It was a sick, twisted play. One my father forcefully made me a character in. And not even an important one. I was not the main character or even a supporting character. I was the background character. The extra. The one nobody gave a fuck about.

Sometimes, I felt he included me just to feel less shitty. I'm sure he'd have loved to be alone with his new family. Without my pesky presence interfering.

I would have loved to move out, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave everything behind. This was where the memories of my mother and brother lived and I refused to give it up.

Besides, it was probably what my dad wanted so he could be free to do as he wished, so why would I give him what he wanted? Who knew what this house would turn to if I left him to do as he wished?

"Are you enjoying your classes?" Dad asked. The question wasn't directed to me, of course. It was directed to Asher.

I almost scoffed. It was the same routine every night. We would all gather for dinner and Asher and Dad would start talking about school, sports- whatever tickled their fancy at the time- with Margaret, Asher's mum, chiming in from time to time.

And me? I was always in the background. Neglected. Ignored.

How were they not tired of re-enacting this boring play every night?

Dad certainly never did any of this when my Mum and Daniel were still alive.

"They're going great," Asher replied. He swallowed a bite of pasta before he continued. "I started a new class today. I think it'll help with my path in Computer Science."

Dad nodded, looking proud. In that moment, you'd have believed Asher was his biological son and not his stepson. "Great job," he said. "Your first year is the year when you should get as much theoretical knowledge as possible. Luckily for you, Westbrook is a good university. You'll learn a lot."

I couldn't help it then. I laughed. Hard.

I laughed so hard that my chest hurt and even then, I couldn't stop. Wasn't it hilarious? The same man who could not answer what course I was studying in school if a gun was pressed to his head, was now the same person offering his stepson advice about school.

Fucking hilarious.

"Can you share with the table what is so funny?" Dad asked. He didn't even sound angry anymore, he just sounded exhausted. Like he was tired of my very existence.

Aww... Dear dad, don't give up on me just yet.

All eyes were on me now. Including Asher. Who stared at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

Whatever. Fuck him.

I shrugged casually. A move I knew would piss my dad off. Sure enough, he gripped the edge of the table tightly like it was his lifeline, knuckles white.

Margaret cleared her throat. Rushing to the rescue as fucking always.

"Are you enjoying your classes too, Elliot?" she asked, a polite smile on her face.

I hated that smile. It was the smile she pasted on when she was trying to be nice. It felt fake. Forced. Too try-hard.

I rolled my eyes. "Relax, you don't have to act like you care."

Margaret's expression fell, her features marred with hurt.

"Don't worry," I continued, driving the knife deeper. "My dad will never divorce you. He likes the fantasy a little bit too much." I smiled thinly as I leaned forward. "So you can keep the fake caring mother act all to yourself. I don't need it."

The table shook and dishes rattled as Dad brought his fists down on the table. I couldn't help it, I flinched.

Margaret's face crumpled, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. I almost scoffed. She was exceptionally good at crying. Sometimes I wondered if she secretly had her lacrimal glands altered. Was there even surgery for that? It would certainly explain a lot.

Asher's arms were around her, comforting her, while he leveled a glare at me, his eyes narrowed in anger.

Good. I was beginning to think he wasn't capable of being angry. He was becoming a little too easy-going for my taste.

Dad stood up. "I don't know what has become of you, Elliot, but you've gone too far." He gritted his teeth. "You'll apologize. Immediately."

I stood up too. "I have nothing to apologize for," I spat.

Dad shook his head and the disappointment in that one single move made my chest tighten.

I hated it. Hated he still affected me this way.

Hated that I still gave a fuck about his opinion of me.

"This isn't the son I raised," he said.

I let out a laugh. It was a bitter, disbelieving sound. "Get over yourself, dad. You make it sound like you weren't a shitty father."

I felt the whoosh of air before the slap landed on my cheek. Hard. My head snapped to the other side from the impact. My right cheek felt hot and I knew very soon, a bruise would start to bloom.

Across the room, I heard Margaret gasp.

I was frozen for a few seconds. I was in shock. My father and I might have had our differences but he had never laid a hand on me. Not even when I crashed his car when I was sixteen. But he did it now. Why? For his new family.

"Simon," I heard Margaret say. "Calm down, please."

"I've been very understanding of your tantrums, thinking you were just grieving. But now, you've crossed a line," Dad said, his voice shaking with anger. "When are you going to stop punishing me for the deaths of your mother and brother? It's not my fault they died. You're not the only one who's grieving. I lost them too."

I whipped to face him, ignoring the stinging sensation in my cheek. "You're not acting like you lost them," I said bitterly. "It's barely been 2 years since they passed and you've already found their replacements." I gestured to Margaret. "A new mother." Then to Asher. "And a new brother."

"Elliot–" Margaret started.

I held up a hand, cutting her off. "No. You guys can pretend all you want, I don't care. All that I ask of you is that you keep me out of it. Leave. Me. Alone."

I kicked my chair backward and the chair fell to the ground.

I didn't give a backwards glance as I exited the table.

I stormed off to my bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Inside of my room, I brought a hand to my chest as I tried to regulate my breathing. Tried to bring my emotions in check.

I was a mess. A huge mess.

And I was spiraling bad.

It was only a matter of time before I broke. Or exploded.

I had barely had time to myself for two minutes when Asher stormed in. There was fire in his eyes. He looked like he was about to murder me.

I pressed a hand to my temple, too tired to even be angry. "What part of leave me the fuck alone did you not understand?"

Asher ignored my words, getting into my face. "What the hell is your problem? My mum was trying to be nice and you–"

"You!" I shouted. "You and your mum! You're the goddamn problem!"

Asher recoiled back, as if shocked at my outburst.

"Look, I understand–"

I shook my head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. Nobody does."

I could feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, hot and wet. I hated myself for it. For breaking down and looking vulnerable in front of Asher of all people. But I couldn't help myself.

The tears flowed like a dam and I was helpless, unable to stop them.

The anger faded away and Asher's green eyes narrowed in concern.

Fuck him. I didn't need his concern. Or his pity.

"Elliot–"

"Go. Leave. Leave me alone!"

I didn't check to see if he obeyed as I turned my back to him.

He'd already seen enough. He didn't need to see any more.

I thought he was going to ignore me purely out of spite but I heard his footsteps receding as he left the room.

And I finally allowed myself to drop onto the floor, sobs emanating from me.

It was almost embarrassing, really.

But I was past the point of being embarrassed.

My family was ruined and I couldn't do anything to save it.

I was officially alone.

Chapter 3 THE FARCE

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