Stella was shipped off to a boarding school for troubled kids after her foster parents died. For the next seven years, that is where she's been, but she's back, and things are not the same as they were before.
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I ran to my room, my heart beating so fast that I couldn't catch my breath. The moment I did, I put my clothes back on, but instead I wore a tank top rather than just my sports bra.
What is actually happening?
I heard a hesitant knock echoed through the silence of my room.
No, for the love of God, is it him again?
"Stella, it's me." I let out a sigh and walked towards the door, hopefully for the final time today. I saw Scott, standing on the other side, his face a mixture of remorse and apprehension; I could practically smell it off him.
"Stella," he began, his voice soft, a stark contrast to the anger that had fueled his words before. "Can we talk?" I wanted to turn him away, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt I was experiencing, but I didn't.
"We're talking right now, aren't we?" I said harshly my arms crossed over my chest. He cleared his throat, his words cautious, as if he were navigating a field of landmines.
"I... I want to say I'm sorry, Stella," he started his voice wavering slightly. When I first saw him at the airport, he was different, bigger, and stronger, but seeing him now, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes shifting every which way, he hasn't changed; he is still the little boy I left 7 years ago. "I didn't mean any of those things I said. I was angry, and I just lashed out without thinking." I kept my expression neutral, not letting him see the turmoil that churned within me. "Stella, say something." He said finally meeting my eyes.
"You done?"
"Um yeah."
"That apology was bullshit. 'Sometimes I wish you would have stayed at the boarding school." I quoted him, making him wince at my harsh tone. " That was the last thing you said to me. I had asked you if you actually meant it and you said yes."
"I-" I cut him off.
"You said you were done speaking; it is my turn now." Harsh words had been exchanged, wounds inflicted that I never thought could come from him—my twin brother, my best friend. "How could you... I don't even want to look at you." I said covering my eyes with one hand. "Just go." I said shooing his away, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes and not wanting him to see me cry.
As he left I let myself slump onto the bed, the façade of strength I'd been maintaining crumbling in the solitude.
____
Scott's POV
I'm having a walk with my older brother Jackson. Today I mustered up the courage to tell Stella that I was sorry, and I was I really was. Jackson was the only one I told about the fight me and Stella had during lunch last week. I told him I was going to say sorry to her today. After calling him and telling him it didn't go so well, he invited me on a walk.
When me and Stella came to live with the Presley's Jackson and Stella, were attached at the hip, mainly because they had similar temperaments. They bonded over it. Jackson knows her better on a level that I just wouldn't understand. Oliver is usually the peacemaker of the family when Jackson and Dimitri would be at each other's throats, but Jackson was the Stella whisperer.
