8. Daphne

Chapter eight

Daphne

I watch the crystal droplets cling to the side of my glass. The amber liquid swirls with every tilt. Am I drinking champagne at a college frat party? Yes. Sue me.

Eden is beside me, her laughter a warm hum against the buzz of the party. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and spilled beer, mingling with the faint fragrance of Eden’s perfume.

“Another victory for Whitmore,” she says, raising her cup to the packed house. Somehow, she conned me into going to said frat party in honor of WU winning their football match tonight. I’m here because I’m trying. Really trying.

That’s when they enter.

Celeste bursts through the door first, all blonde hair and oversized lips, a vision of calculated perfection. She clings to Alex like he’s the trophy she parades. Her latest win. He’s smiling, his brown hair falling into his eyes just as I remember, as he greets his teammates with enthusiastic high-fives. His lean frame is a testament to the hours on the football field, muscles subtly pronounced under the fabric of his shirt.

I need to get laid.

Celeste’s hand strokes his chest in an obvious display of possession. She’s marking her territory, claiming him in front of everyone.

But Alex doesn’t seem to notice. He’s absorbed in his conversation, laughing at something one of the guys says. It’s as if he’s unaware of her touch, or perhaps he’s just so familiar with it that it’s second nature.

A pang of jealousy tightens in my chest. Why should I care? Because I do. I always have, ever since we were kids, and I was just the girl from the wrong side of the tracks and he was the golden boy with the weight of expectation on his shoulders.

“Can you believe them?” I murmur to Eden, nodding subtly towards Alex and Celeste.

“Ugh, it’s like watching a bad soap opera,” she replies, sipping her drink.

Their drama unfolds further as Celeste leans in closer to Alex, her voice a purr designed to entice. “Babe, you were incredible today,” she coos, loud enough for nearby ears. “I could eat you up.”

Her fingers trail down his arm, lingering with brazen intent. The sight makes my skin crawl, but I can’t tear my gaze away .

“Thanks,” he says, his smile now a rigid line. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment before he extracts himself from her grip. “Excuse me.” There’s an awkwardness to his departure, but I try not to dwell on it.

“Looks like he’s had enough of the show,” Eden comments dryly.

“Maybe,” I reply. My fingers tighten around the glass, the cool surface grounding me to the here and now.

Celeste watches him go, her painted mouth twisted in annoyance before she masks it with another saccharine smile. She turns back to the crowd, ready to play her part once more.

I’m swirling the remnants of my drink in my glass, trying to avoid Celeste’s performance, when Alex’s piercing gaze suddenly locks onto me. My heart does a traitorous leap as his deep brown eyes hold mine captive. He excuses himself from the rowdy throng and makes his way towards me, a genuine smile softening his features.

“H-h-hey, Daphne, hi. H-how are you?” His voice is warm, familiar, and tinged with a hint of shyness. I feel a flush creep up my neck as I struggle to form a coherent response.

“Good,” I manage, trying to focus on anything other than the heat radiating between us. “You played exceptionally well tonight. ”

“Thanks.” He rakes a hand through his tousled hair. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that he usually masks. “L-listen, uh, c-can we t-talk later? After things quiet d-down a bit?”

“Sure.” I nod, trying not to let my hope rise too high. The way he looked at me just now reminds me how he used to look at me.

Unaware of my longing, Alex gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Great.” He flashes me one more charming smile before glancing over his shoulder and heading off towards the bathroom. It reminds me of the dorky yet endearing man I used to know.

“Smooth,” Eden teases beside me, but her playful tone fades as she watches Alex disappear. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, but inside, my heart beats erratically with possibilities. Both good and bad.

She doesn’t seem convinced, though. Before I can dwell on it further, Celeste pushes her way through the cluster of bodies surrounding us. Her emerald-green eyes lock onto mine with challenged intensity.

“You know, Daphne, he and I—”

“Alex and you?” I prompt, bracing myself for what’s coming next.

“We’re in love,” she declares, her voice loud enough to be heard above the music. Her words hit me with the force of a physical blow. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to propose any day now. ”

The party blurs around me, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe. Celeste waits for my reaction.

