she probes, a frown creasing her brow.

“Yeah.” I set down my fork, the metallic clang sharp in the quiet room. “Ever since I joined the football team, he’s been different. More approving. Strange, considering he and Mom run art and music empires.”

She reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. “I can’t imagine what that’s like, but I know you, Alex. You’re more than your last name.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be enough for him,” I confess, the words tumbling before I can stop them.

“Hey,” Daphne says softly, squeezing my hand. “You’re enough for me. ”

The vulnerability in her eyes mirrors my own, a shared understanding between two souls who’ve seen darkness but choose to seek the light together. I lean over the table, capturing her lips with mine. A promise without words. And in that kiss, I find the strength that only she can give me. To be Alexandru and not just a Whitmore.

I push back from the table, my stomach full and my heart even fuller. Daphne’s laughter still echoes in the room, a melody that resonates with something deep inside me. “You owe me a game,” she teases, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Ah, about that.” I chuckle, feigning disappointment. “I don’t have a gaming system anymore.”

During childhood, I would lock myself up in my room every Saturday, playing my favorite new releases, until Celeste and I started dating. Ever happy that I finally had a girlfriend—one my parents approved of, with that—my parents had no issue with Celeste spending time with me in my room, alone.

The first time Celeste saw my gaming consoles, she sneered, pointed, and said, “That’s gotta go.” And I, coming off from my suicide attempt, listened. After all, I’d failed myself, hadn’t I? If it wasn’t for Daphne, I wouldn’t even be alive right now. So, what did I know? Video games didn’t make me happy, but maybe girlfriends would.

“Is that so?” She arches an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. Rising from her chair, she saunters towards her bedroom. “Good thing I brought mine, then.”

Intrigued, I follow her, watching as she bends to retrieve a sleek Xbox from beneath her bed. The sight of her in my oversized shirt, which hangs just below the curve of her ass, sends a pulse of desire through me. She’s like a siren, her every move luring me closer to the rocks, and I’m all too eager to crash against them.

“Pick something,” she commands, tossing me a controller after setting up her digital oasis. Her hazel eyes are alight with challenge.

I scroll through the online store until a particular title catches my eye—an indie-made high-speed racing game. Its pulsating graphics prematurely fill me with adrenaline. “This one,” I say, pressing the purchase button.

The game loads, and I immerse myself in the roar of engines and the blur of the racetrack.

The controller vibrates in my hand as the engine of my virtual car roars to life, a pulse of power that barely competes with the one thrumming between my legs. I angle the joystick to the left, weaving around an opponent, while my other hand finds its way to the back of her head, tangling in the soft strands of her chin-length hair .

The girl who haunts my dreams and keeps me up at night, the one I’m always aching for even when she’s right here, kneels on the floor in front of me. I can feel her breath as she tugs down my sweats, exposing my hard cock to the cool air.

“Fuck, Daphne,” I groan as she wraps her warm, wet mouth around the head of my dick, teasing me before taking me in even deeper. I can’t stop my hips from bucking upwards, not even as I try to concentrate on the race. Her tongue flicks over my shaft, teasing the sensitive spot just below the head, and I let out a growl. “You’re gonna make me lose.”

“Come on, babe,” she says, her voice muffled by my cock. “You need to win this.” Her throat vibrates my shaft, sending pleasure through my veins like liquid fire.

I groan again, my fists clenching the controller as she takes me in even deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks harder.

The racecourse blurs in front of me as I close my eyes, focusing on the sensations pulsing through my body. Her mouth is hot, wet, and hungry, and I can feel her tongue dancing over every inch of my cock. My heart races, the adrenaline from the game mixing with the desire to spread my cum into her belly.

“Daphne,” I hiss, my voice a low growl as she massages my balls, her nails raking lightly over my sensitive skin. “You’re gonna make me come. ”

She slides her hand down, cupping my balls gently. I flicker between the TV screen and her. My jaw tightens as I struggle to keep focus on the game. It’s so difficult.

