"You ever wish you were someone else? Ever have days where you miss something you can’t have?" he asked softly, almost shyly.
I hesitated, shooting him a grim look. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled, like… really smiled. I tried, actually made an effort to recall the last incident, my lips stretched into a laugh. Nothing. My face felt like a mask. Cold, perpetually pissed off, distant.
For a second, I froze, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My fingers tightened around the razor. I didn’t have to shave every day, being practically albino-blond, my stubble was barely visible, but for the sake of routine, I switched on the razor.
Just to brush him off, I muttered, "Maybe. But I live in reality, Finn. And… I’m a beta. Unless I have some kind of hormonal malfunction, that’s never gonna change. Thinking like that is pointless, masochistic."
Finn shook his head a little. "That’s not even what I meant. I wasn’t talking about gender, I just meant more like—" he trailed off.
I turned off the razor and glanced at him. His face was full of something wistful, a quiet kind of sadness, longing.
"I should get going," he said abruptly, turning and walking out of the bathroom.
I shrugged, finished shaving, pulled on my underwear, and stepped out. Finn was already at the door, fully dressed.
We didn’t say goodbye in any way that might suggest there was still something between us. Because there wasn’t. Not for the past eleven years, not since we broke up.
"Take care," Finn murmured. "Let me know if you want me to stop by."
"Yeah, you too," I said.
He turned, opened the door, and left. Just like that. Without even brushing my hand.
Relief washed over me as soon as he was gone.
This whole situation had been dragging on for almost three years now, and it was getting harder and harder to tolerate. I felt stuck. And neither of us had the guts to say out loud what we both knew—that what we were doing was stupid. That it was keeping us from other possibilities.
Finn and I had history. We met at the start of college, and at first, I really thought he could be it. We dated all through school, we were each other’s firsts, in every way. I kept thinking I’d fall in love with him eventually. Sometimes, I even convinced myself I had. But when I looked back on it, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Finn was a great guy. Almost perfect. But that ‘almost’ got bigger and bigger every year, until eventually, it swallowed up the perfect part.
Handsome. Smart. Ambitious, maybe too ambitious. We were always competing with each other. He went the academic route, and I took the tech industry path, working as a specialist.
There was never thatspark. The kind you read about in romance novels. Sometimes I thought those stories were just fairy tales, because I couldn’t seem to feel that kind of passion; it didn’t seem real. How could it be?
Maybe we were somehow malfunctioning, or maybe I was the one who was broken and just didn’t have the right part in my brain to develop these kinds of feelings. There were days when I’d put my hand on my chest and listen to my heart just beating, hoping it would whisper to me,Yes, I love him, but it stayed quiet and unimpressed.
Over time, our relationship turned into this constant back-and-forth, a competition between our careers, a never-ending battle to prove we were more successful, that we’d made the better choice, that we were doing better, at everything.
Finally, we broke up. Or, more accurately, I broke up with him.
Finn was furious. He didn’t get it. He kept asking, "Why? Why won’t you even try? We don’t have any serious problems."
I told him it wasn’t about big problems. It was about the whole picture. The little things that piled up over the years. Death by a thousand cuts. But he couldn’t understand.
So one day, I packed my stuff, got a new place, and started over.
Finn sent me long emails, bombarded me with messages, begging me to reconsider. Negotiating. And eventually, outright pleading. But I didn’t budge. That chapter was closed.
We cut contact. I didn’t hear from him for years.
Until the day I found out he’d slept with my brother, Storm. That news hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I mean, I wasn’t surprised at Storm, he was the kind of guy who’d sleep with his brothers’ exes just for the thrill of it. He’d already done it with a few others.
But Finn? I never understood why he did it. I called him for the first time in years. It took six or seven tries before he finally picked up.
He sounded a little drunk, laughing as he said, "What’s the problem? We’re not together."
I snapped, "Maybe a little common decency?! He’s my brother, Finn! He’s nineteen!"
