Chapter 8
606 Words
The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt harsher than usual when Conrad opened his eyes. His body was heavy, his mind still replaying the words from last night.
Just seeing you makes me sick.
The memory cut sharp. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. His chest ached, but he forced it down. He couldn’t stay in bed forever.
Across the room, Conner stirred, groaning loudly as he sat up.
“Ugh, my head is splitting,” he muttered, clutching his temples. “What the hell did I even drink?”
Conrad’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have drunk anything at all.”
Conner peeked at him through bleary eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll live.”
He stretched and flopped back on the bed, clearly not remembering—or maybe not caring—how their father had reacted. Conrad bit back the urge to argue. What was the point? His brother would never carry the same weight he did.
---
By the time they reached the school gates, the morning chatter had already shifted. Whispers followed them down the hallway.
“Did you hear? The Parker twins showed up at the party.”
“And one of them got drunk.”
“Yeah, but Jeremiah actually talked to them.”
“No way—Jeremiah doesn’t just talk to people.”
Conrad’s shoulders stiffened. The whispers scraped at him, like tiny knives against his skin. He quickened his pace, but Conner seemed to bask in it, smiling like it was free publicity.
At their lockers, James appeared, leaning casually against the metal door. His eyes flicked from Conner to Conrad.
“Rough night?” he asked smoothly.
Conner chuckled. “You could say that. Guess I made an impression, huh?”
James tilted his head, gaze lingering on Conrad. “Some impressions last longer than others.”
The words carried weight Conrad couldn’t pin down. He met James’s eyes briefly, then looked away, uneasy.
Further down the hall, Jeremiah stood near the windows, speaking quietly with Mark. But even as he talked, his gaze lifted—directly onto Conrad. The world seemed to narrow, the chatter fading to a dull hum. Jeremiah’s stare was steady, unblinking, as if he were reading him.
It lasted a second too long. Conrad’s chest tightened. His father’s words echoed again—Just seeing you makes me sick.
He looked away first.
Mark noticed Jeremiah’s focus and smirked. “Still watching him? Interesting,” he murmured. Jeremiah didn’t respond.
---
Later, outside near the courtyard, Alex caught up with him.
“You left without saying goodbye last night,” she said, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“I told you I was leaving,” Conrad replied simply, adjusting the strap of his bag.
“Not the same,” Alex shot back. Then, softer: “You okay? You look… tired.”
Conrad hesitated. The truth hovered on his lips, heavy and sharp. But he shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Alex studied him for a beat too long, like she didn’t believe him. Then she gave a crooked smile. “Well, you survived your first high school party. That’s something.”
The corner of his mouth twitched—the closest he’d come to a smile all day.
---
When he returned to his locker at the end of the day, a folded note sat neatly on top of his books.
The handwriting was sharp, deliberate.
We need to talk.
No name. But Conrad didn’t need one.
His hand tightened around the paper, heart pounding. He knew exactly who it was from.
- Writer
