Chapter 77: Smart Enough to Hurt
The rest of the school day, I caught myself watching her more than I should’ve. Celestia was Celestia—laughing too loud at things that weren’t that funny, teasing me for no reason, poking at her friend, Marina, in ways that got her smacked with books. Didn’t though, nobody got smacked with books.
On the surface, nothing had changed.
But every now and then, when she caught me staring across the room, her smile wavered just the tiniest bit. Her eyes said it all: You want to ask, don’t you?
And yeah, I did. But I didn’t. Not yet.
I played along. Smiled when she tugged me into her orbit. Laughed when she was dramatic about hating gym. Pretended to be as normal as she was pretending to be.
By the time we got back to my place, I thought maybe she’d say something first. She didn’t.
Instead, the first words out of her mouth were aimed at Duchess, who padded lazily into the living room to greet us. (I didn’t mention Celestia brought Duchess over on Saturday did I?)
"There you are, baby!" Celestia scooped the cat up with all the enthusiasm of a mother reunited with a lost child. "You didn’t miss me, did you? Nooo, you probably hate me now. I’m such a bad mom. I abandon you every day for school."
Duchess blinked, unimpressed, then yawned in her arms.
I dropped my bag by the couch, watching Celestia pout like she’d just been betrayed by our own cat. "You realize she literally just woke up from her afternoon nap, right?" I said. "She probably didn’t even notice you were gone."
Celestia gasped, clutching Duchess tighter. "Don’t say that, Kai! She notices everything. Don’t you, angel?" She nuzzled the cat’s head dramatically. "She loves me more than she loves you."
"Not true," I shot back, grabbing Duchess’s paw and making her wave. "She’s clearly on my side."
Duchess meowed once—probably because she wanted down, but Celestia narrowed her eyes at me like I’d just stolen her child’s affection.
She set the cat down with a dramatic sigh, then turned to me. "Anyway, I’m starving. Like dying. If I don’t eat something in the next five minutes, I’ll collapse right here in front of you. Do you want that on your conscience?"
I didn’t say anything. Just watched her march into the kitchen with that mock-serious determination.
Thing was, I knew she wasn’t starving. We’d eaten not that long ago—her idea, too—and I could still taste the syrup from the waffles she insisted on. But I didn’t mention it.
Because it wasn’t really about food.
It was the way she dodged eye contact when she said it. The way her voice pitched just a little too high, cheerful in a way that didn’t quite land. She was running, not toward dinner, but away from something else.
So I followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, letting her open the fridge and rattle off options like she hadn’t already decided. "Pasta. Or ramen. Or... tacos. Yeah, tacos sound perfect. What do you think?"
I shrugged, letting her set the pace. "Whatever you want."
She lit up like I’d agreed to something important, then busied herself with pots and ingredients she didn’t even need. And I just stood there, watching.
In the end, she settled on pasta. Made too much, plated it up like she was starving, and then... barely touched it. She twirled noodles around her fork, stared at them like they might bite her first, and set it down again.
I didn’t push. Not yet.
I let her have that little show—until the dishes were done and the kitchen light hummed low above us.
Then, quietly, I said, "Val."
Her head lifted, eyes meeting mine at last.
"Is everything okay?"
She froze. Just for a second, but long enough. And in that second, I saw it—the drop in her expression, the crack in her armor. Hurt, raw and unguarded, flashing across her face before she tried to cover it.
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Her fork clinked against the plate as she set it down. "I’m fine."
But she wasn’t fine, not even close.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. "Val, you know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever it is... I’ll listen. I’m here."
She looked away, blinking fast. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, then shut again. I waited. My chest felt tight, like I was waiting for a glass to fall off the edge of a counter.
And then—
Her shoulders trembled. Just a little at first, like she was trying to hold it all back. But then her throat worked, her jaw clenched, and suddenly her eyes glossed over.
She cried.
Not loud, not dramatic. Just small tears slipping down her cheeks, breaking past the stubbornness she always wore like armor.
