6. Alex

Chapter six

Alex

B eing with Daphne yesterday while cooking reminded me of my childhood, except it was only good memories this time. If it’s not obvious by now, I used to love cooking. Some would say I still do.

So, as I’m supposed to be meeting Celeste in the music building, naturally, I’m being pulled to the private room Daphne’s playing in. The plan is for me to meet Celeste, but the music building’s labyrinthine corridors have led me astray, or—as I’m beginning to understand—exactly where I’m meant to be. Rooted to the spot, I stand just outside an open door where Daphne sits while playing her harp.

The resonant pluck of harp strings halted me mid-stride, a haunting melody that seeped into the marrow of my bones. It called out to me.

She calls out to me.

Daphne has always seen me with a clarity others lack. Since childhood, her gaze has pierced through layers of pretense to the raw core of my being. It’s as if I’m exposed, a specimen under a relentless spotlight, every flaw magnified and laid bare. The world is a relentless observer, and when the scrutiny fades, I retreat into a self-imposed tomb. Forgotten perhaps, but certainly not free.

I’ve felt this way for as long as I can remember. Even now, it’s in the background of my mind, threatening to whisk me away deep into the dirt to decay my aching body.

Maybe if I’m loud, it’ll let me stay. It being the depression.

I almost succumbed to it before.

But again, Daphne saved me.

Her fingers dance across the strings with a grace that belies the melancholy in the notes she coaxes forth. The sunlight filters through the high windows, casting her in a halo of light that deepens the hazel of her eyes and illuminates the dark waves of her hair. It’s like watching something sacred, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

In my mind, time rewinds to the darkest night of my life—the cold grip of despair, the crushing weight of loneliness, and then her . Daphne pulls me back from the precipice, saving me with her quiet strength. She doesn’t know the depth of her own soul, how it resonates with a beauty that eclipses even this ethereal music she plays .

“Alex?” a syrupy voice murmurs, and suddenly Celeste is there, wrapping her arms around me from behind.

“Shh,” I hiss instinctively, stepping out of her embrace. The last thing I want is for Daphne to stop playing because of us. Celeste pouts, her oversized lips brushing against the skin of my neck, her hands wandering with entitled familiarity over my chest.

I tug on Celeste’s wrist so we’re out of earshot.

“Let’s sneak into that supply closet, baby,” Celeste whispers, her breath hot against my ear. “I can’t wait anymore.” Her fingers are insistent as they slip under the hem of my shirt, her neediness clawing at me like thorns.

“Later,” I murmur, a hollow promise that I don’t intend to keep. But Celeste isn’t deterred; she’s relentless, her body pressing close, blonde hair cascading over my arm as she leans in to kiss me. Images of Celeste swim before my eyes, different to the authenticity that exudes from Daphne’s every pore.

With Celeste, my life is a production, such as when she randomly brings up marriage.

Case in point… “Think about us, Alex,” she purrs, mistaking my distance for desire. “Marrying me. You want that, don’t you?”

Her words are like anchors, dragging me down, and I feel myself suffocating under the weight of her expectations. The golden boy entangled with the golden girl in everyone’s eyes. My gaze drifts back to the doorway, to Daphne, whose music has become a siren call. I’m drowning again, but not in dirt this time but in a sea of pretense.

“I’ve thought about it,” I say just to get her to shut the fuck up. It’s the truth. I mean, I have, but only long enough to reject it.

Celeste beams, satisfied and completely unaware of my decision. I can’t marry another woman when Daphne is in the world.

“Come on,” Celeste insists, tugging at my hand, trying to draw me away.

For now, I remain motionless, torn between the allure of what could be with Daphne and the suffocating clasp of what is with Celeste. All the while, the harp continues to sing its mournful song.

With a deft maneuver, I extricate myself from Celeste’s hold, feigning a sudden interest in an invisible speck on my sleeve.

“Alex, babe, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice laced with a confusion that doesn’t reach her eyes. Sometimes, I wonder if she feels trapped as I do.

“Nothing,” I reply. “I just need a moment.”

Celeste pouts, her lips pursed in practiced disappointment. “But we were having such a perfect day.”

Perfect. The word reverberates through my mind, mocking me. Our entire relationship has been a meticulously crafted performance, but the audience doesn’t see the reality behind the curtain. The truth that I am suffocating.

