Chapter 17

Celeste

The dining room was filled with the sound of conversation and laughter. None of Jack’s friends—not even Matt—was aware of my inner turmoil. I chose to keep it that way.

I avoided Matt’s gaze. Although he laughed and spoke with his friends, I couldn’t unsee that sad look in his eyes.

He had seen my messages already; I could only imagine what I would see when I turned on my phone later. I should have blocked him right after I hit send and saved us both the trouble.

Each dish I served was met with Jack's scrutinizing eyes, his lips twisting into a smirk every time he opened his mouth to speak. But I kept my head down, pouring water into glasses and refilling dishes, focusing on the repetitive motions to distract myself from his constant jabs.

Be the perfect sister, I kept thinking to myself, my body moving mechanically as though I was being operated by a remote control. Don’t feel. Just serve.

“Celeste, this chicken is overcooked,” Jack hissed. He then turned to his nearest friend and smirked as he pushed his food around on his plate. “You'd think after cleaning the house, she'd be able to cook something decent.”

“I think it's delicious,” his friend muttered, but he quickly averted his eyes from Jack’s glare and didn’t speak again.

Ignoring his comment, I refilled the wine glasses, making sure not to pour too much into Jack’s.

He was already on his second glass, and I had no desire to deal with him when he was inebriated. I already knew that it was going to be bad enough as it was when his friends left. Alcohol would likely only make it worse.

“So,” Jack teased, taking a greedy glug of his red wine. “You went to the gym today, huh?”

I nodded slowly, noticing as several pairs of eyes fell on me. The room was far from silent with the amount of people who were there, but I felt like I was in a tomb.

Jack scoffed and glanced over at Matt. “Yeah. Matt told me.”

My eyes, however briefly, flickered over to Matt. I felt somewhat betrayed, in a strange way. It wasn’t as though I told him not to tell my brother, but I supposed that there was a little part of me that hoped that he wouldn’t.

“Tell me,” Jack said, leaning toward Matt. “What was she like? Clumsy? Embarrassing?”

I continued my role, making myself as invisible as possible, avoiding eye contact, especially with Matt. It was too painful to see his reaction to Jack's verbal onslaught. He said nothing.

“And look at her!” Jack cackled, pointing a fork in my direction, his voice dripping with malice. “She thinks she's all that after going to the gym once? Just look at her, fat and—”

“That's enough,” Matt's voice interrupted sharply, his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he stood. The room grew even more silent, the tension palpable. “That is not how you speak to your sister. Or anyone for that matter. And for the record, she did a damn good job at the gym.”

The room fell silent. I froze. Jack looked up, clearly stunned by Matt's sudden defense. For a moment, it felt as though time had stopped, the two of them locked in a wordless standoff.

Matt’s gaze shifted to me briefly, a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes.

“Thanks for dinner,” he murmured, though it was clear his gratitude wasn't directed at Jack. \

Without another word, he headed for the door.

I followed his retreating figure with my eyes, watching as he paused at the threshold. He gave me a pained, apologetic glance before disappearing through the door. My heart ached at the unspoken words between us.

As Matt left, the room slowly resumed its previous buzz of conversation, though it was obvious everyone was trying to avoid addressing the elephant in the room.

After the agonizing dinner was over, I began the task of cleaning up, scraping uneaten food into the bin, and stacking dishes. Soon, everyone slowly filtered out, and Jack and I were alone again.

I quickly finished up my work and slipped past the living room with the intention of disappearing for the night.

But as I prepared to ascend the stairs, Jack's voice, now slurred with alcohol, called out to me from the living room.

“Celeste, come here,” he ordered.

I hesitated for a second before making my way over, my steps heavy with dread.

He was sprawled out in his usual chair, a glass of whiskey in hand, eyes glued to the sports game playing on the television.

“Look at me,” he growled.

Reluctantly, I turned to face him. Without warning, he reached out, grabbing my wrist in a bruising grip, causing me to gasp in pain.

“You think I enjoy this?” he began, his voice thick with alcohol and bitterness. “I’m doing this for your own good. You’re weak, fat, and unattractive. The world is a cruel place, and I’m trying to protect you from it.”

“I-I know,” I stammered.

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing a whimper out of me as I fell to my knees in front of him.

“Don't you dare act out again,” he hissed in my ear, the scent of whiskey making my stomach churn. Then, with a sudden force, he shoved me away.

I stumbled back, my heart pounding, my mind filled with rage, sadness, and a flurry of emotions. Without looking back, I dashed up to my room, throwing myself onto the bed, my sobs muffled by the pillow.

…

The room was dark, only the soft light of the streetlamps filtering through the window. After what felt like hours, I finally reached for my phone, turning it back on.

The screen lit up, displaying several unread messages. They were all from Matt.

“Why aren’t you coming to the ball?”

“I was really looking forward to seeing you again.”

“I just don't understand. What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

“Please answer me. Don’t just ghost me like this.”

The weight of it all bore down on me, tears streaming down my face as I read each message.

The words reflected the depth of his disappointment, confusion, and concern. I wanted to reply, to explain, but I couldn't find the words.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I left his messages on read and buried my face deeper into the pillow, praying for the pain to subside.

Eventually, sleep took over my exhausted body. I fell into a deep slumber filled with agonizing dreams. I dreamed about Matt, about the gym, Sabrina, my brother.

I dreamed that I was lost in a swirling tidepool, surrounded by laughing faces that whirred past faster and faster as the current carried me around in dizzying circles.

I dreamed about Matt carrying an enormous weight, weight so heavy that it broke his back. When I tried to run to him, when I tried to help him, I was sucked back down into the whirling pool.

No, I wasn’t sucked back down. I was shoved. Shoved by hands pressing into the top of my head.

I looked up to see Sabrina standing over me, grinning. Beside her sat my brother, grinning just the same. They pushed their hands into the top of my head and shoved me under the water, laughing. I drowned, and Matt’s spine was shattered into a million pieces.

I only awoke the next morning, drenched in sweat and in a panic, the air filled with the sound of my blaring alarm.