Broken ✓

T W O | edited

ALEXA

Blake leaned casually against my locker, his smirk as sharp and irritating as ever. It was his favorite place to torture me—out in the open where no one dared interfere. His grin widened as I approached, my stomach sinking. Here we go again.

"Sup, Lexi," he said, his voice dripping with mockery.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I hated being called Lexi. The only person I ever let call me that was Andrew. But now... would my brother ever get the chance to say my name again?

"Can I—" I pointed to my locker, trying to keep my voice even, but I probably sounded as terrified as I felt. "Can I get to my stuff?"

Blake tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "Oh, you need your locker? Well, sure."

Before I could respond, he yanked my backpack off my shoulder and dumped its contents onto the floor. The loud clang of my binder hitting the tile echoed through the hallway, and I felt my cheeks flush with humiliation.

"Please don't do this," I whispered, crouching down to pick up my things. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

Blake chuckled, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. Without warning, he slammed my head into the locker. Stars burst behind my eyes, and I stumbled to the ground, clutching my throbbing forehead. Don't cry. Not this time. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Hey!" a voice rang out. "Leave her alone."

I blinked through the haze of pain, turning to see the source of the voice. Three boys—Elliot, Jackson, and Michael—stood a few feet away. The three most popular boys in school.

I froze. Why were they here? Were they defending me, or was someone else getting bullied behind me? I resisted the urge to look.

Blake turned to them, his smirk faltering for a moment before he sneered. "You talking to me?" he demanded, trying to sound tough but failing miserably.

"Who else would we be talking to?" Elliot asked, his expression flat and unimpressed.

"Can I take a swing at his face?" Jackson growled, cracking his knuckles.

Blake hesitated, then forced a laugh. "Whatever." He gave me one last shove, muttering, "You can have her," before stalking off down the hall. My legs felt like jelly, but I managed to stand, keeping my head low.

"Th-thank you," I stammered, my voice barely audible. I couldn't meet their eyes.

Michael grinned. "Aw, she's adorable. Can we keep her, Elliot? Please?"

"No," Elliot replied flatly.

"Hey, kid," Jackson said, glancing at me. "Why was that guy picking on you?"

I flinched at the word kid. We were the same age. I shrugged, forcing myself to stand straighter. "How am I supposed to know? He's just a bully, and I'm an easy target. Thanks for your help."

"No problem," Jackson said with a grin.

"Anytime!" Michael added brightly.

"But just because we helped you doesn't mean we're friends," Elliot said, his voice sharp.

"Ell—" Michael started, but I cut him off.

"I know," I said quickly, pasting on a fake smile. "I have to go now."

"Wait!" Jackson called after me.

I stopped as the three of them huddled together, whispering furiously. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but every so often, they glanced at me. Finally, they broke apart, and Elliot sighed.

"Meet us after school," he said.

I stared at him, stunned. "Excuse me? What?"

"Are you deaf?" Jackson asked. "He said—"

"I heard him." I shook my head. "But why would you want to meet with me?"

Michael grinned. "Because you're adorable."

"That's not—" Elliot started, but I cut him off again.

"I can't," I said quickly. I wasn't about to fall into some trap. "I have something after school. Sorry."

Michael looked disappointed, but I didn't wait for their response. I hurried down the hall, my heart pounding.

After school, I trudged into the house. My dad sat on the couch, a beer already in hand. His eyes flicked to me, and he scowled.

"Go get me a beer, brat," he barked.

The first words out of his mouth. Typical. He didn't even notice my swollen eye, courtesy of Courtney Rockefeller, my science partner. Or maybe he did notice and just didn't care. I sighed, heading to the fridge to grab him another beer. When I handed it to him, he snatched it without a word of thanks.

"How long until Veronica gets here?" I asked quietly.

"None of your business."

"But—"

"Don't talk back, girl!" His hand lashed out, striking my cheek. I stumbled, clutching my face as tears burned in my eyes.

"Get up!" he shouted. "Don't tell me you can't take a hit. Get the hell up!"

My legs shook as I pushed myself to my feet. "I-I'm up," I whispered.

"Pathetic," he muttered. "At least now I'll finally have the sons I always wanted."

The doorbell rang, and my dad's glare pinned me in place. "Not a word," he growled before heading to the door.

I took a shaky breath. Just pretend nothing happened. Don't ruin this.

"Alexa!" Veronica's warm voice called. "Come meet my sons."

I stepped into the living room, forcing a smile as five boys followed Veronica inside. They were older than me, their sharp eyes glaring in my direction. I couldn't understand why they looked so hostile—I'd never even met them before.

"Hey," I said weakly, raising a hand.

"What happened to your face?" Veronica asked, genuine concern lacing her voice.

"I fell," I lied quickly, feeling my dad's eyes burning into me.

Veronica frowned but didn't push. "Boys, introduce yourselves!" she said cheerfully.

The oldest stepped forward, his posture rigid. "Zach. Eighteen."

"Cameron," the next one said, sounding bored. "Seventeen."

"Justin," said the third. "Fifteen."

"Jason," added the fourth. "Also fifteen."

"Ryder," the youngest muttered. "Thirteen."

"Nice to meet you all," I said softly.

None of them responded. Justin and Jason scoffed, and Ryder rolled his eyes. The silence stretched until Veronica clapped her hands.

"Dinner, anyone? I know some great places!" she said brightly.

"Sounds great," my dad said, slipping his arm around her waist.

"Ew, gross," Cameron muttered.

"You do worse in the backseat of your car," Zach said dryly.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

No one answered. As we headed out the door, I could already feel the weight of the awkward dinner ahead pressing down on me.