"Val..." My chair scraped back, and I was at her side before I even thought about it.
She wiped at her face quickly, almost angrily, as if hiding the proof could undo it. "It’s stupid." Her voice cracked. "It’s so stupid."
"It’s not stupid," I said immediately.
She laughed—bitter, shaky, broken. "Lucien came over to tell me... I shouldn’t always be so smart. That maybe if I wasn’t always acting like I knew better, people wouldn’t hate me so much."
I froze.
She pressed the heel of her palm against her eye, as if that could stop the tears. "He said it like... like he was my enemy, Kai. Like he wanted me to hurt."
I couldn’t believe it. Lucien? The guy who’d been so protective, the older brother who always had her back?
My fists curled. "Why would he say something like that? He loves you."
Her breath hitched, a sharp inhale like it hurt to take. "That’s the thing..." She sniffed, swallowing hard before continuing. "He does love me. I know he does. But he’s mad, Kai. He’s mad at Dad."
"Mad at him for what?"
She took a moment, fingers twisting in the edge of a napkin, voice trembling as she finally explained. "Sunday night. After I got back from your place. They fought again. Dad and Lucien. Same thing as always—partying, his drinking, the money he blows like it’s endless. But this time... Dad said something he shouldn’t have."
My stomach dropped. "What did he say?"
Her eyes flickered up to mine, wet and glassy. "He said if Lucien keeps it up, he’ll... he’ll will everything to me."
Silence.
I didn’t even know what to say. I didn’t know if there was anything to say.
Lucien—her brother, her anchor in so many ways—hearing something like that? No wonder he was lashing out.
Celestia gave a watery laugh, but it wasn’t the kind that warmed the room. It was sharp, brittle, the kind that made my chest ache. "So now I’m the enemy. The spoiled little sister who’s going to take everything from him, without even trying. And I didn’t even ask for it."
"Val..."
She dropped her head into her hands. "He hates me, Kai. My own brother hates me."
"He doesn’t hate you." I was quick with it, but she shook her head.
"You didn’t see his face." Her words were muffled against her palms. "I did. He meant it."
I felt useless. Angry. Helpless. All at once.
The thing about Celestia was, she wasn’t fragile. She was loud and fiery and impossible. She wasn’t someone you ever pictured crying at a kitchen table over words she shouldn’t have had to hear.
And yet here she was.
I slid closer and pulled her into my arms. She resisted for half a second—because of course she did—but then she folded against me, burying her face into my chest.
I held her tight, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Lucien was her ex. Not in the way strangers might assume, but in the way that meant more. In her words, he was her ex-teacher, ex-first ride to school, ex-roommate. She didn’t say it, but I knew he was probably her ex-best friend too. And even if he was now mostly her ex, he was still her big brother.
And that was what made this hurt so much.
Her voice wobbled against me. "I look ugly when I cry, don’t I?"
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because even in the middle of falling apart, she still tried to make it lighthearted again. Still tried to put her armor back up, even if it was patched together with something fragile.
"No," I said softly. And it wasn’t because I wanted to make her smile. It was because it was true.
"Liar," she muttered, nose still pressed to my shirt.
I tightened my arms around her, pulling her in until I could feel the small tremors running through her. "Not lying."
She sniffed, tilting her face up just enough to look at me, cheeks damp and eyes rimmed red. There was a pout there, tiny but real, as if she was daring me to take it back.
Instead, I pulled her back into me. Another hug, tighter this time. A promise I didn’t know how to word out loud.
Her breaths evened out slowly, shoulders loosening little by little.
And as I sat there, holding her against me in the quiet of my kitchen, I thought to myself... maybe the hardest part about loving Val wasn’t her fire or her chaos. Maybe it was moments like this, when her strength slipped, when her world cracked open just enough to let me see the parts she never wanted anyone to see.
And maybe the scariest part of all was knowing I couldn’t fix it. Not this time. Not for her.
But I could be here. And sometimes, maybe that was enough.
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To be continued...