Daphne comes off my dick with a wet pop, only to send me a wink and lower her head again. The few seconds of relief helped me from exploding down her throat prematurely. Then, her tongue traces a path along my length, down to my heavy balls. Thigh muscles straining, I shift, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Daphne,” I mutter, almost in a growl. She observes the conflict in my eyes, the desire to pull her up and kiss her non-stop versus battling with my determination to see the last few minutes of the game.

“Keep going,” I urge, my voice barely more than a growl. My hips thrust involuntarily, seeking more of the exquisite friction she provides. In this moment, nothing else exists but us. The rush of the game, the taste of wine still lingering on our tongues, and the dark, angsty need that pulses, threatening to consume us both.

My naughty minx smiles with a mischievous curve of her sexy lips and returns to her task with renewed fervor. My body threatens to betraying me even as I attempt to hold back.

“Hell yes,” I pant, my fingers gripping the controller tight enough to turn my knuckles white. Every suck, every swirl of her tongue pushes me further towards the edge, and I fight to focus on the screen before me. “So good, baby. Fuck yeah.”

My breath hitches as Daphne’s fingers trace a path of fire along my thighs, her touch feather-light yet laden with desire. The game controller is slick in my palms, but it’s nothing compared to the slick heat of her mouth on me. Her hands alternate between firm grips on my hardness and playful caresses on my balls, each motion orchestrated to drive me closer to oblivion.

“Ah, Daph… Don’t stop.” I choke, the world narrowing down to her mouth, her hands, and the relentless pleasure she draws from me. I can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter within me, ready to spring.

Her moans mingle with my grunts, creating a symphony of lust that echoes off the walls of her room. The game’s roar of engines is a distant hum compared to the blood pounding in my ears. She’s relentless, her movements both tender and determined, her dedication to my pleasure evident in every swirl of her tongue, every suckle of her lips.

The racecars on the TV become a blur. My car zooms, and it feels like I’m drunk. All that matters is her and the way she worships me with her mouth, the way she draws me out and makes me feel wanted. Alive .

She moans in response, and I know she loves the power she has over me.

The game enters its last moments. I want to give her all my cum at the finish line. I can almost taste victory, my release, as my baby waits, poised like a predator ready to strike between my thighs.

The room seems to shrink around us, the air thick with the heat of our bodies. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the raw, unfiltered connection of flesh and need.

My car crosses the finish line. First place.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—" The warning tumbles from my lips as I feel the edge approaching, fast and inevitable.

Then, with a final, fervent suck, I’m there. My body tenses, every muscle locks, and I let out a guttural grunt as ecstasy crashes over me. I thrust with not just my body but my whole being. Meanwhile, Daphne’s moan vibrates against me, milking every drop of pleasure, drawing out the moment until I’m spent and gasping for air.

Naked, I want to tell her I love her because I do. But the sharp sound of the front door opening interrupts our post-orgasmic bliss.

Panic slices through me. Our eyes lock, wide with alarm, and we scramble. She releases me with a soft pop, wiping her lips as she rises to her feet. Our movements are frenetic, a mad dash to erase any evidence of what we’ve just shared.

If Vic or Celeste find me here, they’re going to be pissed. I care about both women—all three of them, actually.

Aside from Daphne, none are ready for Daph and I to announce our relationship. It’ll destroy Celeste, especially.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Daphne whispers, yanking her shirt over her head, her dark hair a wild cascade around her chin. I fumble with my jeans, struggling to get them up over my still-quivering legs. We’re a mess of limbs and urgency, driven by the need to quickly dress.

She must see the fear in my eyes because she sprints into action.

“Go, go!” she urges, shoving me towards the window. My heart pounds out a frantic rhythm, adrenaline surging as I swing my legs over the sill. The cool evening air hits me like a slap, sobering me from the intoxicating warmth of her room.

I glance back at her, hazel eyes meeting mine one last time, before I drop to the ground outside, leaving behind the girl who plays the harp with the same passion as she loves.

The window closes with a soft click, haunting me with the lingering taste of her on my lips.

