Briarwood Boys: The Year I Fell For Four

Prologue. The storm came just after midnight. Thunder cracked like a warning shot across the sky, rattling the windows of the Weston house. Rain lashed against the siding in angry, slanted sheets, and the wind howled down the street like something feral had broken loose. Upstairs, Aria jolted awake, heart pounding. For a second, she thought the storm had gotten inside. But it wasn’t thunder that made her sit up in bed—it was her mother’s wild scream and unlike the other times this one carried a huge amount of blood lust: a promise of death woven in her desperate angry cry. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Andrew!” Something crashed downstairs. Glass. A vase? A plate? Aria threw off her covers and stepped onto the cold floorboards, her breath catching in her throat. Anything but the frame! She screamed inaudibly, tears swirling in her now wide awake grey irises. “I walked away years ago, Madeline,” came her father’s voice, low and sharp, slicing through the chaos. “You just never noticed.” Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the hallway as Aria cracked her bedroom door open. She could see the shadows of their silhouettes below—the two people who used to tuck her in at night now tearing each other apart in the kitchen. Ridiculous as it sounded, she’d gotten used to it. But tonight’s fight was different and all she prayed for as she continued peeking was that nothing happens to the picture frame her grandmother had gifted her before passing. Why did it have to be in the kitchen? “You’re pathetic,” her mother hissed. “Staying late at work, pretending you give a damn. You don’t even try anymore.” “Because you never stopped keeping score! I’m tired, Mads. I’m tired of pretending this is anything but a war zone.” Aria definitely agreed with her dad on that after all, she had witnessed first handedly how her mom’s light jealousy had become sheer madness after she’s been laid off and forced to take on the role of a housewife. The next flash of lightning lit the scene in strobe. Her mother’s arm knocked over a framed photo on the kitchen counter—Aria’s third-grade class picture. It fell face-down with a muted clatter. Aria winced, her heart continued to pound as her eyes locked on the prized possession which would probably be next to follow. Grandma…they’re at it again. Aria struggled to choke down a sob. She should go back to bed. Hide under the sheets. Wait it out like every other argument. But this time felt different. This wasn’t just a fight. It was the fight. The end of something that had already been bleeding out for years and as the rain poured wrathfully, the she’d been awaiting finally exploded. “I want a divorce,” her father said suddenly pausing the storm, as if the world had sucked in a breath. Then thunder boomed, loud enough to shake the unsteady walls. Her mother didn’t respond—not in words. Just a long, broken exhale, followed by the sound of the back door slamming shut. Silence, then rain again. Relentless. Aria didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted salt. Her chest ached with something she couldn’t name. Grief, maybe. Or relief. Or rage. She couldn’t stay. Not in that house, not one second longer. She pulled on a hoodie over her pajama top, shoved her feet into soggy sneakers by the door, and grabbed her phone. One name hovered at the top of her messages: Dylan. Her boyfriend. Her safe place. The only thing that hadn’t shattered—yet. Without thinking, she stepped into the storm. --- The rain had soaked through Aria’s hoodie by the time she reached Dylan’s neighborhood, her fingers numb, her breath sharp in the cold night air. The storm hadn’t let up—it only grew louder, more insistent, like the universe was screaming with her. His house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, golden light glowing behind the front windows like a promise. Aria didn’t bother knocking. She knew the side gate would be unlocked. She knew the trellis below his bedroom window by heart. It used to feel like something out of a movie—sneaking in after curfew, curled under the covers together, whispering about everything and nothing. Tonight, it felt like survival. Her soaked sneaker slipped on the wooden frame as she climbed, scraping her knee. Darn! She hissed through clenched teeth but didn’t stop. Just three more steps. She needed him. She needed—something. The window was cracked, as always. Aria pushed it open quietly, her arms trembling from the cold and climb. She swung one leg inside, about to call his name— And then froze. Her breath caught halfway up her throat. Dylan wasn’t alone. There, tangled in his sheets, lay two bodies—half-naked and golden in the lamplight. A girl giggled breathlessly against his mouth, her fingers curled into his chest like they’d done this before. Like she belonged there. Dylan didn’t see Aria at first. He was too busy shoving his tongue down the brunette’s throat like a starved dog, salivating while he feasted on his conquest. It wasn’t until Aria stepped down fully into the room, dripping water onto his floor, that he looked up. His eyes went wide. “s**t—Aria—wait—” The girl gasped and pulled the blanket higher feigning modesty while seeking refuge coyly behind Dylan. Ridiculous! Aria didn’t speak. Didn’t scream. She didn’t even feel her legs moving as she backed toward the window again, one shaking hand clutching the frame like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “Aria, it’s not—just let me explain—” “No need, I won’t be a bother anymore.” And She was already gone. Back into the night. Into the wind that howled like it was mourning for her. The rain hit harder now, slicing against her skin with each drop like glass. She ran, hoodie plastered to her spine, throat tight with everything she didn’t say. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the timing. The one person she thought would hold her through the wreckage had just lit a match and thrown it at the ruins. When it rains it pours, I finally get. She chuckled as she walked down the empty street. Eventually her breath became haggard, her knees ran out of strength, her head collided with the tar and every began to slowly fade away. That was the moment Aria Weston stopped hoping anyone would stay. “Grandma, I’m tired.”