“That’s great.” I force the words out past the tightness in my throat. “I’m happy for you.” I try to mean it, but deep down, I don’t. How could I when the man I love is happily in love with someone else? But love is selfless, right? Love is kind.

Love is… Oh, fuck it. It hurts. It really fucking hurts to know they’re together while I only got one stolen kiss years ago.

I’ve loved Alexandru Whitmore in all his forms, both past and present. And sometimes, I miss who he used to be. The geeky boy with glasses and slightly oversized teeth, but with a heart so big that he didn’t know what to do with it. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why people are drawn to him because he’s hot and confident. But at least, back then, he was himself. Now, it feels like he’s just playing a role of himself.

So yeah, I miss Alex. I love him. But no matter how I look at it, it still hurts to see him loving someone else.

“Excuse me,” I mumble. I leave my empty glass on a nearby table and slip away, letting the pulsating rhythm of the music drown out the ache in my chest.

I just need to step away. The pain is almost suffocating, but I know I have to keep it together until I can find a private place to let it all out .

Unfortunately, I don’t do a good enough job at hiding because somehow, Celeste, Alex, and everyone else I’m trying to avoid spot me.

The air is thick with the musk of sweat and alcohol as I try to blend into the wallpaper while in line for the bathroom. Eden spots me first, with a man our age. Then, Celeste tugs Alex towards with Victoria in tow. Only, I realize Vic isn’t in tow but is instead trying to catch up to them. Victoria breezes through the throng of bodies, a flock of eager men in tow, their eyes scanning the room like predators seeking prey. They’re nothing but blurred faces to me, indistinct and unimportant.

Eden reaches me first, then Celeste and Alex, and Victoria last.

“Meet Celeste,” Victoria announces with an artificial brightness. Her dark hair sways around her face as she gestures towards Celeste who is clinging to Alex like a second skin. “Too bad she isn’t single.”

Odd. I don’t think she’s throwing her brother’s relationship in my face, but instead hinting at Celeste like, See? other men want you, too . As if she’s pushing Celeste to date other men.

“Why do I need anyone else when I have the best boyfriend?” Celeste purrs, her voice dripping with insinuation, fingers trailing possessively over Alex’s chest. The words are meant for the men, but her eyes lock onto mine, challenging and asserting dominance. “Alex can go all night, you know. He just can’t get enough of me.”

Victoria’s perfectly plucked eyebrows knit together in confusion, or disapproval, at Celeste’s crude bragging. “Chill,” she hisses, her usual facade slipping as she glances around at the now-attentive crowd.

“He loves my pussy. He tells me all the time,” Celeste slurs.

“Fuck, Celeste!” Alex says, only he doesn’t seem turned on. His brows lower, and he appears livid. “Knock it off.” Still, he doesn’t disprove Celeste, and everyone standing here knows that it’s true.

Celeste just laughs, and now I’m barely listening. My gaze inadvertently finds Alex’s. It doesn’t seem like a man basking in the glow of sexual conquest. I wish I could hate him, but all I feel is this hollow ache.

Sensing the tension, Eden grabs my hand. “Let’s dance!”

I allow myself to be pulled into the writhing mass of bodies, the thumping bass of the music vibrating through my bones. One man Victoria brings over—a tall figure with a predatory gleam in his eye—slips behind me. Then, his hands find my hips with practiced ease.

“Enjoying the party?” he yells over the booming music, his breath hot against my ear .

How long am I going to let this crush on Alex rule my life? Here I am at a party, the perfect opportunity to meet someone new, and I’m holding back because everything I’ve dreamed of starts and ends with him.

Unable to even pretend, I feign enthusiasm by lying to him. “Sure. Such a blast.” Tightening his grip, he pulls me closer. His body presses against mine, grinding rhythmically, and I force myself to move with him, trying to ignore the discomfort blooming in my stomach.

Eden dances next to me, her auburn hair fiery in the strobe lights. I envy her ability to surrender to the moment, but my own motions are stiff and robotic.

“Loosen up, beautiful,” the man murmurs, his hands sliding down to cup my backside, seemingly emboldened by my silence. I stiffen, but based on Eden’s laughter, she doesn’t notice as I struggle to maintain a semblance of composure.

