I usually loved weekend nights. They came with noise, with laughter, with such freedom that made everything feel temporary and harmless. But that Saturday night felt off as if things were already messed up before I even got to the party, and I was just realizing it. Regina had been talking about this weekend for days, insisting we go to our aunt's place before school started again, like it was some kind of ritual we couldn't miss, a last breath before everything turned serious—final exams, college decisions, the quiet pressure of becoming something we weren't ready to be yet. We were supposed to leave right after Easter,right after our brothers flew back to LA. It was supposed to be simple. But nothing stays simple for long in our house. Before Regina could even start reminding us of the plan that morning, before anyone could move or speak or pretend we still had control over anything, the shouting started. At first, it sounded like every other argument—sharp voices behind closed doors, words you weren't meant to hear but couldn't ignore. Except this time, it didn't fade. It got louder. Messier. Like they had both lost track of what they were even fighting about and were just throwing whatever they had left at each other. So we stopped. All of us. Bags already packed, shoes half on, standing in the middle of the living room like we were waiting for something to collapse. No one said anything. We just listened. When the door finally opened, it wasn't both of them. It was our mother. And she didn't look angry. She looked… broken. Her eyes were red, her hands shaking slightly like she didn't trust them to stay still. For a second, I thought something worse had happened. Something final. But then she looked at us, really looked at us, and said, "I'm sorry," in a voice that didn't belong to her. And just like that, everything shifted. "We don't have another choice," she added, like that was supposed to prepare us for whatever came next. It didn't. "I'm pregnant." The word sat there, heavy and wrong, like it had been dropped into the wrong life. I didn't react at first. None of us did. It didn't make sense. It couldn't. My mind tried to fix it, to twist it into something else—some misunderstanding, some mistake—but she kept talking, and every word made it worse. Twins. She said twins like it was just another detail, like it didn't change everything. She was almost fifty. Dad was close to sixty. We were supposed to be leaving this phase of life behind, not starting it all over again. We were supposed to be moving forward. And suddenly, we were being pulled back into something none of us had signed up for. The room felt smaller after that. Tighter. Like the walls had moved in without asking. She started talking about what it meant—her job, the risks, the fact that someone would have to stay, that someone would have to give something up. She didn't say it directly, but we all heard it. France. Home. Responsibility. Sacrifice. Words that didn't belong to us. Not now. Not like this. And the worst part was, she was looking at us like she expected an answer. Like we would step forward, volunteer, making it easier for her. But no one moved. No one spoke. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even shock anymore. It was something colder. Something final. Without saying a word, we picked up our bags. One after another. Like it had already been decided somewhere between the shouting and the silence. We walked out of that house without looking back, without saying goodbye, without giving her anything she was asking for. Maybe that makes us terrible. Maybe it doesn't. I don't know anymore. All I know is that now I'm here, standing in the middle of a crowded room filled with people who think tonight is about celebrating the end of something, when all I can feel is the beginning of something I don't want. The music is loud enough to drown out thought; the lights flicker across faces I barely care about, and everyone is laughing like nothing has changed. But I can still hear her voice in my head. I can still see the way she looked at us, like we had already left her even before we walked out the door. And no matter how hard I try to lose myself in the noise, I can't shake the feeling that tonight isn't just another party. It's a distraction. And it's not going to last.
I barely drank at house parties like this one, not because I didn't want to, but because I liked knowing exactly what I was doing, what I was feeling. But tonight was different. Tonight felt like something I couldn't quite hold together, like everything was slipping just enough for me to notice it. I needed something to quiet it down, even if it was just for a few minutes. I was still standing there, glass untouched in my hand, trying to decide if I should leave or stay, when I saw Regina rushing past me. She didn't stop. She didn't even look at me. But I saw her face long enough to know—her eyes were glossy, her expression tight, like she was holding something in that refused to stay hidden. She had been crying. I should have followed her. I should have asked what happened. But I didn't. Instead, I found myself moving in the opposite direction, toward the room she had just come out of, like whatever answer I was looking for was waiting there instead. I didn't even hesitate when I pushed the door open. The music from the party softened instantly behind me, replaced by a quieter kind of tension that settled into the room the second I stepped inside. And then I saw him. Elliot was standing by the window shirtless, his back to me, completely still, like he hadn't moved in a while. The dim light from outside traced the outline of his shoulders, the lines of his back, and for a second, I forgot why I had come in at all. He didn't turn. He didn't speak. It was like he already knew I was there and didn't feel the need to acknowledge it. I closed the door behind me, the soft click sounding louder than it should have, and slowly walked toward him. I told myself I needed to know what had happened. That Regina hadn't run out like that for no reason. But the closer I got to him, the more that reason slipped away, replaced by something else entirely. It always happened like this with him. It didn't make sense, and I hated that it didn't. He had this way of pulling me in without doing anything at all, like my body reacted before my mind could catch up. And I let it. That was the worst part. I let it happen every single time. Of course, he was attractive. Anyone could see that. But that couldn't be it. That couldn't be enough to make me forget myself this easily. I stopped just behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his presence, close enough to know I should step back. But I didn't. And then he turned. It happened so suddenly that I almost lost my balance, instinctively stepping back, but his hand caught my arm before I could create any real distance. He pulled me toward him without hesitation, like he had already decided I wasn't going anywhere. For a second, I didn't resist. My mind went quiet in a way that scared me, like everything else had been pushed aside just to make space for him. I told myself to focus, to remember why I was there, what I wanted to ask, what mattered. But instead, my hands moved on their own, brushing lightly against his chest, tracing a line I hadn't meant to follow. It felt wrong. And yet, I didn't stop. I lifted my eyes to his, searching for something—an answer, maybe—but whatever I was looking for disappeared the second he leaned in. The kiss was quick, barely there, but it was enough. Enough to snap something back into place inside me, sharp and immediate. I pulled away, pushing lightly against him just to create space, just to breathe again. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. He looked at me, unreadable, like nothing about that moment had surprised him. "What are you doing here, Anna?" he asked, his voice low, steady in a way that made everything feel even more unbalanced. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out the way I wanted it to. "I… I don't—" My words felt scattered, useless. I wasn't even sure what I had come to say anymore. For a second, I stayed there, caught between leaving and staying, between sense and something else I didn't want to name. And then I turned. I didn't trust myself to stay another second. I walked out faster than I should have, pushing the door open and stepping back into the noise of the party, like it could drown out everything that had just happened. But it didn't. It followed me anyway.
