I laugh despite myself. “Maybe we should just request to bunk together and start chaos.”
Thea’s eyes light up. “Honestly? Let’s do it. A whole year without you is going to suck.”
“You think housing will let us switch?”
“They have to. It’s a mental health emergency.” She grins, leans back in her chair. “We’ll tell them we’re co-dependent or some shit. Make it sound serious.”
“We are co-dependent.”
“Exactly.”
We clink our water bottles together like champagne glasses, and for a moment, everything feels light. Easy. Like maybe this whole college thing is going to work out.
The cafeteria door slams open.
The sound cuts through the noise like a gunshot. Everyone turns.
My heart races when I notice none other than my fucking brother. The asshole who’s been ignoring me. Axel stands in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. His hoodie is ripped at the shoulder, hanging loose. One eye is swollen, puffy and dark, the skin around it turning purple. His lip is split, still bleeding, blood smeared across his jaw and down his neck. He looks like a fight walked through him and didn’t bother to end.
My fork clatters to the plate.
“Oh shit,” Thea mutters.
I stand so fast my chair topples backward, hits the tile with a crack that makes half the cafeteria flinch.
“Axel—” His name catches in my throat. What on earth happened to him?
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even glance in my direction. He’s scanning the room like he’s looking for someone, his jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.
“What the fuck, Ax?” I’m moving before I realize it, weaving through tables, past confused parents and gawking students. My heart races, wondering what the hell happened to my brother. It looks like he got jumped by a bunch of guys.
He still doesn’t acknowledge me. Just keeps walking, heading toward the back of the cafeteria where a group of guys are sitting.
I catch up, grab his arm. “Axel!”
He jerks away so hard I stumble. My nails scrape against his sleeve, catching on the torn fabric.
“What the hell happened?” My voice is too loud, too shrill. I can hear it echoing throughout the place.
He turns. Finally. But the look on his face makes me wish he hadn’t.
His eyes are steel. Cold. Empty.
He’s high.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” he seethes.
The whole cafeteria goes quiet. I can feel every pair of eyes on us, hear the whispers starting, see phones lifting.
My face burns. My heart tears a little more down the middle. “What’re you talking about?”
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the copper tang of blood, the sweat soaked into his hoodie. He smells so bad. His voice drops low, just for me.
“You don’t want a target on your back. So don’t call, don’t text, don’t even look at me.”
I flinch, anger mixing with fear as I really look at him. Shit, I didn’t know he wasn’t doing good. “What’s going on?”
He starts to walk away.
