19. Brayden

Chapter nineteen

Brayden

W aking up today feels harder than it usually is. Bexley plagued my dreams last night. My words to him replayed in my mind as a never-ending movie. He was drowning in water, but I didn't save him. I continued yelling at him and all of a sudden, I found myself in front of a doorway. Water was consuming Bexley directly in front of me, almost as if this door were perched on the shoreline of a lake. He begged for my help; he begged for me to reach out to him, but I didn't.

I shut the door.

I let him drown.

Is that what it feels like to him? Like he's drowning? And I simply walked away from him when he needed me?

But I've been there when he needed me. I've been there my whole life. He could have asked me for help any of those times and he didn't.

I remember when it all began—the notes became fewer, he wouldn't get home until the early hours. It started young. I remember the first night we were twelve, and he told me at school that I needed to go straight home and that he would meet me there later. He claimed to have detention, but I sensed something was off. I spent the entire night waiting for him. Mom had no clue he wasn't there until he casually walked in at 3:30 in the morning, reeking of an unfamiliar and awful odor. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been crying for hours. I remember running over to him and grabbing him; I remember because my heart was beating so fast that I thought I was going to pass out. He watched me with glazed-over, bloodshot eyes as I fussed over him, but he simply yawned and fell asleep on his side of the bed. He skipped school the next morning.

That's when everything started to go wrong.

School stopped being a priority for Bex. He said I had to go.

He would say to me, "Bray, one of us has to be the brains, and I know it won't be me."

The truth is, he could have been the one, but he decided on a different lifestyle . He believed I desired the constant supply of new clothes he would bring home for me, the latest sneakers that would make all the neighbors envious. I no longer suffered from hunger during the night. I stopped going to school with shoes full of holes and clothes stained. He provided benefits to Mom without her ever questioning where he got all those things. Despite my repeated attempts, he would dismiss me or respond angrily, insisting I should be more thankful.

He assured me that he was working toward a brighter future for me.

And he wasn't lying. He was. But that's the thing. He was creating it for me and not us.

I began writing him notes to find when he arrived home late at night, and he consistently responded.

Until he didn't.

Until I would wake up and he wouldn't be there anymore.

It was when I was fifteen that I pulled the wool away from my eyes and looked at the big open world in front of me. And realized what Bexley had been doing since we were twelve years old.

Bexley was one of the biggest drug dealers in our area.

Despite his involvement in drugs, fighting, insomnia, he battled with, he gave up everything to improve my life. When I found out, I begged him to stop. I said he could go back to school, but it was too late. Dark shadows framed his sunken crystal eyes as they stared back at me. An altered version of myself that bore no resemblance to me. While his cheeks were hollow and sank inwards, I had full cheeks and a defined jawline.

Bexley's skeletal frame was concealed by loose, oversized clothes and his skin had a grayish, ashen hue.

How come it took me so much time to fully grasp the reality of what was happening to my brother, my best friend, right in front of me all along?

It all started with drug dealing at twelve.

At the age of fifteen, the drug dealing came to an end.

That's when the addiction took over.

After that, I paid more attention and noticed things. I found out about the Bexley situation and connected the dots. How did Bexley successfully skip going to school? The school wouldn't have allowed that. But they would allow it if the doctor approved.

Upon learning about Bexley's drug dealing, my mom not only found a source for herself but also someone who could supply her with an unlimited amount of drugs and alcohol. However, Bexley's operation was only of a small magnitude. My mom needed him to be bigger.

While my mom was unconscious on the living room floor after a wild night, I stumbled upon the doctor's note while rummaging through the drawers.

Anxiety.

Bexley was diagnosed with severe social anxiety by the doctor, who suggested homeschooling as a solution. The doctor unknowingly did exactly what my mom wanted.

He's like this because of her.

A drug addict because of her, and I'll never forgive her.

Shortly after that moment of realization, I dedicated myself to my studies. I couldn't bear to look at her, let alone be near her. With no money for college, I realized a scholarship was my only option for escape. Yet, my scholarship was largely determined by my dedication to hockey.

