Bully stepbrother

62. Martha is calling

CADEN

"Are you okay?" Aptera asks the moment we step back inside the house, her eyes flicking between me and Mad with suspicion.

I'm about to tell her to leave when Mad scoffs and walks past me, heading to her room to grab her things, just like she said she would.

"Sis-in-law, you need something to eat? I made chicken."

This is all my fault. From the first day I split the space, she slipped right through and decided she had a place here. Otherwise she wouldn't speak so boldly right now. This is why Mad can't forgive me.

"Get out," I mumble, rubbing the spot at the center of my forehead that feels like a nerve has been ripped out.

"Baby, I'm getting the week ready for you." She points toward the kitchen, but I barely pay attention. My eyes are searching for her things until they land on her bag. I take two long strides across the room, grab it, then catch her by the arm, shoving the bag into her hand and yanking the door open to throw her out.

She's already protesting, mumbling things I tune out. When she's finally outside the door, I lean in close to her face to make it clear. "You do not want to find out what happens if you ever come inside this house again."

I'm having a bad day as it is, my chest feeling like it's containing a giant, wounded animal. She doesn't want to see how angry I really am.

"Caden..." Her voice trembles.

"Leave," I say icily, not blinking, seeing nothing but red. That does it. She turns and runs. I've scared her away.

Hopefully, she won't try to cross paths with me again.

I slam the door, then face the gloomy room and lean back against it.

It's quiet, but there's a soft sound of movement from the room across the hall.

Ever since Mad came into my life, I've always thought I wanted her to leave so I could have my space. Now that it's actually happening, it feels like I'm letting go of my life support, and I have no idea what's waiting for me in the future.

My cold, bloodless knees can barely carry me. I walk to the sofa and sit, counting the seconds in my head until there's a knock. I don't even stop counting then.

Mad comes out of her room, her eyes scanning my useless figure on the couch before she opens the door to her friend Ariel.

I feel them moving back and forth, in and out. He carries her boxes downstairs. She's packed like someone who is never coming back here, and I'm expected to be selfless because it was her decision.

Why is this the right way to act?

In my head, I count the seconds she stalls in the bedroom while her friend waits outside. When she comes out, wringing her hands, she stops by the sofa.

I finally stand, still counting, like it's a kindergarten assignment.

She gives me a small, sideways half smile, her way of not lying by saying it will be okay. When I don't say anything, she turns and starts toward the door.

It's not that I don't want to speak. There's a wall in my throat. It's impossible to even swallow.

I just trail her to the door as she keeps walking, full of quiet resolve, not looking back, until the elevator doors close on her at the end of the hall.

The familiar silence pours in then, the same way it did the moment my mom closed the door and I waited for her to turn back.

Why is this my life? Was I so unwanted?