Robin
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Dinner is a blur, and I can barely focus on anything.

My mom's voice drones on, thanking the family for coming together, for dropping whatever they were doing to be here.

Her smile is wide, rehearsed-like this whole thing isn't suffocating the life out of her.

She talks about the staff being accommodating, always available to assist with whatever we need, which just feels like empty words because her staff can't give me my self-esteem and self love back.

They can't unhurt me. They can't murder Heather for me.

But the worst part is when she announces that Dad will join us in a few days once he's done with his trip.

I can feel the frustration building inside me, something sharp and restless.

Eight fucking weeks. And I'm supposed to just... endure it.

Why does everything feel like some kind of performance, something that's not for us, but for an audience we don't even know? My head spins with all the questions I don't know how to answer.

I don't know if it's the wine or the tension or the fact that Heather is sitting just a few feet away from me, but I can't stand this.

I can't stand being here, surrounded by people who don't see what's happening under the surface. It's all a show, a glossy, expensive show-and I hate it.

If it was real, Heather wouldn't have fucked me days before her engagement.

The thought of it disgusts me. She's here for the money. I wonder if her parents are in on this too or not. They're too humble and nice for that anyway.

When dinner finally winds down, people start gathering in the lounge, chatting, laughing in that fake, smooth way people do when they're forcing shit to be normal.

I don't even bother joining them.

I slip away from the dining room and head straight to my room. I close the door behind me with a soft click, and I immediately feel like I can breathe again, even if it's only for a moment.

The room is just as I remember it: familiar, comforting in its own way. The bedding is fresh, the pillows arranged just like they always were, the scent of lavender still lingering in the sheets.

I can't help but feel like a stranger in this room that used to be my sanctuary. The walls are lined with old posters of bands I loved when I was younger, guitars and grungy designs and that sense of rebellion that I held onto back then.

I sit on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the edges of the posters, feeling the worn edges where they've been up too long.

It feels like it was just yesterday that I was here. But everything has changed. Life got complicated.

The knock on my door startles me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I stand up, trying to shake the weight off, and open the door. Melanie is standing there, holding a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

"I thought you might need this," she says with that soft smile of hers, the one that always makes her seem older than she is.

She steps inside without waiting for me to invite her, like she's got no concept of personal space. Typical.

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to act like it's no big deal.

She sits down on the bed like she owns it, placing the coffee down on the nightstand. Her eyes lock on me, practically dissecting me with that knowing look of hers.

"So," she says, her tone too casual, "How're you really doing?"

I force myself to stay composed, trying to suppress the frustration inside me.

"I'm fine," I say, though it comes out rougher than I want it to. "Just tired."

Melanie's eyes narrow, and it's like she can see right through me. "You don't look fine," she says, leaning forward. "Dinner was practically a ghost show with you in it, and I could tell you were zoning out the whole time."

Yeah, because who wouldn't want to participate in the most uncomfortable, suffocating dinner of their life?

I take a breath. "Really, I'm fine. Just not feeling it tonight, that's all."

Melanie doesn't buy it. She never does.

"Uh-huh," she says, looking like she's about to say something else, but thankfully, she just lets it go, sipping her coffee like she's decided it's not worth the fight.

I shift uncomfortably on the bed, my eyes falling to the floor. We both sit there, just letting the silence fill the space. It's oddly soothing, not talking about what's actually wrong. Because, let's face it, what the hell can I even say?

That I'm angry? That I'm scared? That I hate being here, in this house that doesn't feel like home anymore? That Heather is just across the hall and I can't stand the idea of being near her because I slept with her without knowing that she belongs to my brother?

Yeah, no.

I shake my head. "It's nothing."

Melanie doesn't push it. She nods, accepting my answer for now, though I can tell she's not entirely convinced. She takes a sip of her coffee and leans back against the pillow.

We sit in silence for a while. Melanie is my favorite sibling, but it's not like there's much to choose from.

We start reminiscing, talking about old memories from when we were younger. We laugh at the stupid things we used to do-how we used to sneak out to the park in the middle of the night and what not.

It feels good to talk about the past, even if it's just to fill the silence in the room. But as much as I want to stay lost in those memories, I know it won't last.

Eventually, Melanie sets her cup down and stretches, a yawn escaping her lips. She stands, giving me one last look. "Get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, not even meeting her gaze. "Goodnight."

She leaves, the door clicking softly behind her. I stand still for a few seconds, soaking in the silence of the house.

And then, of course, I remember Heather. Right across the hall.

It makes my stomach turn, and I wonder how long it'll take until I can actually breathe again.

I know I should try to put all of this behind me, just for tonight, just for a few hours.

But I can't.

I lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.

Heather hurt me. And I have to make her feel the way she made me feel or I'm going to have to find a way to live with it.