Page 5 of Never Enough

It’s overwhelming and intense, so unlike anything I’ve ever felt with Celeste. There’s just no denying it anymore. The second Daphne returned to my life, my feelings for her returned tenfold. If things continue this way, there will be no way to salvage what once existed between me and Celeste.

Unfortunately, I’m a mess inside my head because, even after release, Daphne continues to haunt me while guilt settles in like a cruel aftertaste.

I have to stop this. Celeste is my girlfriend. She deserves all of my attention, even in my thoughts. For the sake of our relationship, I’ll give it my all.

No more Daphne Burton. Even if it kills me inside. It’s fitting, really. She saved me physically, but I can’t accept her help to save me emotionally.

Cum drying on my stomach, I remember the first time I saw her.

Dad is pissing me off. It’s Saturday morning, and all I want to do is play video games. Don’t I deserve it? I get good grades, am never tardy to class—as the bullies in my school like to point out—and I’ve already done all my homework last night. So what if I want to relax for a few hours with online friends. I’m just a kid.

Sometimes, being a Whitmore feels like a punishment. Victoria certainly thinks so. Mom pushes her to be the First Chair at the harp, but I don’t even think Vic likes music. A few weeks ago, she confided in me that she’s always dreamed of dancing, but Mom won’t let her because our cousin is already attending Julliard. Apparently, we have to stretch out our talents so our family covers them all. Victoria’s is music. Our extended family decided before she was even born. Mine is public relations. Ironic, considering I’m a total social outcast.

Even worse than having my family reminding me how I’m letting them down is this darkness. It covers me like a metaphorical coffin, threatening to bury me in the ground. On the worst days, I’m already trapped among the dirt and the worms. Dying. I stretch my fingers and toes, but I’m still stuck.

If I could, I’d claw my way out of my body and float so far away that Alexandru Whitmore would only be a distant memory. Because all this Alexandru Whitmore feels is never-ending pain.

No one believes me. Well, I mean, I haven’t told them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know. There’s no way they don’t. How could they not see the monster tearing at my soul? How can they not see the bruises lying underneath my skin, invisible but oh-so-prettily prominent at the same time? It’s clawing at my skin as it buries me in the ground.

Victoria shuffles beside me, complaining about some new girl in her class. Usually, I’d listen, but today, my mind’s elsewhere. We’re close, Vic and I. We understand each other’s burdens. She gets why I hate meeting new people, and I get why she hates the harp. We’re each other’s rocks in a world of quicksand. Yet we’re both drowning, just in different ways. She, at least, has friends.

As twilight deepens, mirroring my despair, a familiar dread creeps over me as we approach the Whitmore Institute—our family’s gilded cage. The encroaching darkness seems to seep into mysoul, making it difficult to focus on anything but the looming dread ahead.

My parents insist I escort Victoria to her lessons. Apparently, I’m the only one who can prevent her great escape from the harp. It’s a win-win for them, I suppose. They get me out of my room, and they get her to practice. But this isn’t a walk in the park. Too bad I fester no matter where I am. At least if I were in my room, I wouldn’t get the familiar pit-in-the-stomach sensation that tightens its grip as I catch sight of them—my personal hell’s welcoming committee.

“Go ahead inside, Vic,” I mutter, my voice a weak facsimile of casual indifference that I don’t feel. “I’ll be there in a few.”

“Okay!” She bounces away, oblivious to the storm cloud hovering over her brother. She’s the only person in my life who tolerates my existence. For everyone else, it’s like having me around them is a poison.

I don’t exactly blame them. I’m a poison for myself too.

I hate how we live right in town, just how I hate how our institute is downtown too. Because that means it’s the number-one hangout spot for kids my age.

Including the bullies.

Knowing that I can’t avoid them, I lower my eyes and shuffle my feet towards the door. Maybe if I hunch, they won’t bother me today.

I’m quickly proven wrong when one bully, named Michael, calls out, “Hey, Alex!” His voice drips with a mockery as sharp as shards of glass piercing my skin. I turn, bracing myself for the barrage. Even though they’re just words, they’re barbed and poisonous, designed to tear open existing wounds.

“Going to a music studio, huh?” another sneers. “What instrument do you play? Actually, let me guess. The flute.” His friends explode into raucous laughter. I don’t find it funny. Lots of guys play instruments, flutes included. Doesn’t make them any less of a man.

“Ha ha,” I deadpan.

“Aww, look at him, thinking he’s all smart with those stupid glasses,” another chides. A finger pokes at my chest, pushing me back a step. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it’s like trying to push down a rock.

“Like anyone would date this loser,” one jeers, and the others join in with nods and snickers. “Boy, girl, or dog… Doesn’t matter. Who’d want this greasy-haired, four-eyed freak?”

My breath catches, heart pounding so hard it might burst from my ribcage. Being alone forever is my biggest fear. If my parents don’t love me and I don’t connect with peers, how will I ever find friendship outside of my sister? I force a shaky exhale, but it only emerges as a stuttering gasp. “Th-that’s enough,” I stammer, hating the tremor in my voice. When I’m nervous, I stutter. Always have.

“D-d-d-did you hear th-that?” one mocks,imitating my stutter with exaggerated cruelty. “He can’t even speak without tripping over his own tongue!”

My eyes sting. Fuck. If I cry now, I’ll just be handing them a weapon. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force back the tears. I want to scream, to let loose the rage and self-hatred that are consuming me. Maybe if they saw the fire in my eyes, they’d back off. But I’m trapped. Showing weakness will only make them taunt me harder.

Trying to hold myself together, I end up losing my footing, with my eyes still tightly closed. My knees crack against the sidewalk, causing me to cry out in pain. The kids around me only laugh. I’d give anything to just disappear. I’d even rather live life invisible than be seen.

“Leave him alone,” a determined feminine voice cuts in, but I barely register her. I’m sinking, drowning in the dirt within my coffin, both theirs and mine.

“Whatever,” one bully finally grunts, and with a last shove that sends me careening off balance, they saunter away, leaving behind a silence that’s somehow louder than their taunts.

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