I scrub my hands over my face, wishing I could scrub away this tiredness and guilt, but I know I won't be able to, no matter how much I try.

"You good?" Cope's voice causes me to twist my neck to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the edge of his bed, appearing as though he just woke up.

"Yeah." I stretch and turn in bed, grabbing my phone after unplugging it.

"You were saying some crazy things in your sleep last night." He laughs, getting up and heading to the bathroom.

"What was I saying?" I frown. Hoping it wasn't anything about Bex. All my teammates obviously know about him, but I don't want them knowing how he treats me. How much he lets me down.

Cope goes piss with the door open, speaking to me through the open door.

"You weren't speaking in complete sentences. Just random words, that made no sense."

"Fuck knows." I sigh, making out I have no idea what it was about. He doesn't know that Bexley's petrified face is a replay in my mind as the water swallowed him whole. I unlock my phone, open Instagram, and mindlessly flick through stories on various Instagram accounts. On most days, I mindlessly browse through their stories without paying attention, using it as a visual distraction.

When I check my notifications, I see numerous likes on my stories from yesterday and a couple of new followers. While scrolling, I notice that @thestilestman has viewed my story again. I click on the following videos and notice that he has viewed all of them. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation slithers through me, my lips tip up in a half smile. With a forced frown, I express my irritation at the screen as my mind unexpectedly reacts with happiness.

He's my teacher. That's it.

But do teachers gaze at you the way Mr. Stiles did yesterday?

I hate intrusive thoughts sometimes; he wasn't looking at me in any kind of way. I don't think, anyway.

Wait.

After watching my stories, he showed up at the gym. I frequently hit the gym after my classes and training sessions. I've never seen him there.

Is that why he came? To see me?

"What's got you happy?"

With a sudden jump, I send my phone tumbling down the edge of my bed. I scowl up at Cope, lips pressed firmly together. "I'm not happy," I snap. "Not unhappy, but I'm just me. You know. Straight faced." I stumble over my words as I speak.

Cope gives me a questioning look, a smirk forming on one side of his mouth.

"Am I mistaken, or did I not walk in here to find you grinning like a Cheshire Cat?"

"Nope, it's clear that you're still half asleep," I answer, fumbling around on the floor to locate my phone.

"Sure," he says, chuckling to himself, before walking over to his wardrobe and grabbing some clothes.

After a short while, I'm still lying in bed, scrolling through TikTok, when Cope comes out of the bathroom already dressed. Since my classes start late in the morning, I decided to relax this morning. Cope picks up his bag and throws it over his shoulder.

"Catch you later, Quake." I leap out of bed, pat him on the back, and make my way to the bathroom.

"This is the reason why Quake was so happy this morning," I hear Cope say. I frown to myself.

"What?" I yell from behind the bathroom door, completely clueless about what his talking about. Muffled voices reach my ears before our dorm door is shut.

Weird.

After finishing up in the bathroom, I swing open the door and come to an abrupt halt when I find someone sitting on my bed.

"Laaann . . . " I say, drawing out the name as I struggle to remember it, but I'm pretty sure it starts with Lan so I'm sticking with that.

"Lance," he huffs.

"Yeah, I know. I was shortening your name." Confidently, I flash him a grin and say, "I like it."

A subtle flush appears on his face as he absentmindedly fidgets with the strap of his backpack.

"How can I help you?" I'm standing there, with only my boxers on, and I notice his eyes repeatedly darting toward my abs.

"I-uh-" he stutters. "Your friend said something about you being happy this morning?" Adjusting his glasses, he peers at me with his innocent, pure eyes.

"He was half-asleep, don't know what he was talking about." I brush him off and grab a pair of gray sweatpants out of my drawers, remembering the way Mr. Stiles stared at me in them. I pause and question my impulse to grab a pair, all because of Mr. Stiles.

That's not weird at all.

