Breaking the Jock

Victor's POV I was halfway through deciding which shirts deserved a place in my suitcase when my door flew open without so much as a knock. It slammed against the wall hard enough to make the framed photographs tremble. I didn't need to look up. I already knew who it was. I gave Chris an unimpressed stare as he strolled into my room as though he owned the place. "Are you leaving today?" he groaned, already collapsing onto my bed. I slowly looked at him. He was grinning. Of course he was. Chris had always been insufferable. "I am leaving whether you approve of it or not." Chris sighed dramatically. "God, you're insufferable." I didn't bother replying. Twenty years of living with him had taught me there was no point arguing with Chris. He enjoyed getting a reaction far too much. I returned to folding my clothes. From the corner of my eye, I watched him make himself comfortable. Chris looked nothing like me. He had all of Dad's features—the dark, almost-black hair, sharp features, cold expression, and those brown eyes that always carried a hint of trouble. I, on the other hand, had inherited Mum's looks. Platinum-blond hair. Baby-blue eyes. Softer features. Pale skin. And a lean build. Apparently, I was the delicate one. Chris had never let me forget it. It was incredibly annoying. I walked over, grabbed him firmly by the shoulder, and shoved him off my bed. He landed on the floor with a dull thud. Instead of getting offended, he immediately burst into laughter. "Bloody hell, Vic. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did we?" I brushed an imaginary crease from my bedspread. "Out." He laughed harder, pushing himself to his feet. "Relax. I'm only here to tell you Mum is looking for you. She's downstairs and about thirty seconds away from having a nervous breakdown." I stopped folding. "You should've started with that, you idiot." Chris grinned. "Now, where's the fun in that?" I walked towards him. His smile deepened when he realized what I was about to do. "Oh, don't—" I opened the door and pushed him into the hallway. He stumbled backwards, catching himself against the doorway while laughing. "Rude!" I shut the door in his face. And, honestly, it felt ridiculously satisfying. The lock clicked. Peace returned. For about five seconds. I stood with my hand against the door, listening to Chris loudly announce to everyone downstairs that I was an emotionally constipated little tyrant. Mum shouted something at him. Jake told him to stop yelling. Chris continued laughing. I sighed and turned back towards my room. Late-afternoon sunlight poured through the enormous windows, turning the polished wooden floor a muted gold. The faint scent of cedar lingered from the wardrobe, mixing with the bergamot of the green tea I'd abandoned on my desk earlier. Everything was exactly where it belonged. My books were arranged neatly along the shelves. My fountain pens sat perfectly aligned beside my leather notebooks. My clothes were folded with irritating precision. My room had always been like this. Controlled. Precise. Neat. Predictable. Looking at it now, I realized that was exactly what made it so suffocating. Everything had a place here. Except me. I stared at my reflection in the tall mirror beside my wardrobe. Platinum-blond hair fell messily over my forehead, something I'd probably fix later. My blue eyes stared back at me with an expression I couldn't quite place. Restlessness, perhaps. Or maybe it was simply the realization that I'd spent twenty years learning how to fit perfectly into a life that had never really felt like mine. A knock sounded against the door. This time, it was followed by Mum's voice. "Victor?" I closed my eyes briefly. "Come in." The door opened slowly, and Mum stepped inside. Unlike Chris, she actually waited for permission. Her eyes moved around the room before settling on the half-packed suitcase lying open on my bed. "So you really are leaving." I glanced at her through the mirror. "I told you I was." "I know." She walked further into the room, her gaze travelling over everything I'd packed. Shirts. Trousers. Books. A few photographs I'd almost forgotten I owned. Then she sighed. "I just didn't think you'd actually do it." I turned around. "Why wouldn't I?" She gave me a look only mothers seemed capable of giving. The kind that made you feel as though they'd already figured out everything you were trying not to say. "Because you're comfortable here." I almost laughed. "That's one word for it." Her expression softened. "Victor." I looked away. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. "Your father isn't happy about this." "Yeah, I'm sure." The sarcasm in my voice wasn't subtle. Mum gave me a knowing look. She knew perfectly well that Dad and I hadn't exactly parted on friendly terms over my decision to leave. "Chris thinks you're being dramatic." "Chris thinks breathing is dramatic if he's not the one doing it." That earned a small smile from her. "Jake doesn't have an opinion." "Probably the smartest one." Mum shook her head, but the smile remained for only a second before disappearing. "And Ace?" I shrugged. "Ace doesn't exactly advertise his feelings." That was putting it mildly. Ace could sit through an entire family argument without changing his expression once. Sometimes I wasn't even sure what went on inside his head. Mum was quiet for a moment. "And me?" I frowned. "What about you?" She looked at me for a long moment. "I think I'm going to miss you." The words caught me completely off guard. I swallowed. "You'll still have Chris." She rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately." I smiled despite myself. Then she reached out and straightened the collar of my shirt, the same way she'd done when I was a child. "You don't have to prove anything by leaving, you know." "I know." "Then why?" I didn't answer immediately. Because the truth was difficult to explain. I wasn't leaving because I hated this place. I wasn't even leaving because I hated them. I was leaving because every time I walked through these halls, I felt like I was becoming someone else's idea of who I was supposed to be. And I was tired of wondering who I might become if I finally had the chance to choose for myself. "I just need to know who I am without everyone else telling me." Mum's eyes softened. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she nodded. "Then go." I looked at her. "Really?" "Really." She stood and walked towards the door before pausing. "And Victor?" "Yeah?" She glanced over her shoulder. "Try not to come back with a tattoo." I stared at her. She smiled innocently. "Chris has been a bad influence on you." I laughed quietly. "I haven't even left yet."