Chapter 6 ECHOES

ELLIOT

Fucking Asher.

That was the thought that kept blaring in my head on repeat, like a very annoying alarm.

I couldn't think of anything else, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even focus on my lectures.

Just like right now. And Professor Jenkins' class was my favourite.

My left leg jiggled nervously, up and down, in a furious pace.

Elsa shot me a look. "What is going on with you?" she hissed.

It was days after the cursed party. The party where I slept with Asher's girlfriend.

I had done it because it was easy. She had been throwing me looks, rubbing herself all over me any chance she got behind Asher's back, and that night, I thought why the hell not?

It was a cheap way to have sex and most importantly, it was a good chance to put Asher down. To make him feel less than.

It felt good to have someone pick me over Asher, the oh-so-perfect being that everyone wanted.

Only my action didn't have the desired outcome. Asher wasn't the one who got rattled.

I was.

I couldn't get his words out of my head. Or the look he gave me. Like he truly pitied me.

It was that look that crawled under my skin and stayed there.

Fucking Asher.

Where did he get off pitying people? Who asked him to feel sorry for me?

Who asked him to psychoanalyze me and provide an analysis on me- that was totally wrong by the way, because I was perfectly capable of forming relationships, I just chose not to- that nobody asked for?

I brought a finger to my mouth, chewing on my nail nervously. Elsa shot me another look that I ignored.

When the lecture was finally over, I didn't hesitate to start throwing my shit in my bag.

"That class felt like forever, didn't it?" I said to Elsa, trying to seem normal, composed.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising, considering you were zoned out for most of it."

I forced out a laugh that was way too loud and patted the back of her shoulder lightly.

That was totally normal, wasn't it?

Apparently not, because Elsa wrinkled her nose and looked at me closely. "Are you ok? You've been acting strange all day. Well, for the past few days really but most especially, today."

Where did I even begin? How could I begin to tell her that my stepbrother, that asshole, had successfully gotten in my head and rewired everything, until I felt like I was about to go insane from the pressure?

"Yep. Totally fine," I said instead, giving her a smile that felt like it was pasted on.

Elsa didn't look like she bought it but thankfully didn't push.

And that was why we were friends. It was the same with my other two friends– Lucas and Houston. Other people might view our relationship as superficial since we didn't talk about any deep stuff but I liked it that way. I didn't need people trying to figure me out. Like a therapist. Or fucking Asher.

"If you say so," she said. "Do you want to go to the cafeteria and get food?"

"No, not today." I swung my bag over my shoulder. "I'm going home."

Elsa frowned. "Home? We have another class in 30 minutes."

"Yeah...I'm skipping that one."

There was no way I could make it through another class without going insane. I barely made it through this one.

Elsa looked concerned now. "Are you sure you're alright? Since when did you skip classes?"

Since today. Since goddamn Asher had gotten in my head.

I didn't say any of that to Elsa. Instead, I uttered a simple, "Bye, Elsa. See you tomorrow."

I ignored her calling my name and hurried out of the lecture hall.

Fucking Asher was going to pay for making me a mess like this.

I didn't know how, yet, but he would.

I was sure to think of something.

****

I walked home instead of calling an Uber. I needed the time. The quiet. The space to clear my head.

Except, it didn't quite work.

With every step I took, Asher's voice replayed in my head.

Nobody actually wants you.

I clenched my jaw.

Liar.

If that were true, Sofia wouldn't have followed me upstairs. She wouldn't have touched me like she meant it. She wouldn't have chosen me.

Sh wouldn't have–

I stopped walking.

Sofia hadn't chosen me.

She'd chosen a moment of chaos. A moment of escape. She'd chosen something reckless because it was easier than staying faithful.

And I had let her.

I laughed again, the sound sharp and hollow in the empty street.

Asher thought he knew me. That he'd seen through me.

But he was wrong.

He didn't understand anything.

I wasn't looking for intimacy. I was looking for proof.

Proof that I was alive. That I was wanted. Proof that I wasn't invisible.

When I finally reached the house, I didn't check to see if anyone else was at home.

I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at my hands.

They were shaking now.

I exhaled slowly, leaning forward until my elbows rested on my knees.

Asher's words echoed again, uninvited.

You're self-destructive.

I swallowed.

Maybe I was.

But if destroying things was the only way I could feel something, then was I really to blame?

I lay back on my bed, shoes still on. I stared up at the ceiling, counting cracks I'd memorized years ago.

I had won. I had succeeded in finally causing Asher's nonchalant facade to break.

So why did it feel like I lost?

I closed my eyes.

I was in the middle of falling asleep when a knock came at my door.

I stiffened.

For a brief, stupid second, I thought it might be Asher.

Then I heard her voice.

"Elliot?"

Of course. I'd forgotten that Margaret would be at home. She owned a florist shop but she was usually home by this time, leaving her employee in charge.

I considered pretending to be asleep. Considered saying nothing at all. Maybe she would get the hint and go away.

She knocked again, softer this time.

"I just want to talk."

I sighed. I couldn't even get a minute to feel sorry for myself in this house and hate Asher in peace without someone wanting to 'talk.' What a travesty.

"Come in," I said flatly.

The door opened and Margaret stepped inside, closing it behind her. She was still dressed, her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, her cardigan pulled tight around herself. Her green eyes, so similar to her son's, were narrowed in concern.

She looked at me the way she always did-careful, tentative, like I was something fragile that might shatter if she said something or touched me wrong.

That irritated me instantly.

Did she also pity me like her son did?

"Are you alright?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Do I look like I'm dying?"

She winced but didn't back off. It was almost admirable. "You aren't supposed to be home yet. Did you skip your classes?"

I snorted. "What? Are you stalking me now?"

Her brows knit together. "I just want to make sure you are ok. Are you sick?"

I didn't answer.

She took a step closer. "I'm just worried.This isn't your usual time–"

I sat up slowly, resting my elbows on my knees. "You really should stop pretending you care," I said.

Her lips parted. "Elliot-"

"You don't have to worry about me," I continued, voice calm, measured. "That's not your role. Save the concern for Asher."

Her face fell.

I could have stopped there.

I didn't, of course.

"You're not my mother. You're just the woman my dad married because he couldn't stand being alone," I said. "A placeholder. A distraction."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

I stood, unable to stay still, pacing the room like a caged animal. "So maybe stop trying to act like my mother. It's embarrassing."

Silence stretched.

"I was only trying to help," she whispered.

I turned back to her.

And saw the tears.

They slid down her cheeks slowly, quietly. No dramatics. No sobbing. Just pain she didn't bother hiding.

Something twisted in my chest.

I ignored it.

"Well," I said coldly, "you're really bad at it. And I wish you'd stop."

That did it.

Her hand flew to her mouth as a soft, broken sound escaped her. She shook her head, eyes shining, like she couldn't quite believe I'd said everything I said.

"I don't understand why you hate me so much," she said.

I felt the words rise instinctively, sharp and ready.

Because hating you is easier than missing her.

Because if I let you be kind, everything falls apart.

Because I don't know how to exist without anger.

Because anger is better than feeling nothing.

My mouth remained closed.

Margaret wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, nodding to herself like she'd made some realization.

"I'll... I'll leave you alone," she said softly. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

She turned and walked out before I could even think to stop her.

The door clicked shut.

I stood there, breathing hard, staring at the empty space she'd left behind.

Victory tasted like ash.

I sank back onto my bed, dragging my hands down my face until my palms pressed into my eyes.

Asher's voice echoed again, unwanted and relentless.

You're self-destructive.

I laughed under my breath, the sound hollow.

Yeah.

No shit.