Page 45 of Never Enough

Mom moves the conversation along, diving into details about some charity work she’s been involved in recently. As the chatter begins again, I lock eyes with Daphne across the table. There’s sympathy in her gaze, and I find comfort there. It’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling under the weight of it all.

Dinner drags on, a masquerade where I’m both participant and puppet. With every laugh, every touch from Celeste, I feel myself sinking deeper into the quicksand of our lies. Vic casts sympathetic glances my way, but her concern only serves as a reminder of the ridiculousness of it all.

Finally, as the meal draws to a close, I find a moment to make eye contact with Daphne. In that brief exchange, we don’t need any words. She knows; she always knows.

In that understanding, there’s a promise of stolen moments and whispered truths in the dark, away from prying eyes and suffocating expectations. My Daphne doesn’t want to see me conflicted, so she lets me hurt her. Again and again.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing back from the table under the pretense of needing fresh air. But it’s not the night breeze I crave. It’s Daphne.

I slip from the table and find my way outside onto the veranda, knowing she’ll follow. I know this because she always does. Daph is dependable.

The dark night air is a relief against my heated skin, the silence a welcome reprieve from the stifling dinner conversation. I’m staring in the distance when soft patter of footsteps emerges from the darkness. Daphne emerges. She doesn’t say anything at first but merely stands next to me while staring out into the darkness.

“I’m sorry about all that.” My words are quiet, barely audible over the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Daphne shakes her head slightly. “You shouldn’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“And yet…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“And yet,” she echoes softly, turning to look at me with a sadness in her eyes that matches my own.

A flood of emotions surges through me, a torrent of words trapped behind my lips. I long to pour out my heart, to reveal the depths of my depression. To confess how it crushes me so often that I’m left paralyzed in bed while suicidal thoughts lurk in the shadows of my mind. It’s the intensity of the pain that threatens to consume me. But most of all, I yearn to share the love I feel for her, the love that has blossomed from the moment our eyes met. Losing her could have destroyed me. I’m alive because of her and because of Celeste.

But I don’t. Tell her, I mean.

I remain silent, a prisoner of my own thoughts. Stuck inside my depression coffin so tightly that I can’t move.

It does that, you know. It’s why I stutter when I’m anxious. I’ve always been frozen.

Anyway, rather than pour my heart out like I know I should, we stand side by side in silence.

Yet since I’m not alone, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter.

When we finally go back inside, Mother finds us immediately, along with everyone else, to outline sleeping arrangements with a casual disregard for privacy. “Eden, you’ll be in the blue room,” mymother says, her voice laced with the warmth of a seasoned hostess. “And Vic, dear, you’re in the green room across from Celeste and Alex.”

“Speaking of which,” Celeste interjects, flashing a coy smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You all might want to consider earplugs tonight.” Fuck! Not only is the notion false, but even if it weren’t, our parents are right here! Celeste’s laughter rings out, sharp and expectant, and I feel Daphne’s discomfort like a physical wound. She flinches ever so slightly, and her hurt is even more of a punch to my gut.

“Maybe we should give them a show, Alex,” Celeste whispers, oblivious to the tension she’s stirring.

“Fuck off,” I murmur, words clipped, every muscle in my body tensing. Across the table, Daphne’s gaze drops to her lap, her hands clasped tightly together as if holding on to the last shred of composure.

“Come on, it’s just a joke,” Celeste pouts, reaching for my hand.

I pull away subtly, offering a tight smile that feels more like a grimace. The weight of Daphne’s sadness presses down on me, and I’m desperate to escape.

“Excuse me,” Daphne murmurs, pushing back her chair with such quiet dignity that it nearly breaks me.

Once the goodnights are exchanged and the mansion sinks into a deceptive peace, I find myself outside Daphne’s door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knock softly, and when she opens, there’s a vulnerability in her hazel eyes that calls out to something primal within me.

“Hey,” I whisper, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “I couldn’t let the night end like that.”

“Alex, you don’t have to—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Shh, no. I need to be here with you.” My hands find her waist, pulling her close until our bodies align in a way that feels like coming home. “I’m so sorry about earlier. About all of this.”

“It’s okay,” she breathes, but the tremble in her voice betrays her words.

“No, it’s not.” I press my forehead against hers. “But I promise you, tomorrow, Celeste will tell her family, especially since everyone at school already knows. It’s over between us.”

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