Maybe they’re right and I should just let go, drown myself in oblivion with alcohol and the numbing touch of a stranger. But every cell in my body screams in protest.

Somewhere, beneath the noise and the lights, I wonder if this is all there is—chasing fleeting moments of happiness, pretending we’re not all just fragments of broken dreams .

The pulsating beats wash over me. My body moves mechanically to the rhythm, an automaton cloaked in skin and hazel eyes that catches glimpses of reality between strobes.

I’m dancing when a sudden chill prickles my spine, and I turn instinctively. Alex stands there, his lean frame rigid, brown eyes burning with an intensity that eclipses the room’s chaotic energy. His gaze locks onto the man behind me, and I feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch. It’s dark, almost dangerous, and it sets my nerves on edge. What’s he playing at?

My attention remains arrested by Alex’s silent battle across the room. His eyes follow every move as if the man’s touch scorches him personally. Why should he care?

“Look at you, so popular tonight,” the man teases, unaware of the silent exchange. His grip tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of my backside, and his lips brush my neck—a proprietary kiss that makes my skin crawl.

“Stop,” I say, my voice barely audible above the music. But he doesn’t hear me and neither does Alex.

Something shifts then, as if a string tethering Alex to this moment snaps. The light in his eyes dulls. With one last look, full of something I can’t quite place, he moves on.

I don’t want him to leave. I’d much rather he watches me forever, even if it means I can’t have him .

“Where are you going?” My voice is lost to him, drowned out by the pounding of the bass. Alex doesn’t hear me.

I’m left standing there, caught between the man whose hands claim what they haven’t earned and the man who owns my soul but doesn’t know it.

Alex disappears into the throng, and my heart clenches at the sight. This isn’t how our story is supposed to go. His intense gaze sends me hints of his thoughts, and I’d a thousand times rather chase his’s allusive self than stay.

I peel myself away from the stranger to get to him. Alex. Everything fades into the background as I slip out into the cool night air. My gaze sweeps the backyard until it lands on him.

Alex stands alone, a shadow among the silhouettes of swaying trees, his eyes fixed upward at the vast stars above. He looks so contemplative.

“Alex,” I whisper, though I doubt he hears me. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t acknowledge my presence, but I inch closer anyway, drawn to him like always.

His profile is etched with sorrow. It’s a look I recognize, one that brings back a flood of memories—dark, heavy moments when he seemed so far out of reach, fighting demons only he could see. I remember sitting next to him on cold benches, offering silent support and wishing I could chase away the storm clouds that gathered in his eyes.

“Hey,” I say softly, settling beside him on the grass, our shoulders almost touching. The night air brushes against my skin, carrying whispers of unease, but I push them aside, focusing on the here and now. “Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and I resist the urge to fill the silence. Instead, I place my hand gently on his arm, grounding him and myself. We sit there, side by side.

“Sorry,” he finally murmurs. “I needed air.”

“Me too,” I breathe out, not sure if I’m lying or telling the truth. Maybe I did need the air. The space to think, to feel, and to be near him.

“Sometimes, it’s all too much, you know?”

I nod, even though he’s still staring at the sky, because I understand. I’ve seen him like this before—the shadows, the sadness, the untold burdens—and it never gets easier to witness. But I’m here, ready to stand by him, even if all I provide is my presence.

“Thank you,” he says after another stretch of silence, turning to look at me for the first time since I sat down. His eyes are a turbulent sea of green and brown, and I’m swept up in the current, willing to drown if it means I bring him back.

“For what?” I ask, lost in the depths of his gaze .

“For following me out here. For caring.” He offers a half-smile.

“Always,” I reply, squeezing his arm gently.

I can’t explain it, but I feel an undeniable connection to him. It’s something I can’t let go, no matter what. He’s the only person I’ve ever truly felt close to.

I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is where we start to heal. Just Alex and me, and the silent understanding that we are each other’s calm.

I press my knees to my chest to avoid getting my legs wet into the dew-dampened grass.

Without looking at me, he asks, “D-d-did y-you enjoy dancing with h-him?” He’s probing for something deeper, something that might hurt him. I just know it.