As I watch her there, concern painted on her perfectly contoured face, I know I am about to shatter the illusion as realization grips me. I. Don’t. Want. This. I don’t want her.

“Listen, Celeste.” My voice falters as I search for words that won’t wound. “We need to talk. Seriously.”

“About what?” Her tone sharpens, and I can tell she senses the gravity shifting beneath us.

“About us. About everything.” My resolve hardens because it’s time to break free, even if the fallout threatens to tarnish my sterling reputation. Being the golden boy means nothing if it chains me to a lie.

“Can we do this later? You’re scaring me, babe.” She reaches out, her hand brushing mine, searching for reassurance.

I study her face and note sheer terror. Whether I love Celeste or not, we’ve been together for years. At times, she’s been my only friend. Not counting my sister, of course.

So, I’ll give her grace. It’s no secret that Celeste dislikes Daphne, and if I break up with her right here and now, it’ll be obvious that I’m trying to leave her for Daphne.

“Later,” I agree, withdrawing my hand gently. “We’ll talk later. ”

As I say goodbye to her standing there, I have a sudden frisson of dread when I realize I have to discuss my pending breakup with Victoria. My sister is her best friend. How do you explain to someone you love that you’re about to hurt another person they care about?

Especially since there was a time when we fought over Daphne. Victoria thought Daphne was only using me, and since they were rivals, she didn’t want me anywhere near her. So, I can’t bring her up. Instead, I’ll keep it simple and truthful.

Knowing my sister will appreciate the heads-up, I search for her while ignoring everyone in my path. A handful of freshmen pat my back as I pass by, expressing how they’re eager to watch me play football. If only I cared.

I find Victoria in her usual haunt, a secluded garden where she reads between classes. Her eyes meet mine.

“Hey, bro,” she greets me, bookmarking her page. Back straight, face neutral. “What’s up? You look like hell.”

Gee. Thanks, sis.

I’m used to it, though, so I don’t let it bother me. What I am nervous about, however, is how she’ll take me breaking up with her best friend .

I nervously wring my hands. “I’m breaking up with Celeste.” There, I did it. Having been unhappy for far too long, it’s not fair to anyone to string her along.

Victoria’s eyes pop. “Are you serious?” Before I can answer, she jumps from her bench, grabs my arm, and practically drags me into a secluded corner. “Have you lost your damn mind? You can’t break up with Celeste! You’re the fucking golden couple of WU!”

I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not happy.” Haven’t been for a long-ass time.

The truth is, while Victoria is aware that I’ve struggled with depression, she doesn’t know all of it. I never told her I tried to end my life or that the woman she hates the most in the world is the reason I’m still alive. From my sister’s perspective, I’ve been doing better for the last several years. She attributes it to Celeste, but in reality, I’m a better actor. It’s easier to pretend when you have friends to pretend with.

Truth.

“Alex,” she says through her teeth. “Celeste is good for you. You know I’ll support you no matter what, and that’s why I’m pushing you so hard towards her. It’s perfect”—that word again—“between all of us. You’re my best friend. Celeste is my second best. Who wouldn’t want their brother and best friend married with kids? Besides…” She lowers her brows and gives me a hard look. “You’re only having doubts because you-know-who is back.”

Ah, fuck. Am I that obvious? Playing stupid, I ask, “Excuse me?”

“Daphne,” she spits. “Always throwing herself at you. Don’t give her the honor of becoming your little homewrecker.”

That stops me in my tracks. I’m exhausted. “Vic.” I sigh. “There’s no home to wreck. I care about Celeste—truly, I do—and you’re my sister, so of course I value your opinion, but I don’t love Celeste.” Please don’t ask me to stay with her. Please , Vic.

“So this has nothing to do with Daphne?”

It does, but I want Victoria thinking otherwise. If I tell her that, yeah, I’m breaking up with Celeste because Daphne returned, she’ll assume Daphne seduced me, when honestly I should have ended my relationship with Celeste a long time ago. That’s on me.

In some sick way, I thought that if I could just pretend to be happy, it would someday become real. Since I tried to end my life when I was a dorky wanna-be chef, I thought, as a popular jock, my environmental stressors would somehow erase the chemical imbalances in my brain.

Only, it didn’t stop. Well, it worked for a bit but not long .

So, having Daphne return gives me the insight that I’d rather be depressed and myself than depressed and miserable with the life I concocted.