I’m crouched beneath Daphne’s window, the rough bark of the tree scraping against my palms as I listen for any sign that we were caught. The night is a cold caress against my flushed skin. My breath comes in short bursts, misting in the air as I strain to hear what’s happening inside.

It’s Daphne’s ragged breathing that reaches me first, the sound steadying as she regains her composure. Then, there’s another voice, one that makes my blood run cold—Celeste. She’s in the living room, her words carrying through the partially open window.

“Ugh, what is that smell?” Celeste’s voice is high-pitched. “Smells like sex. Gross, Daphne. Were you masturbating or something?”

I wince, pressing my back against the brick. My heart hammers against my ribcage. We’re so close to being caught, and it’s my fault. If anyone finds out about us, Daphne will be the one to suffer. She doesn’t deserve the drama that would follow. I bet they’d say she’s a homewrecker and that I cheated on Celeste with her. This will lead to Vic making her life hell, and she’ll realize I’m just a nerd not worth her time.

From the safety of the shadows, I peer up at the window, willing Daphne to have the strength to handle Celeste. She’s been through so much already, but she’s never faltered—not when facing her past, not when embracing her passion for music, and certainly not when dealing with someone as shallow as my ex .

“Mind your own business,” Daphne retorts, and I can almost see her sharp jaw set in defiance. “Maybe you’re smelling your own desperation.” That’s my girl! So strong, so independent.

Celeste lets out a derisive laugh. “As if. Desperation isn’t a perfume I wear, honey. But whatever, keep being weird. Not like anyone cares.”

The tension coils tighter in my chest. Daphne shouldn’t have to face this alone. It should be me in there, standing by her side, defending our right to love each other. Yet here I am, hiding like a coward when she needs me most.

I clench my fists, angry at my weakness.

But I can’t announce the truth to the world. Not yet.

So instead, I wait in the darkness, listening to the muffled sounds of their conversation, every word a dagger to my heart. When Celeste’s footsteps finally fade, I let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with a sorrow so deep it aches.

What a goddamn mess.

As I slip into the night, the echo of Daphne’s bravery rings in my ears. It’s a song only we can hear, both beautiful and tragic in its silent refrain.

NINE YEARS AGO

“But, M om , Daphne is a talentless hack!” My ears perk up at the mention of her name.

Victoria, Mom, and I are traveling home after Victoria’s music lesson. Mom’s going to drop me off at home and take Victoria straight to her private lesson.

It’s non-stop for the harp. Not on her own accord. Just how our parents force me out of my room, they force music on her too.

“First, we never say the word hack,“ Mom spits like it’s the most vile thing she’s ever heard. “And second, she can’t do her private at the studio. We’re remodeling, remember?”

“She can meet Ms. Cider at her trailer! I don’t want her sullying up our house.”

Victoria still dislikes Daphne. She won’t admit it, but I think it’s because Daphne picks up sheet music really easily, whereas Victoria has to work harder.

“At her trailer? That run-down little thing?” Mom presses a hand to her chest. To people like the Whitmores, zip codes are very important .

“You’re just jealous because Daphne has natural talent,” I say.

“And I don’t?” she replies defensively.

“Oh, Alex,” Mom says, her voice laced with disappointment. “How cruel.”

No! I didn’t mean it like that. Just because Daphne has talent, it doesn’t imply my sister lacks it. “It’s n-not your f-fault,” I say, my voice small. I hate this stupid stutter. “Y-you’re just not as g-good.”

Of course I’m stuttering! My life sucks, and when I need to defend myself, my brain and vocal cords work against me.

“Are you serious?” Her mouth gapes open, her eyes wide with disbelief. I’m making it worse.

“N-n-no. I j-j-just th-think you’re j-jealous.”

“Jealous? Of Daphne?” Victoria scoffs. “Who would want to be like her?”

“I d-don’t kk-now, maybe s-someone who a-actually h-has t-talent.”

“You’re so mean!” Victoria says. I messed up. It’s coming out all wrong. “You don’t have to be cruel because you’re obsessed with her.”

“I d-don’t have a c-crush on h-her,” I deny, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Sure you don’t,” my sister says with a roll of her eyes. “You’re only always staring at her.”

