"Possibly," Axel said. "I'm intrigued, but what's the point? I have to know I'm spending my time on something worthwhile."
"I think he's behind the Instagram account. Is that reason enough to help me?"
41
West
Thatdidn'tgowell.
I wanted to confront Ashtyn and make her deny it. Make her deny the idea of her and Reynolds together.
She didn't.
She slapped me instead. I deserved it after everything I'd done, but still. I wasn't expecting it.
Although she didn't specifically deny it, her reaction to me and how she acted with Reynolds in class told me nothing was going on with them. Nothing sexually at least, but she was fucking furious at him, which piqued my interest. It was a complete one-eighty from the picture I received the night before.
I tried to go after her when she stormed out of class, but Reynolds threatened an in-school suspension if I left. The fucker wanted to keep me away from her and unfortunately, he was succeeding.
Why was it so hard for me to admit that I missed her? That I fucked up? That I was sorry?
A better man would be groveling at her feet, yet here I am, moping in my room, laying on my bed, running through scenarios in my head. Overthinking like a motherfucker.
Knock knock knock.
“Come in,” I mumbled.
Bronx opened the door and peeked his head around it. He looked distressed, his light brown hair messier than usual. “I need to talk to you.”
When he’d gotten in the car this morning, I asked him what the deal was with him and Ashtyn. He made a morning visit to her house, which was weird. He said he couldn’t talk about it–fucker. She didn’t want him to talk to me about her.
He closed the door behind him and sat down on my office chair. “Something happened to Ashtyn last night.”
“What?” I asked as I sat up.
“That’s the thing–she wouldn’t tell me. But I know it was bad. I didn’t tell you, but I saw her get home late last night. She stumbled to her door. I thought she might be drunk, so I got dressed and went over there. The door was open.”
That wasn’t like Ashtyn. She was quite security-conscious, and for a good reason. Especially with her brother’s bullshit and the stalker.
“I went inside,” Bronx continued. “I heard the shower running. I waited a few minutes but I got nervous, thinking maybe she fell or something. I went in there and she was just sitting in the tub with the shower running. The water was freezing and she was shaking.”
“And you didn’t fucking tell me?” I jumped up and grabbed my brother by the collar of his shirt. He tried to push me back, but it was no use. I shoved him back in the chair roughly.
“Can I finish my fucking story before you beat me up?” He asked, straightening his stretched-out shirt.
I sat on the edge of my bed and fisted my hands, trying to calm my breathing.
“It’s fucking important, and I’m telling you now. I turned the water off and got her a towel. She was in shock over…whatever happened to her. She’s covered in bruises and marks. I mean, I tried not to look at her considering she was naked.” I growled and he continued, “but I couldn’t help notice on her…” He motioned to his torso. “On her chest especially. There were bruises.”
“And again, I’ll ask, why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”
“She wouldn’t let me! I tried to bring her over here last night. She didn’t want you to see her. She made me leave. She forced me out. And then I went there this morning to see if she was okay and she acted like nothing happened. Like everything was fucking normal.”
That was standard Ashtyn behavior. Always the tough girl who didn’t need help, yet inside she was slowly dying. I wanted to go to her and shake her, demand she tell me what happened, but I knew that wouldn’t work on my princess. She’d laugh in my face, hit me again, and possibly shoot me.
“You could’vetold methis morning! Do you know what I said to her today? What I did? She must fucking hate me!”
“I wanted to, okay? I knew you’d react like this. I wanted to wait until we weren’t at school,” Bronx said as he put his head in his hands. “I didn’t know what to do!”