Page 8 of Wreckage

Good. I was done with this conversation. I was sick of having the same goddamn fight day after day. If it wasn’t about our engagement, it was about Elena. I didn’t see Elena enough for her to be a topic, but Amanda sure liked to make her one. I told her on repeat I didn’t fucking choose Elena to be my sister. It wasn’t like I wanted it. What I wanted was what Adrian wanted. My fucking family together and whole. Not my mom skirting off with some prick she met at her gardening club, leaving me to help Dad raise Adrian. Adrian never knew why our mom left. Dad thought it best he didn’t know. But fuck, Adrian held onto the same hope I had that Mom would come back. Instead, we got Lacey and Elena.

“Enjoy your night, Troy.” She grabbed the doorknob. “I hope you finally figure out what the hell you actually want.”

Then she was gone, the door slamming behind her.

I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face.

Fuck.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, unlocking it out of habit. My thumb hovered over my messages but drifted to Elena’s social media instead.

Her page was like a reflection of her—quiet. Nothing fancy. No outlandishlook at meposts. Nothing with barely-there outfits and thirst traps. Books. School. Ballet. A few pictures of animals.

I scrolled mindlessly, and a few of her posts made me almost smile.

Then I caught myself.

And I hated it.

What the fuck was I doing?

I scowled, navigating away from her profile, and darkened my screen.

I needed to get my head on straight.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, no matter how much I told myself that, I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right.

It hadn’t been for a long time.

And, like always, there wasn’t shit I could do about it but get through it. So I put on my happy face and returned to the party, drinking until I passed out in a puddle of my own vomit.

It beat the urge to call Elena to ensure she was OK.

Not Amanda.

Fucking Elena.

And I hated that feeling.

Chapter 4

Elena

The night before I left for home, I spent my time doing what I did best—practicing for my ballet tryout before disappearing into books and talking to my best friend, Zara. We’d met at orientation on my first day at Lakewood and became fast friends. I credited her with getting me through the first year.

“God, that bad, huh?” Zara’s voice called out as she rummaged through my fridge for bottled water.

“You have no idea,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead as I sat on my couch. “I had to sit in the same room as them earlier, and I swear, the tension could have crushed me. I don’t even know why we pretend we’re family when we can barely exist in the same space.”

Zara made a sympathetic sound and flopped beside me, her water in hand. “I know it sucks, babe. But at least the view is good.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t argue. Both Adrian and Troy were disgustingly attractive. There was no point in denying it, even if I disliked them both with a passion.

“That’s not the point,” I groaned.

“No, but it helps,” Zara teased. “Like, imagine if they were ugly. At least this way, you have the satisfaction of having a good view while they piss you off.”

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