As soon as I got back into the crowd, I grabbed whatever drink was being passed around without even asking what it was. I just needed something—anything—to blur the edges of my thoughts. The party felt louder than before, more chaotic, like it was building toward something I hadn't been warned about. Then I noticed people shifting, turning, gathering toward the center of the room like magnets pulling in one direction. Something was happening. I followed them. The closer I got, the clearer the voices became, cutting through the music and laughter. And then I heard her. Regina. My sister's voice wasn't just loud—it was sharp, broken at the edges, like she was holding herself together by force alone. And there were other voice too. Familiar. Deep. Elliot. "I'm telling you, baby, that's not going to happen," he said, his tone cold, almost detached. "Not after you cheated on me right here in front of everyone." "That's not what happened!" Regina snapped back immediately, her voice rising. "He attacked me. I didn't want anything!" A pause. Then Elliot again, sharper this time. "And why did you send me that photo, anyway?" The words landed wrong in the air. Confusing. Heavy. Before I could process it, another guy's voice cut in, calmer, almost careless. "Relax, man. It was just a one-night thing." That was it. Something in Elliot snapped. The shift was instant. The space between them turned violent without warning—voices rising, bodies moving, people stepping back as the argument turned into a fight. Chairs shifted, someone shouted, glass hit the floor. Things went nuts in there, and I couldn't tell who threw the first punch. I froze. I didn't know where to look, or who to stop, or what I was even supposed to do. Everything felt too loud, too fast, too much. And then—someone grabbed my hand. Firm. Certain. Pulling. I barely had time to react before I was dragged out of the room, away from the noise, away from the crowd, through a side exit that cut the sound in half the second we stepped outside. Cold air hit my face. I turned immediately, trying to see who had pulled me out, but I didn't need to. The scent alone was enough. Rafael. He stopped once we were a few steps away from the house, letting go of my hand like he only just remembered he was holding it. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then he looked at me and asked, almost too calmly, "Do you want to go somewhere and talk?" I swallowed, still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened inside. "To talk… yeah," I said. But even as the words left my mouth, my mind split into too many possibilities. Because "talk" didn't feel simple. Not with him. Not tonight. And I didn't know which version of that conversation I was about to walk into.
The noise of the party faded behind us as Rafael led the way down the street, the night air sharp against my skin. Everything still felt unreal, like I was moving through a scene that didn't fully belong to me anymore. Without asking, he stopped at a small corner shop and came back a few minutes later with two cold Coca-Cola cans, pressing one into my hand like it were the most normal thing in the world. I let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "Seriously?" He didn't smile much, just shrugged slightly. "You looked like you needed something simple." That should've been funny. It wasn't. Not really. We didn't say much after that. Just walked side by side, the cans cold against our palms, the sound of distant traffic replacing the chaos we had just left behind. I didn't even notice where we were going until I saw the familiar streets leading toward my aunt's house. My stomach tightened slightly. "Wait… you're actually taking me there?" Rafael glanced at me briefly. "You said talk. This feels like a place where you can breathe." I didn't answer that. Because he wasn't wrong. A few minutes later, I saw his bike waiting near the curb. He didn't ask if I was okay with it. He just shoved a helmet at me, no questions asked. And somehow… I took it. The moment I got on behind him, everything shifted. The world felt faster, colder, more real. I hesitated for a second before holding onto his jacket, my fingers tightening slightly as the engine started. Then we moved. The wind hit my face as the city blurred into lines of light and shadow. I wasn't thinking anymore. Not about Regina, not about Elliot, not about anything that had happened inside that house. It all felt far away, like it belonged to someone else's life. When we finally stopped, I recognized the gate immediately. My aunt's house. I got off slowly, still holding the empty can, like I needed something to anchor me. Rafael parked the bike behind me, taking his time removing his helmet. The silence between us felt different now—heavier, more aware. "You know," I said finally, trying to sound normal, "my aunt is working the weekend shift. She won't be around." I looked at him, unsure why I was even saying it. Then added, softer, "You can come in if you want; we can watch whatever you want ." For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't respond. Just looked at the house, then back at me, like he was weighing something I couldn't see. Then he stepped closer—not invading, not rushing. Just closer. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I'll come in." A pause. "Because I don't think you should be alone right now." And for the first time that night, I didn't know what scared me more—what had happened inside that party… or the fact that he was starting to sound like he actually meant that.