Stacey, The middle one

Harry's Reconning.

It’s a weird thing, seeing your little sister hurt. Not like falling-off-a-bike hurt. Real hurt. Bruises blooming across her skin like someone had painted her in shadows. A busted lip. The fire in her eyes flickering but not out. Not yet.

I was never supposed to care. That’s what I told myself. Stay out of it, keep my head down, don’t get involved. Stacey and I... we hadn’t been close in years. Not because I didn’t love her, I did. God, I did. But because she always watched me. Like I was a walking warning sign. Like she was hoping I’d screw up so she could tell Mum and Dad before the damage hit the front door.

So I stayed away. Came in late. Left early. Did my thing with the boys and kept my name out of trouble. Mostly. That was the deal.

Until I saw her face.

The morning light had just hit the kitchen when she walked in, her school shirt stiff around her shoulders, her cheek puffed up and dark. I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Then she turned, and I saw all of it. The lip. The cut. The dead look in her eyes.

I put the mug down so hard the ceramic cracked.

“Stace,” I said, low. “Tell me what happened. Now.”

She looked at me like she didn’t recognise me. Like I was just another shadow in her life.

And I deserved that. I hadn’t been around. Not properly. But I was now.

When she finally spoke, hesitant, voice shaking, I listened. Every word. Every name they’d thrown at her. Every drink that got poured over her head. Every girl who laughed while my sister was shoved to the ground. And the ringleader?

Connor f*****g Finn.

He used to hang around with my year. Always thought he was slick. Big mouth, small spine. A little coward with a smirk and a daddy who worked in construction.

When she finished, I didn’t say a word. I just stood up, grabbed my jacket, and walked out the back door.

I wasn’t going to school. I wasn’t even going to talk to my boys.

I was going hunting.

I found Connor two hours later. Hanging outside the skate park near the industrial estate like he was the prince of the town. Surrounded by his little crew, chatting s**t, laughing too loud.

He didn’t see me at first. I walked straight through the noise, eyes locked on his.

When he finally noticed, something flickered across his face, recognition, maybe. Then, confusion.

Then fear.

“Harry?” he said, fake smile twitching. “Didn’t know you were back.”

I didn’t answer. Just stood in front of him, calm, still.

Then I punched him.

Not a warning jab. Not a little push to say, "Back off." I dropped him. One clean shot to the jaw, and he was on the ground, groaning.

His boys scrambled back. One even tried to step in, but I turned to him slow, real slow, and he stopped.

"You think this is about pride?" I asked Connor, who was trying to wipe blood off his chin. "You think it’s about a girl?"

He coughed, muttering, "What the f**k, man."

I grabbed his collar, dragged him halfway up, close enough for him to smell the rage on my breath.

"You laid hands on my sister. You humiliated her. You made her bleed. You don’t get to walk away from that like it’s a joke."

His eyes widened. No more bravado now. Just the scared little boy I always knew he was.

"Next time you even look at her," I said, "I’ll bury you. Not in the ground. In fear. I’ll make you wish for a day without dread."

I let him fall back to the dirt.

Stepped back. Looked at all of them.

"Tell your girlfriends. Tell your mates. Tell every smart-mouth in that school. Stacey. Is. Off. Limits."

And then I walked away.

That night, I sat on the back step, a cigarette burning between my fingers, listening to the silence of our street.

I wasn’t proud of hitting him. I wasn’t even sure it helped. But I knew one thing:

He’d never touch her again.

And maybe, just maybe, Stace would finally know I was still here.

Still her brother.

And I always would be.

Connor’s POV:

I thought it had all blown over. The whispers, the jokes, the stares. Prom week was chaos, sure, but time passed fast, and people always found a new distraction. I figured I could slide back in like nothing happened. Like I hadn’t been humiliated in front of everyone.

But the moment I stepped into the corridor, I knew it wasn't forgotten.

They looked at me differently. Some smirked, some whispered behind their hands. The air buzzed with unfinished gossip and too many eyes. All of it centred on me.

And her.

Stacey.

She’d poured a drink on my head in front of the entire gym. In front of the DJ, the faculty, and all the girls I’d carefully curated around me. And the worst part? She walked away like she owned the night. Like she wasn’t supposed to be the joke.

"You gonna let that slide, Connor?" Liv had hissed in my ear on Monday, her lip curled like my pride should matter more than anything.

"She embarrassed you," another one of them echoed. "You look weak."

I stewed all week.

I couldn’t shake the image. Stacey laughing, dancing, those stupid heels kicking in time to the music. The way people talked about her, like she was someone now.

So, by Friday, I snapped.

She was walking down the hallway alone, and the bag slung over her shoulder. Too confident. Like she belonged.

I stepped into her path, my crew tight behind me. Gemma, Maria, Jenna, each of them more fired up than the next.

"Look who thinks she’s something," I said, loud enough to turn heads.

She didn’t flinch. Just raised an eyebrow and said, and opened her mouth to speak back...

I felt it boil. My pride. My ego. Everything they’d chipped away at since Prom.

"You humiliated me," I snapped. "You made me look like an idiot."

That’s when the others jumped in.

"Slag."

"Skank."

"Cheap, scruffy tramp."

It wasn’t just words. Now, it was a pack mentality. They surrounded her, barking insults, feeding off each other’s anger and mine. She tried to push past, and that’s when Maria grabbed her hair and yanked.

It happened so fast.

She went down hard. I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I didn’t. But then Gemma tossed her drink, and suddenly, they all did. Sticky, fizzy, cold, raining down on her while she curled into herself.

And me? I froze.

I didn’t stop it.

I didn’t even speak.

She was on the floor, bleeding from the lip, soaking wet, mascara streaked, and it hit me like a slap. Everyone was watching. Some were recording.

That’s when I knew I’d gone too far.

Not just in the act, but in letting them. Letting me become something I wasn’t supposed to be.

I saw a teacher at the end of the hall. And the look on his face wasn’t just shock. It was fury.

I ran.

No one followed me.

I hid out by the track until the end of the day. By then, my phone was buzzing non-stop.

"Connor, you’re screwed."

"They’re saying you punched her."

"Videos are going around."

I didn’t punch her. I didn’t touch her. But I didn’t stop them either.

That’s the part where I can’t escape. Not in the silence, not even now.

And then came Harry.

I’d heard the rumours. That he flipped out. That he was looking for me.

I told myself I’d handle it. That he wouldn’t dare. But when he showed up, it was like watching my nightmares come alive.

No words. Just that punch, clean, brutal, deserved. I tasted blood before I even hit the ground.

I thought he’d stop there. He didn’t.

He grabbed my collar, dragged me close, and said, "You made her bleed. You humiliated her. That doesn’t go unpunished."

And I believed him.

He let go, and I collapsed back onto the pavement, stunned, humiliated in the exact way I’d tried to make Stacey feel.

His eyes said it all. This isn’t over.

And it’s not.

Because every hallway whispers, every person, every disgusted look since, hasn't been aimed at Stacey.

It’s been aimed at me.