My fingers curl into fists. “You don’t get it.”
“No, Brit — you don’t get it!” he snaps. “I’m the one left cleaning up your messes. The headlines, the calls from Mom, the pitying looks from everyone at school. You think you’re the only one who suffers in this family?”
The floor tilts beneath me.
“I tried so hard,” I whisper. “I gave up everything. And now you’re just… tearing me down.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. Spare me the victim speech. You can’t handle the smallest bit of criticism without melting down.”
I step back, chest tight. “Why are you being like this?”
“Because I’m tired, Brit!” he explodes. “Tired of fixing everything you break, tired of pretending you’re fine when you’re not, tired of watching you crash and burn over and over.”
Silence swallows the room.
I shake my head, backing toward the stairs. “You’re supposed to be my brother.”
His face softens — for a second. “Yeah, well, maybe you should start acting like my sister instead of a goddamn soap opera.”
The last thing I hear is the clatter of my suitcase wheels as I drag it up the stairs, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear over it.
In my room, I shove clothes into the suitcase blindly — shirts, jeans, the black dress I wore to the gala, the sweatshirt that still smells like home. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t get the zipper to close.
Behind me, I hear Jasper on the stairs.
“Brit—Brit, wait—”
His voice is rough, rushed.
I yank harder at the zipper, eyes burning.
“Brit, come on,” he calls from the hallway, footsteps quick. “I didn’t mean—okay? I didn’t mean it like that!”
The door bursts open just as I wrench the suitcase closed. Jasper’s standing there, chest heaving, his face pale.
“Don’t go,” he says, voice cracking. “Please don’t go like this.”
I sling the bag over my shoulder, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“Brit, stop.” He grabs my arm, but I pull away.
“Let me go, Jasper.”
He swallows hard, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m an ass. I’m a total ass. I just—I don’t know how to help you, Brit.”
My voice breaks on a whisper. “You help by not making me hate myself more than I already do.”
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. For a moment, it’s just us — two kids in grown-up bodies, both trying and failing to hold each other together.
I walk past him, down the stairs, out the front door.
“Brit!”
I hear the slam of the screen door as he follows, barefoot on the cold front steps.
“Please—”
The taxi’s waiting at the curb. I climb in, hands trembling, and slam the door shut. Through the window, I see Jasper standing in the driveway, arms limp at his sides, mouth pressed into a hard line.
