Game On
1189 Words
Elowen
I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar, pristine white ceiling and made a silent pact with myself: Today will be good.
It had to be. I needed twenty-four hours of peace, productivity, and basic human dignity. No public humiliation. And most importantly, zero Zephyr-induced suffering. I will try all I can to avoid him today.
Sighing, I sat up and took a slow breath to steady my nerves. Yesterday had been a disaster, but people embarrass themselves all the time. Some people trip on stairs; some accidentally call their professors "Mom." My particular flavor of humiliation just happened to involve a scholarship, a group of judgmental Belmont guys, and a stepbrother with the emotional maturity of a rabid raccoon.
New day means a clean slate.
I swung my legs out of bed, taking in my new room. I hated to admit it, but the space was beautiful. Morning light poured through heavy, expensive curtains, illuminating the soft cream walls and the massive built-in bookshelves. The bed felt like sleeping on a cloud woven out of pure Knox money. It was luxurious, comfortable, and safe which naturally annoyed me, because I didn't want to enjoy a single thing provided by my new stepfamily.
But I shoved that thought away. I showered, threw on a white collared shirt and a black tennis skirt, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Then, I pulled on a pair of crisp white ankle socks. Visible ones.
"If Belmont has a problem with socks, that’s a Belmont problem," I told my reflection, adjusting my collar. "And if Zephyr has a problem with it, he can shove it."
Pep talk concluded. I grabbed my bag and headed out into the main apartment.
Without yesterday's sheer exhaustion clouding my vision, I finally got a good look at the place. It looked like a spread in Architectural Digest—floor-to-ceiling windows, an ash-grey sectional, and shelves holding abstract art that probably cost more than my college tuition. It was all clean lines, muted colors, and zero clutter. Very masculine. Very Zephyr.
It looked as if he was the one who designed this place.
The kitchen was even worse. It featured gleaming marble countertops and sleek cabinets that looked like they had never seen a single drop of cooking oil. I was starving, so I pulled open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator.
Empty. There was not even a carton of milk, not a single egg. Just cold, brightly lit air that swushed across my face.
I checked the freezer. The pantry. Nothing. Not even a stray packet of instant ramen.
"Who actually lives like this?" I muttered to the empty room. Right. Zephyr. He must've owned this place or something.
The man probably sustained himself entirely on black coffee, pure arrogance, and the souls of the girls he snuck in at 2 AM.
I’d have to figure out groceries later—preferably somewhere that didn't require me to pawn a kidney. As I headed for the front door, I realized just how quiet the apartment was. Usually, my stepbrother's mere existence generated noise: heavy footsteps, smug remarks, slamming doors. I walked over to the window and peered down at the parking lot. His blue sports car was already gone.
I checked my phone. It was barely past seven. Was Zephyr a morning person?
I highly doubt that.
A flicker of annoyance hit me. He’d left without a word. No directions to campus, no sarcastic "good luck on your first actual day." Basic decency clearly wasn't in his vocabulary.
But as I locked the front door behind me, a relieved smile broke across my face. This was better. It was what I wanted after all. A morning and an entire day without him. And I absolutely did not want to walk onto Belmont’s campus with him anyway. I wanted to fly under the radar. Just Elowen, the scholarship girl who loved music and pizza. I didn't need the gossip or the glares that came with being Zephyr Knox’s new stepsister. I had my bike. I could navigate Belmont without his help.
Halfway to the bike rack, my smile completely evaporated. My feet stopped moving. My brain flatlined.
No.
No f*****g way.
I stared in horror at the concrete path.
My bicycle—the one that had gotten me through rainstorms, double shifts, and late-night study sessions—was a mangled corpse of metal.
The front tire was bent at a grotesque angle. The chain pooled on the ground, a pedal was snapped clean off, and the handlebars were wrenched sideways. It looked like it had been hit by a truck. Or, more accurately, deliberately curb-stomped.
The strap of my bag slipped off my shoulder. "No..."
A hot, blinding wave of anger crawled up my throat. Who... Who could have done this? I asked no one in particular, knowing deep down the answer to that question.
My eye spotted something. A neatly folded piece of paper tucked into the mangled spokes of the front wheel.
I didn't even need to read it. I already knew. There was only one person in this zip code this incredibly petty.
My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching my teeth as I snatched the paper. I unfolded it.
Two bold, mocking words:
"GAME ON."
Something inside my chest snapped completely off its hinges.
"You absolute bastard!" The yell tore out of me, loud enough to scatter a flock of pigeons from a nearby tree.
I crushed the note in my fist, my entire body shaking with rage. This was his payback. Because I'd interrupted his hookup. Because I'd bruised his massive ego.
I stared at the wreckage of my bike, breathing heavily, until a laugh scraped its way out of my throat. It didn't sound like my normal laugh. It sounded a little unhinged.
He wanted a war? Fine.
My brain immediately started rapidly cycling through tactical strikes. Superglue his locks. Hide raw fish in his air vents. Replace his expensive shampoo with Nair.
Wait. The hair-removal idea actually had legs.
Reality suddenly tapped me on the shoulder. I checked my watch and my stomach plummeted. I was going to be late.
"Incredible," I muttered, digging frantically through my purse. I had just enough cash for a cab.
I looked at the crumpled bills, then down at my murdered bike, and finally up at the morning sky.
"Universe, I still ask, what have I done wrong?"
I flagged down a passing taxi and threw myself into the back seat.
As the car sped away toward Belmont, I stared out the window, my blood practically boiling. Zephyr probably thought he was hilarious. He thought he'd won the first round by destroying my ride and leaving me stranded.
But he was fundamentally underestimating who he was dealing with.
I leaned back against the cheap vinyl seat, a slow, dark smile creeping onto my face.
Enjoy the victory lap, Zephyr, I thought. Because the moment I get back to that apartment, I am burning your entire life to the ground. You will be the one begging and pleading for me to stop. That's a promise!
- Writer