Victoria must read my emotions like a book because her face softens. “Okay. Look, I support you.” I scoff, remembering how, only seconds ago, she urged me to stick with someone who makes me unhappy. “But this is going to devastate her. She’s been a good girlfriend, hasn’t she?”

I nod. I may not love Celeste, but she’s not wronged me. In fact, she has been an incredible girlfriend. She doesn’t deserve heartbreak.

“Right,” Victoria says. “So, how about you let her down gently? I’ll meet up with her after, so she knows that our friendship won’t be affected.”

“Of course,” I respond. “Us ending our relationship shouldn’t impact your friendship.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why I need your help. How do I do this without hurting her more than I have to?”

Victoria squeezes my hand, her brown eyes—much like my own—holding a depth of understanding only siblings share. “Be honest but kind. Don’t give false hope. And whatever you do, don’t do it in public. ”

“Thanks, Vic.” I let out a heavy sigh, the path ahead daunting yet necessary. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And after, when the drama settles, maybe you can finally be truly happy.”

Her words are a balm to my frayed nerves. “Truly happy,” I repeat, allowing the idea to take root.

A few hours later, I’m at football practice.

The sun glares down on the field, coating everything in a harsh, unyielding light. Heat radiates off the turf, and my muscles burn with exhaustion as I push through another drill. The weight of my decision about Celeste hangs over me like a shadow, but I shove it aside, focusing on the rhythm of the game, the precise movements that don’t require the turmoil of emotions.

“Whitmore! Heads up!” Coach’s voice cuts through the sound of grunts and clashing gear.

I catch the spiraling football with practiced ease, tucking it under my arm and dodging an oncoming tackle. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, a brief respite from my brewing storm of thoughts. But then, there’s Celeste, her cheer uniform hugging her perfect curves, blonde hair tied up with a ribbon that matches the school colors. She’s the flawless image of a Whitmore University cheerleader, and her eyes are all for me.

“Looking good out there, Alex!” Her voice carries over the sound of colliding bodies.

Every break, my soon-to-be ex is there, brushing her fingers against my arm, offering me water with a stroke of her hand against mine. They’re touches that once sent sparks but now conjure static. My gaze slips away, scanning the stands, half-hoping to see Daphne’s silhouette, but I don’t.

I’m snapped to the present when Coach bellows, “Alex, come on! Focus!”

“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter, jogging into position.

Practice drags on, and Celeste’s presence is relentless. She’s a force of nature, all smiles and flirtatious laughter, every move calculated for maximum effect. Under different circumstances, maybe I’d play the role of the adoring boyfriend. But not anymore. As sweat trickles down my spine, I realize how much of a show our entire relationship has been—a performance put on for the sake of appearances.

Finally, the whistle blows, signaling the end of practice. Bodies slump in relief, but there’s no rest for me. Not yet .

Celeste springs up from her spot on the sidelines, her movements fluid as she makes her way towards me.

“Great job today, babe,” she breathes, looping her arms around my neck, her kisses seeking mine.

“Thanks,” I say, gently extricating myself from her grasp. “I need to cool down.”

But she’s persistent, following me towards the locker room with a sultry sway to her hips. When I pause to open the door, her lips graze my ear. “I can help with that. How about I support you in relaxing with your cock in my mouth?”

Said cock twitches.

I steal a glance at her, taking in the desire in her eyes. It’s either for me or for the thrill of being wanted. I want to tell her it’s over, right here, right now, but Victoria’s words echo in my mind. “Don’t do it in public. It’ll embarrass her. And avoid giving her false hope.”

“I’m quite sore today. I need some time alone.”

Disappointment flickers across her face, quickly masked by a pout. “Fine,” she huffs, tossing her hair. “Your loss.”

As she flounces away, my teammates chuckle.

“Turning down a quickie with Celeste? You feeling okay, Whitmore?” one of them teases.

I shrug, forcing a laugh, though inside I’m screaming about how I’m finished playing the star player with the cheerleader girlfriend .

“Maybe he’s holding out for hotter pussy,” another chimes in, and the locker room erupts in laughter.

I shake my head, trying to mask the truth in that jest. Images of Daphne’s soulful eyes and the haunting melody of her music seep into my consciousness.

“All for her,” I whisper to myself as I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the sweat and the performance, if only for a moment.