Chapter6
1108 Words
Theme: Like Gravity.
Arielle
The slam of the front door didn’t shake the house, but it vibrated in her chest.
Arielle dropped her bag near the stairs and braced herself for the next blow.
“You’re late,” her mother called from the kitchen, her voice already sharp, already coiled like a snake ready to strike. “Again.”
“I told you I had to stay late,” Arielle said, stepping into the room, unwinding the scarf from around her neck, her exhaustion trailing behind her like smoke.
Her mother barely looked up from her glass of wine. “Working yourself to death for people who don’t even appreciate you.”
“I’m not doing this right now,” Arielle muttered, rubbing at the growing ache behind her eyes.
“You never do it. You walk around like you’re above everything because you’ve got a job and wear heels to work. But this house—this family—still needs you.”
Arielle exhaled, long and tired. “I know that. I always have.”
Her mother stood now, arms crossed, head tilted. “You think you’re better than me?”
“No,” Arielle said quietly. “I think I’m trying not to become you.”
That was enough.
The slap wasn’t physical, but the words hit hard.
Her mother’s nostrils flared. “Go upstairs,” she snapped. “Go hide in that little room of yours and pretend you’re in control.”
Arielle didn’t reply. Didn’t look back. She just left the room—because anything else would mean breaking. And she didn’t have time for that.
The house was dim, shadows lingering in corners like unspoken truths. The creak of the stairs was familiar. Comforting, even. The moment she stepped into the room she shared with her siblings, it was like a shift in air pressure. Softer. Real.
Aiyana was curled up on her bed, scribbling in a notebook. Ezra played quietly on the floor with a frayed deck of cards. Airyana was playing with her phone, her headphones on her head, and she was holding a pen, scribbling down some words. When they saw her, their faces lit up.
“Did you bring snacks?” Ezra asked hopefully.
Arielle pulled a granola bar from her bag like it was gold. “Always.”
“Queen,” Aiyana said, holding up her hand for a high-five.
She gave it, then sank onto the floor beside Ezra, tugging him into a gentle hug. He melted into her without hesitation, his small frame folding into her lap like he belonged there—and he did.
“I’m sorry about Mom,” he mumbled.
“You don’t have to be,” Arielle whispered. “That’s not your weight to carry.”
Aiyana came to sit beside her sister with her book and pen and she looked up. “What happened at work?”
Arielle hesitated.
The image of Damien’s cold expression, his words like blades—you hide behind your team because you’re too afraid to stand alone—rushed back. His face. The sting. The way she’d felt… stripped.
She swallowed it down. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“But who’s handling you?” Aiyana asked softly.
Arielle smiled, touched the tip of her sister’s nose. “I’ve got you two. That’s enough.”
But the truth was: she didn’t know if it really was.
Airyana didn't force her sister to say anything. She knew it was going to be useless. She already knew her sister was the type of person to keep things to herself anyway, no matter what she was going through.
She stared longer at her sister than she would have, then sighed a little and just got back to what she was doing.
Arielle sat there with her brother longer than she meant to. Listening to the sound of Ezra's cards flicking on the floor. The scratch of Aiyana’s pen. Olivia playing with the wrap of the granola bar she was munching away. The muffled sounds of their mother watching TV downstairs, her laughter too loud and too bitter.
Arielle leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here. Not now.
She was the glue—and glue didn’t get the luxury of cracking.
Damien
He watched her all morning.
Not obviously.
But enough.
She was avoiding him. That much was clear. Her steps were quicker. Her eyes never lifted when she passed his office. Her presence, usually loud even in silence, was now… distant.
And it was his fault.
He hadn’t apologized. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he didn’t know how.
What was he supposed to say? Sorry I lashed out when you were right? Sorry I made you look at me like I was the villain I pretend not to be?
He didn’t know how to reach her without unraveling something inside himself.
But he also couldn’t stop thinking about her face when she walked away from him.
Not angry.
Just… done.
He hated that more than he expected.
At lunch, he hovered by the elevator longer than he should have. Watched her laugh with one of the designers, forced and thin. She looked tired. Like she hadn’t slept.
Did I do that?
He almost called her name.
Almost.
But instead, he went back into his office.
And stared at his screen.
And hated that his day was defined by her absence.
She was in his head—and that was a problem.
He’d spent years building walls, routines, systems of control. Arielle—somehow—kept slipping through them.
And worse, a part of him wanted her to.
Arielle
By 4 p.m., she still hadn’t spoken to him.
He hadn’t called her into his office. Hadn’t sent one of his cold, clinical emails either.
But she knew he was watching.
She could feel it. Like gravity bending whenever he was near.
And she hated that she noticed.
He’d crossed a line. Hit something personal. And now he didn’t get to just slide back in with charm or money or a half-hearted apology.
If he wanted to fix it—he’d have to actually try.
And Arielle wasn’t sure he knew how.
At her desk, she shuffled papers she wasn’t really reading, her mind drifting.
She thought about Nathan. How blindsided he’d been. How cold Damien had looked as he said the words, like it was all business.
But she’d seen something else. A flicker. A crack.
She wasn’t sure what it meant—but it haunted her all the same.
And she hated that too.
- Writer