“No,” I admit. It’s the truth. “It was just a dance.”

“Ah.” He nods but doesn’t look convinced. There’s more he wants to say. I can feel it. Yet we sit in silence, the kind that speaks volumes.

Minutes stretch between us, laden with unsaid thoughts and unshed tears. When he finally talks again, his words are laced with vulnerability. “C-Celeste isn’t what I want. Not really.”

“Then why?” My heart races as I dare to ask.

“Because…” He pauses, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. It’s nervous habit I haven’t seen him do since I first met him. It gives me hope that old Alex shines through. “B-Because, sometimes, it’s easier to w-wear a mask than to f-face what’s underneath. But m-masks slip. They’re s-slipping now.”

I reach out, brushing my fingers against his hand. Neither of us bring up his stuttering. I don’t care about it, nor did I ever. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a truth there, raw and exposed yet beautiful in its honesty.

“You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.” My voice trembles, echoing my racing heart. A part of me fears this moment. That this confession might break us, but another yearns to mend whatever has fractured inside him.

He looks at me, truly looks at me, and it feels like he’s seeing right through to my soul. “I know.”

“Then stop,” I plead. “Let yourself be happy, even if it’s not with me.” My lips quiver as I speak the last words, a sacrificial offering on the altar of his happiness.

“God, D-daphne.” Alex’s voice breaks. “When I’m w-with you, it’s the only time I f-feel like I might have a chance at happiness.” He takes a deep breath, likely to settle his nerves. “Every touch from her is a lie. Every smile, every kiss… It’s all just a performance, but with you, everything’s real.” He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, setting fire to my skin. If we feel the same, why can’t we be together ?

“Then let’s not play their games anymore,” I say, my breath catching as his thumb grazes my bottom lip.

“Can we do that, please?” His voice is hopeful. Walk away from sacrificing our own happiness for others; walk away from avoiding our feelings for the sake of his sister.

Walk away from the trauma of his suicide attempt and my mother’s attempted murder so we can heal together. Not apart.

“I’d like to try,” I whisper back, leaning into his touch, letting the magnetic pull between us draw me closer until our lips are only a short breath apart.

“Trying sounds so good but, baby, I don’t want to try; I want to do .“ He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, making the rest of the world fade away.

I’m so lost in his kisses and words that, when he pulls away, I blink at his gorgeous face. “Sorry, what?”

“Go out with me.”

“Yes,” I say, then thinking better of it, I add, “What about your girlfriend?” Look, it’s not that I yearn to be another woman, and truthfully, I don’t think I ever could, but you never know until you’re in the situation, and right now I’d beg for even a scrap of him. Does that make me pathetic? I don’t fucking know, but at least I’m strong enough to admit it .

He places my chin between his index finger and thumb to better gaze directly into my eyes. “Celeste and I ended our relationship already.”

“Err, when? She was literally just talking about your dick less than an hour ago.”

He crinkles his nose but answers, “Yesterday. I agreed to pretend that we’re together for a little bit longer; that way, we don’t have to explain our breakup while she’s still broken up about it, or whatever.” He says the last part like he can’t believe anyone would be heartbroken over him, but I do. I believe.

“So, while we’re dating, you want to fake date Celeste at the same time?” I rethink the logistics. He wants to go out with me secretly so he can pretend to be in a relationship with Celeste. Uh.

He grimaces. “I sound like a douche, don’t I?” I place my hand over his. “We can wait until the public knows Celeste and I are broken up.”

“No!” I rush. “All that matters is that you two aren’t together. We can keep our relationship on the down-low for a few weeks.”

“You’re sure?” he murmurs. “Because I really like you, Daphne. I don’t want to fuck this up between us.”

This time, I give it more thought.

I think of mom’s fingertips on my neck as she shoves my head under water .

I think of Alex’s hanging form in his closet.

And mostly, I think of our chemistry. The kind that has the ability to push me forward and make me forget. Well, maybe forget is a bit too strong. I can never forget, but I can have the edges blurred enough that it doesn’t pierce my skin.

“Yes,” I finally answer. “I’m sure.”