𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

STELLA
RUSSEL

One month after Avery's drowning incident, life had seemingly returned to normal-or at least what passed for normal in our circle. On the surface, Avery appeared happier, lighter even. But appearances were deceptive, and I wasn't naive enough to believe the mask she wore.

She still hadn't spoken to Alessio, and I was locked in my usual bickering with Grayson. Liliana and Jaxon remained the perfect, nauseatingly sweet couple. Damon, on the other hand, had vanished. He hadn't shown up at school in weeks. Everyone else seemed to forget he existed-except Marcella. And me. I tried to check on him, but he never responded to my messages.

I had a feeling that if Avery called, he'd pick up instantly. But Avery had been too busy lately, always hanging out with Kaiden or Astor, laughing and acting like life hadn't just dragged her through hell. She didn't have time to notice anyone else's struggles-or maybe she was just too focused on pretending her own didn't exist.

Today, I decided to check in on her. It wasn't out of obligation, but because I missed my friend. I'd spent the past month buried in books, studying, and hadn't had time to think about anyone else. But Avery? Avery had been on my mind. Something about her didn't sit right.

I found her in the study room, her face buried in a textbook. She looked up as I approached, plastering on a smile that was far too bright for her. Far too fake.

"Hey, Aves." I sat down next to her. "How's life? Did you go back home, or are you still staying with Marcella?"

Her hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she couldn't hide. "Papa Crist and Mama Crist aren't letting me leave. I tried to go back home, but they keep saying, 'just one more week.'" Her smile widened, painfully forced. "But I'm great! No more sadness, no more panic attacks. I'm good."

She was lying through her teeth. I could see it, clear as day. The way her hands fidgeted with the corner of her notebook, the way her eyes darted around the room. But I didn't call her out on it. Not yet.

"Great," I said, forcing a smile of my own. "No more drinking, then? You're good now?"

For a moment, her mask slipped. She flinched at the question, but quickly covered it up with a laugh. "I've been clean for a month now," she said, too quickly, "but hey, I need to use the bathroom." She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she made her escape.

I watched her walk away, biting my lip. I knew I should respect her privacy, let her handle things on her own. But something in my gut told me not to.

So I followed her.

Pushing open the bathroom door as quietly as I could, I found her standing in front of the mirror, her reflection broken and vulnerable. She didn't see me as she broke down, her hands trembling as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette. No-not just a cigarette. A joint. Avery was about to smoke weed.

I froze for a moment, disbelief and anger colliding inside me. This wasn't Avery. She drank, yes, but she swore she'd never smoke. She promised herself, and us, that she wouldn't go down this path.

I stepped forward, my hand darting out to grab her arm, making her drop the joint to the floor. She spun around, her wide eyes filled with fear as she looked at me.

"What the hell, Avery?" I hissed. "You're trading drinking for this? You're better off being drunk than being a fucking street druggie!" My voice rose, anger spilling over despite myself.

She flinched, her body curling in on itself as I glared at her. "I worry about you, Avery! I'm trying here-trying to support you, to help you, and you're just-" My voice cracked, but I pushed through. "You're a mess. I was right from the beginning. You can't be helped. You're always going to be a street junkie. Just like your father. Aggressive and self-destructive, just like him. We're trying to help you because we love you, but you're wasting our time."

For the first time ever, Avery snapped. "You-" she sobbed, her voice trembling with rage. "You don't understand." She paused, her chest heaving as she fought to speak. "You're little miss perfect, Stella, with the good grades and the perfect father who supports you. Mine beats me up while you're studying to get better grades. I'm trying! I'm trying so hard not to make your lives harder, but you don't see it!"

Her voice cracked as tears poured down her face. "I'm not my father. I'm not him!" She slid down the wall, her legs giving out beneath her, her sobs morphing into sharp, panicked breaths. "I'm not him. I'm not him. Please don't say that. I'm. Not. Him." it's like she's trying to convince herself.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening as I watched her break down. And then, my anger flared. "Miss perfect?" I whispered, my voice icy. "My mom left me and ran away, Avery. At least you had a stepmom. You don't get it. You don't see it. You're just like your father. You bottle up your hate, and you're going to ruin every friendship you have. It's always about you, never about anyone else."

She looked up at me, her tear-streaked face pale and trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered, so soft I almost didn't hear it. "Don't leave me!" she sobbed, yelling out loud. "Stella don't leave me, I'm sorry. Stella, I can't breathe! Stella I can't fucking breathe. I need help, Stella."

But it wasn't enough. "Don't talk to me," I said, turning toward the door. "Not until you're clean." I didn't look back as I walked out, ignoring her broken voice calling after me.

Truthfully, I went home and cried harder than she ever did. I didn't want to lose Avery. But I couldn't watch her destroy herself anymore.

Before I could fall asleep, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to Damon:

Don't answer for me. Go to Avery. She's having a panic attack. She needs you.