“I’m n-not,” I insist, my voice rising. “I-I-I’m just o-obs-serving.”

“Oh, please. You’re just a sad little loner because no one likes you.”

Is that why Daphne hangs out with me? Because she feels sorry for me?

“I d-don’t care who l-likes me,” I lie, my voice shaking. “I’m f-fine b-being a-alone.”

“No, you’re not,” Victoria says. “You’re just pretending.”

“I’m s-serious,” I insist, my voice growing louder. “I’m h-happy b-being a-alone.”

“No, you’re not!” Victoria retorts. “At least I have friends!”

As we pull up to the front of the mansion, I unbuckle my seatbelt and force myself to breathe. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Vic and I never fight. We only truly have each other. So, naturally, I can’t stand thinking she hates me.

“V-Victoria, I-I—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“Just go, Alex!

Great. Now, I have no friends.

I nod, get out of the car, and slam the door shut behind me. The sound reverberates through my bones.

I walk into the kitchen, and that’s when I see her.

Her .

Daphne.

The one person who makes my world a little less dark. She’s wearing those damn tight jeans and a fitted shirt, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. I can’t help but stare.

“Hey, Alex,” she says, her voice like honey, making my insides warm.

“Hi.”

We share a moment, just us, lost in each other’s eyes, before I remember who I’m supposed to be. Wealth doesn’t pay for affection or love, or anything I’m meant to have. I’ll forever be bound by the expectations, the rules, and the lies.

Plus, Victoria’s words play over and over in my mind. No one likes me.

Daph gives me a tight smile. I watch as she moves to sit on the stool at the breakfast bar and pulls out her sheet music from her bag.

I see her fingers dance over the pages, every line and note etched into her brain. She’s a natural goddess with a harp. It’s beautiful.

It’s heartbreaking.

When I realize how my stutter is gone, I appreciate how much Daphne calms my nerves. After only a short time, my anxiety disappears.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, even though I know the answer .

“Just going over some pieces for my recital,” she says, not looking up from her sheet music.

A quiet settles over us. The clock ticks on the wall, and I can feel the seconds slipping away. Suffocating. The days feel like weeks, and the weeks like years.

I should be saying something, doing something. But what? What could someone like me offer to someone like her?

She deserves someone who isn’t a walking disaster and separated into a million pieces. Someone who loves without the risk of self-destruction. I can’t even express myself without stuttering. And just like that, my depression and anxiety are back as quickly as they had left.

Suddenly, she looks up at me, her hazel eyes warm and inviting. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie through my teeth. She doesn’t need to know the darkness I live in.

No one does.

“Do you want to play something together before Ms. Cider gets here?” she asks next. My heart pounds in my chest. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her kindness or her friendship. But that doesn’t stop me from nodding. Only, I don’t move. I’m trapped inside the coffin again .

My mind is a fog, thick and heavy, suffocating me. No one cares. No one ever has. They pretend because they have to. There’s only two options: to overtly or covertly hate me.

The bullies are overt. They don’t make their distaste unknown. My family and other kind souls, like Daphne, pretend to like me because they’re not monsters.

I’m a mistake. No one actually likes me because how could they? I don’t even like myself.

It’s not that I’ve always been the odd one out, the invisible kid. I try to smile and pretend everything’s okay, but the effort is exhausting. Why am I here? The thought is a constant companion, a dark cloud that follows me everywhere.

I wish I could just disappear, fade into nothingness. It would be easier that way. No more pain, no more loneliness, and no more burdens.

Because every breath is a burden, even to me. Especially to me.

I’ll never get married or have kids, and even if I do, they’ll all leave. Or worse… I’ll give them my darkness.

“Alex?” Daphne’s voice snaps me back to reality. She’s standing there, looking at me with concern.

“I-I gotta go, ” I mumble, tearing my gaze away from hers.

“O-okay, ” she replies, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt.

In my room, I lock the door with a soft click.

Why?

Why can’t I just be happy?

Why can’t I just love her and be done with it?

But I know why.

Because life is cruel.

And in my world, there are no happy endings.