In My Arms

Chapter Three

Kendall Hansley 

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. Asher's heading over to Avery's, his girlfriend's house. I pull out my phone and send him a quick text letting him know I'll just walk home. Dad should still be at the bar, it's Monday, and it's not like he has a job to go to. He leaves all of that for Mom and Asher to handle.

As the hallway clears out, the usual chatter and rush of students fade to an echo. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and step outside. The crisp air hits my face, carrying a faint chill that cuts through the day's warmth.

Walking home feels like routine at this point—sometimes it's even better this way. The empty house waiting for me is nothing new, and neither is Dad's routine. Mondays mean he's out somewhere, doing what he does best, while Mom works overtime just to make sure we get by.

I push my hands deeper into my pockets, the weight of it all settling in a familiar way. It's not a long walk, but it can feel like ages. The dread of going home every day presses against my chest. What if I just didn't go back? Just left? But that's not reality, which is why Asher and I are still here.

"Kendall." The voice comes from a little ways behind me, sharp and unmistakably annoyed. I turn on my heels, finding myself almost face to face with a tall, black haired girl, her makeup perfectly done, winged eyeliner cutting a fierce line that only adds to her intensity. Her glare is pinned directly on me.

"So," she starts, crossing her arms. "What exactly do you think you're doing, talking to Hughes?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Her stare is sharp, and I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me. She steps closer, her gaze narrowing.

"He doesn't have time for someone like you," she sneers, her words dripping with irritation.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my expression steady. She's standing too close, her eyes burning holes into me, and there's no mistaking the anger behind them.

"I...I wasn't doing anything," I manage, though the words come out shaky. My mind races, trying to think what could've even set her off.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. "Look, I don't know what you think you're getting out of it, but don't waste your time. Hughes? He's out of your league." Her tone is cutting, every word deliberate.

I force myself to hold her gaze, even though I'd rather just turn and walk away. "I didn't do anything," I repeat, a little more firmly this time, well at least I think I did.

"Oh, please," she snaps, taking another step forward. "He's nice to everyone, that doesn't mean he actually cares." She pauses, eyes narrowing, looking me up and down as if assessing every bit of me. "So, do us both a favor and back off. Got it?"

I nod, though it feels like swallowing glass. Satisfied, she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder before walking away, leaving me standing alone.

I can feel the burn of tears welling in my eyes, though I'm not even sure why I'm crying. It's not like I ever thought he cared. Not really. People like Hughes don't waste their time on people like me. I know that. But somehow, hearing it out loud, having it thrown in my face with so much venom, it stings in a way I didn't expect.

The tears come faster than I can blink them away, my chest tight with a helpless, familiar ache. I want to say something but my words get tangled up in my throat, leaving me feeling small and exposed.

I take a shaky breath, willing myself not to cry right here on the sidewalk, but her words settle heavily, each one finding a place in the doubts I already carry.

I start walking again, head down, trying to make myself as invisible as possible.

                                                                                    ***

The house feels emptier than usual tonight. Asher won't be home until late, Dad's probably drowning himself in whiskey at the bar, and Mom's pulling another double shift at work. That leaves just me, Kendall, alone in the quiet. I don't mind it—at least not when it means I don't have to deal with him. The person whose blood I share.

The thought makes my chest tighten, but I push it away as I sit at my desk, spreading my textbooks and notes out in front of me. Study mode. That's all tonight needs to be about. No tiptoeing around his moods, no bracing for whatever version of him walks through the door. Just me, the silence, and the work I have to get done.

Still, the quiet has a way of creeping in, pressing against me, filling the space where voices would usually echo. It's suffocating and peaceful all at once. My pen scratches against the page as I try to focus, but it's hard. I just need to focus on school, graduate, and get the hell out of here.

The words on the page blur together as my thoughts wander, slipping through cracks I can't seem to seal. It's not the material that's hard, it's the stillness, the weight of the quiet pressing down on me. I tell myself it's peaceful, that I'm lucky for the silence, but deep down, I know it's just a fragile pause. A reprieve that could shatter the moment he comes back.

I tap my pen against the notebook, trying to redirect my focus, but instead, my mind drifts to him, Hughes.

It feels wrong, even selfish, to think of him now, here, in the suffocating quiet of this house. He doesn't belong in this world, in these moments where shadows seem to cling to me. He's sunlight, warm, bright, untouchable.

But I can't help it. I think about the way he walks, shoulders back, like he carries the weight of the world but refuses to let it bend him. The way his voice sounds when he says my name, steady, like it's a promise that I'm safe. And I wish, more than anything, that I could hold onto that feeling.

The quiet shifts around me, not peaceful anymore but heavy, and I hate the way it makes me feel. Small. Trapped. Like no matter how hard I try to claw my way out, I'll never be strong enough to escape.

I press my palms against the desk, grounding myself in the present. Focus, Kendall. Hughes isn't here. He can't be. But the thought of him lingers anyway, filling the spaces where the quiet used to press in.

He wouldn't understand this. What it's like to live with someone who turns your home into a battlefield. He's steady, grounded, and I'm...not. And yet, some part of me wonders what it would feel like to tell him. To let him see all the parts of me I've worked so hard to hide.

I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I don't get to think about him like that. Not here, not now. I have work to do. If I want to get out of this place, I can't afford to let my mind wander, even if it does bring me back to him.

I hope you enjoyed, I apologize that I haven't been posting regularly, I've been busy. Thanks, B!