I drop my boxers, reaching in my drawer for a new pair and hear Lan clear his throat behind me. I sneak a quick glance back, catching him averting his gaze and pretending to be fascinated by my ceiling, as if he hadn't just been staring at my ass. However, his face turns bright red. His flushed face is always a dead giveaway.

He's kinda cute.

With a grin on my face, I hastily slip into my boxers and pull on the sweatpants.

I quickly put on a white t-shirt and then face Lan.

"Why are you here?" He casually pushes his glasses up again, a clear indication of a nervous tick, and quickly stands, gripping his backpack strap tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Well, we have our next class together. I wanted to know if you wanted to walk together." I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Yo-you don't have to. It was a silly idea. I'll see you in class," he rushes out, before pacing toward my dorm door.

"Wait." I tug on his backpack, causing him to pause. "It's cool. We can walk together." I laugh. "We have an hour until class starts. I want to grab a coffee first; you cool with that." He widens his eyes, smiling brightly and nodding with enthusiasm.

I hate the way he watches me sometimes. It's as if he sees all good and not bad. It's as though he stares at me with a sparkle in his eyes. I'll never be that person, but no matter what I say to him or do, I can't do any bad in his eyes and this has my mood souring.

I hate people seeing anything good in me because there isn't.

It's all bad.

His eyes shift back and forth, his brow furrowing as the light in his eyes fades gradually.

I snatch my bag and toss it onto my shoulder.

"Let's go." I sigh.

Lan's anxious eyes shift back and forth between mine as he urgently tells me, "We're running late."

I take a quick check at my watch. Technically, class started a couple minutes ago, so we're already late. Lan wanted to leave the coffee shop about half an hour ago, but I wanted to enjoy my coffee in the on-site café on campus. Throughout the last half hour, his leg bounced vigorously while his eyes constantly checked the wall clock and observed my remaining coffee.

"Chill. It's cool, Lan." I chuckle while smiling. There's no denying that Lan is both a massive geek and an even bigger time fanatic.

Once we're in the halls, Lan picks up the pace and moves into a jog. I struggle to hold my laugh in and stop, doubling over. The sight of me stopping fills Lan with complete horror as he turns around. "Brayden, hurry," he whines. His voice has me laughing even more as I wipe tears away from my eyes. Lan, in his current state, neglects to look ahead and unintentionally runs into someone. My laughter comes to an instant halt when the person turns around. As blue eyes meet mine, a rush of butterflies fills me.

For fuck's sake.

Mr. Stiles shifts his focus from me to Lan and then back to me. His jaw clenched and eyebrow raised.

"Late to class, are we?" Mr. Stiles addresses Lan as I am transfixed by his face, unable to speak. A rush of warmth fills my cheeks and my heart quickens. My body is buzzing with a new energy.

My body needs to stop this shit and having these reactions toward this man.

Lan stumbles over his words, "We-uh-well-I'm." Mr. Stiles raises his hand.

"Yes, we're late, sir," I reply, walking to stand beside Lan.

"And why are you late?" As he crosses his arms, Mr. Stiles' eyes give me an icy stare. Curiously, I tilt my head to the side, trying to understand his attitude. When has he cared about the rules, let alone being five minutes late?

"We—"

I cut off Lan, "Time passed by, sir. We were too busy to be checking the time." With a smile, I attempt to appear completely innocent.

"Is that so?" Mr. Stiles' gaze bores into me, his sapphire blue eyes darkening with intensity. "It's clear to me why your academic performance has been declining so much. Class clearly isn't a priority." This time, anger causes my heart to quicken as I observe his flexing jaw. I'm pissed that he would openly comment on my academic performance in front of others. "It would be a good idea for you and Lanson to get a move on."

I casually drape my arm around Lan's shoulder and steer him forward, intentionally pushing Mr. Stiles aside. I pivot on my heels, bringing Lan along to face Mr. Stiles as we walk by.

"By the way, Mr. Stiles, his name is Lance." With a smug expression, I turn around and continue to walk down the hallway, pulling Lan tightly to my side.