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I just want to do something that will make them proud. Graduate college. Find a nice partner. Buy my own house.
Instead, I fell into bed with a guy I just met who won’t text me back now. I pissed off my English professor. And I continue living in my little brother’s shadow.
“So when do you have Luke’s class again?” Sage asks, drawing my attention away from my self-destructive thoughts.
“Tomorrow,” I reply. “Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Lucky me.” My tone is dripping with sarcasm—a language my friend and I speak fluently.
“Yikes,” she says with a wince. “Well, if it were me—and this is not meant to be advice—I would give him hell. Show him you’re not just some meek woman he can boss around and treat like garbage.”
Smiling to myself, I fold another pamphlet and let those words sink in. I don’t say this out loud, but I can’t help but think… Maybe I do want someone to boss me around. I mean…not in a degrading or dehumanizing way. But sometimes, I wish someone would tell me exactly what to do.
“He doesn’t treat me like garbage,” I mumble quietly.
“Okay, then, what would you call it?” she asks.
Thinking for a moment, I realize the answer stings even worse than him treating me like garbage.
“He treated me like he expected better from me.”
Four
Lucas
Walking up the steps to my house, another day of draining and unfulfilling work so heavy on my body that it feels like it’s dragging me down, I tell myself this is the last year. Even if I don’t make the program at Oxford, I won’t be here. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve never been more miserable.
After unlocking the front door, I slip inside and drop my bag on the bench at the entrance. My mind is so preoccupied that I almost don’t notice that something feels off. Instead, I mindlessly pull off my shoes, sliding them neatly into their place. My keys go into the dish on the table.
I’m two steps into the house when I freeze. Turning back, I stare at the weathered brown boots discarded by the door.
“You’re out of milk.”
My heart nearly flies out of my chest as I spin to stare at the man in my kitchen, leaning against the island with a bowl of cereal in his hand. He lifts a spoon to his mouth and crunches on the dry flakes with a smirk on his face.
“Jesus, Isaac. You scared the shit out of me!” I bark, clutching my chest. My heart is hammering against my rib cage as I wait for my blood pressure to return to normal.
“Sorry.” My brother laughs. “I would have called, but this was more fun.”
I roll my eyes as I walk farther into my house. “I don’t drink milk. And that cereal has been in my pantry since you bought it six—no, seven—months ago.”
“It’s still good,” he mumbles around the food in his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, going to the fridge for a sparkling water. “I thought you were going to stay in Nashville with that teacher.”
He shrugs. His now brown hair is wet, so he must have already showered. I’m willing to bet his bedroom is already in disarray, too. It usually takes him less than an hour to make a mess of it when he comes home.
“Things didn’t work out with him. Or the bartender,” he replies, setting the cereal down.
“There was a bartender?” I ask, leaning my back against the refrigerator.
He picks up a handful of his cereal and tosses it at me. “Don’t slut-shame me.”
When I hear the sugary flakes landing on the floor, I give him a terse glare. “You’re cleaning that up.”
He tries to act rebellious, staring at me as if he’s not going to do what I just said. Finally, with a huff, he goes into the laundry room and comes back out a moment later with the broom.
At the sink, I rinse his dirty dishes and lather up the sponge with soap.
“That’s your problem, Isaac,” I say over the sound. “You need to grow up. Stop acting like such a kid all the time.”
