Where We Collide

Beneath the surface

Julian’s POV

Breakfast was always a battle, but today it felt like walking straight into a war zone. My father sat at the head of the table, his expression cold and calculated as he flipped through the morning papers. Margaret, my ever-dutiful stepmother, sat beside him, her hands folded neatly, her lips pursed like she was preparing to mediate some inevitable clash.

I wasn’t in the mood for this. Not today.

“Do you even take anything seriously, Julian?” my father finally said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the clinking of silverware. “ Another headline about you wasting time with those so-called friends of yours. Clubs, parties, scandals. When are you going to grow up ? ”

My grip on my fork tightened. “I’m managing just fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped, slamming the paper onto the table. “ You’ve been given every opportunity, every resource, and what do you have to show for it? Do you even care about this family’s reputation? ”

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, the words boiling just beneath the surface. But before I could answer, Margaret chimed in, her voice calm but laced with condescension.

“Julian, dear, your father only wants what’s best for you.”

I turned my glare on her. “ Don’t patronize me, Margaret. You’re not my mother. ”

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

“Don’t bring Eleanor into this,” my father said, his voice low and heavy. “She would have expected more from you.”

The mention of her name—it was like a punch to the gut. My chair screeched against the floor as I stood abruptly. “You don’t get to use her memory against me,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. Without another word, I stormed out of the dining room, ignoring the shocked stares of the staff.

As I stormed up the staircase, I caught a flash of movement near the corridor. Emily.

She stood near the far end, frozen mid-step, her eyes wide. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she’d overheard. The slight part of her lips, the way she tried to look away—it was all too telling.

“Enjoy the show?” I asked coldly, my voice echoing off the walls.

Her face flushed, and she shook her head quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you didn’t,” I muttered, brushing past her without waiting for an answer. The humiliation from the dining room followed me like a shadow, only now it was joined by the added sting of knowing she’d seen me unravel.

The afternoon sun streamed through my bedroom windows, but the light felt oppressive, a constant reminder of the mess I’d made of my life. I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, replaying the argument over and over.

They didn’t understand. They never did.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Emily standing hesitantly in the doorway, a bundle of fresh linen in her hands. Her expression was unreadable, though I could sense her unease.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice harsher than I intended.

“I was just... changing the sheets,” she said, her voice steady but quiet.

I sighed and gestured vaguely toward the bed. “ Fine. Do whatever you need to. ”

I expected her to hurry through the task and leave, but instead, her movements were deliberate, almost hesitant. The silence between us stretched, filled only by the occasional rustle of fabric.

“You were there,” I said suddenly, breaking the stillness. “In the hallway.”

Her hands froze for a moment before she resumed smoothing out the sheets. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she said softly. “I just happened to be—”

“Save it,” I cut her off, turning to look at her fully. “You’ve already seen enough to make your judgments, haven’t you?”

Her brows furrowed, and she set the linen down on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t judging you.”

“Oh, come on,” I said with a bitter laugh. “ You must think I’m pathetic. The spoiled Davenport boy who can’t get his act together. Isn’t that what everyone says? ”

She straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “If that’s how you see yourself, maybe you should do something about it instead of lashing out at everyone else.”

Her words struck a nerve. “What do you know about it?” I snapped, standing up. “ You think it’s that simple? You don’t know anything about the pressure, the expectations— ”

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time. “But you don’t see me sitting here throwing a pity party.”

Her audacity stunned me for a moment. “You think you’re better than me, is that it?”

“I think you’re scared,” she said, stepping closer, her brown eyes blazing. “ You’re so afraid of failing that you don’t even try. And instead of owning up to it, you push everyone away. ”

Her words sliced through the wall I’d built around myself, exposing truths I wasn’t ready to face. My jaw tightened, and I felt the familiar surge of anger rise. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not,” she admitted, her tone softening slightly. “But if you keep shutting people out, you’re going to end up exactly how they see you: alone and wasted.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared at her, searching for something to say, but the only thing I could feel was the bitter sting of her truth.

“Get out,” I said finally, my voice low but firm.

She blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but she didn’t argue. Gathering the linen she’d brought, she walked to the door.

Before leaving, she paused and turned back to me. “ I wasn’t judging you, Julian. But maybe it’s time you stopped judging yourself. ”

With that, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

I sank back onto the bed, her words echoing in my mind. You’re scared. You’re so afraid of failing that you don’t even try.

For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t sure if the anger I felt was directed at her—or myself.