When He Saved Me

f i v e

- Asher's Pov -

I stumble into the house around 2 a.m., the faint buzz of adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. Everyone's lights are off, and the house feels like it's holding its breath. I quietly tiptoe upstairs, careful not to wake anyone. My room is just down the hall, but something stops me as I pass the guest room. I hear soft whimpering, the kind that makes your stomach twist—a kind of silent cry that carries more pain than anyone should have to bear.

I pause outside the door, my hand on the handle, unsure whether I should knock or just leave. I don't know her. She doesn't know me. It's not my place. I'm not the one to step in when it's none of my business. Maybe it's just a bad dream, a restless sleep. It's nothing. 

But something gnaws at me, that tiny voice in my head that tells me to check, to make sure she's okay. It's a strange feeling, one I'm not used to, and I try to shake it off. Why do I care? She's just some girl who shows up with barely any notice at her brother's house, with no care in the world on how it affected all of us. She doesn't belong here. I tell myself that's why she's been nothing but a mess since the moment she arrived she's always got this haunted look in her eyes like she's running from something she can't escape. It's the kind of thing I can't place, but it rubs me the wrong way.

I scoff to myself, standing there in the silence. It's a ridiculous thought, right? I laugh, though it feels hollow, more to convince myself than anything else. I glance at the door again, debating for a moment. Then I push it aside, telling myself it's not worth the trouble. She's fine. She's probably just upset about some dumb thing.  Who knows? She doesn't look like someone who handles problems well.

I make my way down the hall to my room shoving my airpods into my ears and blast my music trying to block out my thought but they still linger on her.

Madison.

I don't know why her name keeps swirling around in my head. I'm irritated with myself, annoyed that I'm even thinking about her. She shows up in the middle of the night, looking like she's been through hell, and then acts like it's no big deal. No explanation, no background—just this girl in disarray, wearing clothes that don't fit, hair always a mess, like she didn't even try.

And I resent it.

She doesn't seem like the type who would get into trouble, but then again, she doesn't seem like she knows how to handle herself, either. It's confusing. One minute, she's distant, closed off like she's trying to protect herself from something. The next, she's all too aware of everyone around her, almost as if she's waiting for something to happen like she's expecting to be hurt.

I want to hate her for being some spoiled brat, but I can't. She doesn't fit the stereotype. She doesn't fit anything I thought I knew about people like her people who've had everything handed to them. I can't even tell what kind of person she is. It's easier to just write her off, to act like she doesn't matter. But the more I think about her, the more I get frustrated by it.

I roll over in bed, trying to shove the thought of her out of my mind. She's just some girl passing through, dealing with whatever mess she's in. It's nothing to me. And yet, it's like she's stuck in my head now, something I can't stop trying to figure out.

I fall asleep, but it's not long before I'm startled awake. The house is still quiet, almost too quiet, and then I hear it—screaming. Panic fills my chest as the sound slices through the stillness. It's coming from Madison's room.

I sit up quickly, my heart racing as I try to make sense of what I'm hearing. The sound is sharp, raw, a voice torn from somewhere deep inside her, something desperate, something that doesn't belong in the quiet of this house. I throw off the blankets and rush out of my room, my feet pounding down the hall, too loud against the silence.