BROOKLYN stepped into her house, the familiar scent of cinnamon and burnt toast lingering in the air. She kicked off her sneakers by the door, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. As she turned the corner into the living room, her eyes fell upon Dylan,the flickering light from the TV cast shadows across his features, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable.
"You saw it," she said, her voice a mix of accusation and resignation. Dylan's hand paused on the remote, his thumb hovering over the volume button. The room was taut with tension, as if the very fabric of their relationship was stretched to its breaking point.
"The whole town saw it, Brooklyn," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very walls around them.
"Where is Mom?" she asked again, her voice a taut wire ready to snap.
Dylan took a deep breath, his hand finally depressing the button and silencing the TV. He looked at her, his eyes searching hers. "Out. She went to the grocery store."
Brooklyn felt a flicker of anger at the evasion, but she knew better than to push it. "Do you hate me?" she blurted out, the words cutting through the silence like a knife.
Dylan's gaze snapped to hers, the question catching him off guard. "What? No, of course not. Why would you say that?" His hand reached out to her, but she stepped back, out of his grasp.
"Because I think you should be ashamed of me," Brooklyn whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She felt the weight of his stare as she turned away, moving into the kitchen. The counters gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside her.
Dylan followed her, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum. "Why would you say that?" he asked, his voice softer now, the anger of a moment ago replaced with concern.
Brooklyn opened the fridge, the cold air washing over her flushed cheeks. "It's just..." She grabbed a bottle of water, her hand trembling slightly. "Everyone at school talked about it. The photo.... It's everywhere."
Dylan leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes never leaving hers. "Did he hurt you?"
Brooklyn took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, he did," she said, the words sticking in her throat like a mouthful of sand. The air in the room grew colder, the silence thick and oppressive.
Dylan's expression hardened. "What did he do, Brooklyn?" he asked again, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.
"He was the one who kidnapped me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She watched as the color drained from Dylan's face, his eyes widening with shock and fury.
