Classic Novel
18
As the morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room, I blinked awake. The unfamiliar surroundings momentarily confused me, until the events of the previous night came flooding back. The tension, the argument, and the emotionally charged atmosphere-it had all been real, not just a figment of my imagination.
Shaking off the lingering grogginess, I pulled myself out of bed and padded to the bathroom for a quick shower. The water was invigorating, washing away the remnants of unease from the night before. Wrapping myself in a towel, I hesitated for a moment before selecting a simple blue dress to wear. It seemed a safe choice, given the circumstances.
When I ventured downstairs, the smell of breakfast wafted through the air, mingling with the remnants of tension that still hung in the atmosphere. As I entered the kitchen, the sight before me was both surprising and disconcerting. There they were, Alex and Ace, working together to prepare breakfast. But their appearances told a different story-Alex’s purple eye and Ace’s busted lip were glaring indicators of their argument last night. The reality hit me like a ton of bricks; their rivalry had not been a dream, and now I had to face the aftermath.
“Good morning,” I mumbled quietly, my voice barely audible above a whisper. It was as though embarrassment had taken root within me, rendering me almost mute in their presence.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.
“Good morning,” they responded in unison, their voices devoid of the anger that had marked our last encounter. The contrast between their current demeanor and the hostility from last night was stark, leaving me uncertain about how to proceed.
As I stood there, feeling the weight of their gazes on me, Ace pushed a plate with a mishmash of breakfast foods-leftover toast, pancakes, and eggs-towards me. It was a simple gesture, an offering that spoke more than words ever could. In a similar vein, Alex handed me a cup of coffee, his expression tinged with a mixture of contrition and an unspoken understanding.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, my gratitude genuine but my discomfort palpable. I didn’t offer much in terms of conversation, my fear and unease making words feel like foreign territory.
The atmosphere around the breakfast table was heavy, laden with unsaid words and unspoken regrets. It was as though we were navigating a fragile truce, one that was being forged in the aftermath of a storm. I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder in their shared world, an unintended disruption that had caused a rift between them.
Suddenly, the tension was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway. Cher’s cheerful voice cut through the heaviness, and I couldn’t help but internally cringe at the timing. “Guys! I brought scones!” Her announcement boomed, filling the room with an energy that was both refreshing and anxiety-inducing.
Cher’s arrival brought with it a palpable shift in the room’s atmosphere. The dynamics changed as she breezed into the kitchen, her infectious enthusiasm pulling the focus away from the lingering remnants of the previous night’s conflict. Her bright presence acted as a balm, dispelling some of the awkwardness that had settled over us.
“Morning, everyone!” she chimed, a warm smile on her face as she set a tray of scones on the table. Her gaze flickered between the three of us, and for a moment, it felt as though a sense of normalcy was being restored.
“What the fuck happened to you two?!” She yelled as she looked at both her brothers. They stayed quiet. I wished they would say something. A lie. Something. But they didn’t. They just grabbed a scone, ignored her question and exited the kitchen. Leaving me behind to deal with her and her ten thousand questions.
The weight of guilt and apprehension clung to me like a heavy shroud as I sat there, surrounded by the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. I was facing a dilemma-a decision I knew I needed to make, but one that terrified me.
Cher’s presence was a comforting and unsettling combination. She was a bright force that had the power to dissolve even the most stubborn clouds of discomfort, yet the realization that I was the reason her brothers had fought was like a dark cloud looming over me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it pained me to reveal it.
As I nibbled on a pancake, lost in my thoughts, I suddenly felt Cher’s gaze on me. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern, her gaze piercing through my attempts to hide my inner turmoil. The realization hit me like a physical blow-the moment of truth was approaching, and I couldn’t escape it.
“Are you gonna tell me why my brothers are like that?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. It was a simple question, but the weight of its implications was heavy. She deserved to know the truth about what had transpired, even if it meant revealing the extent of my involvement and the complicated web of emotions that had led to the altercation.
I felt my heart race as the words hung in the air, a choice that needed to be made. I looked into her eyes, her concern mirroring the fear that gripped me from the inside. The truth was, I feared her reaction. I feared her disappointment, her anger, her hurt. I knew that the revelation would inevitably change the dynamics between us, and that was something I wasn’t ready to face.
For a moment, I considered avoiding the question, skirting around the issue in the hopes that it would all fade into the background. But as I looked into Cher’s eyes, I knew I couldn’t deceive her. Not only did she deserve to know, but I also needed to take responsibility for my actions and the impact they had on those around me.
“I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely audible above the clatter of cutlery against plates. Not today. Another day, I will tell her.