The gate to the Kingsley residence was intimidating.
Not because it was tall or fancy, but because it meant walking into her world. One Elijah had only ever observed from a distance. One she never really talked about.
He rang the bell. A minute passed. Then the door creaked open, revealing a woman in her forties, sharply dressed, with tired but observant eyes.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Hi. Uh, I'm Elijah. I'm... uh… a friend of Brielle's."
There was a moment's pause. A flicker of evaluation.
Then she stepped aside.
"She's upstairs. Third door on the left."
"Thank you, ma'am."
He could feel the weight of the house pressing in as he walked through, elegant, pristine, quiet. Almost too quiet. Like a place where emotions were tidied up and hidden in drawers.
He found her room easily.
He didn't knock.
He couldn't.
He just opened the door.
Brielle sat on her bed, legs crossed, arms wrapped around a pillow. She looked up, startled.
"Elijah?"
"Hi," he said softly.
"You came to my house?"
He nodded. "You've been gone. I wanted to check on you."
She blinked, clearly trying to mask the emotion in her eyes. "You walked into the lion's den for that?"
He shrugged. "I've faced worse."
She scoffed lightly but didn't smile.
"I saw your mum," he added quietly. "She looks like she tells people what they should wear for a living."
"She does," Brielle muttered. "She thinks therapists are for people who've failed."
Her voice cracked a little.
That's when it hit him, how much the moment in the cafeteria meant.
When Zane had thrown her therapy sessions at her like a curse.
When Elijah had stood up, voice loud and trembling, defending her in front of everyone.
Everyone had gone quiet. Even the teachers.
And Brielle?
She hadn't said a word.
Until now.
"That day," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "when you told him to shut up… everyone was staring. And all I could think was, he really did it. He stood up for me. And I didn't deserve it."
He stepped forward, unsure if she'd let him close.
"Brielle..."
"I sabotage things, Elijah." Her eyes were bright now. "It's what I do. I destroy before I can be destroyed. I pick fights, create chaos… because if it all burns, at least I was the one who lit the match."
Her voice broke. "It makes me feel less powerless."
The silence between them stretched, but this time, it was heavy with unspoken truths.
"I know what that's like," he said, finally. "Thinking pain is better when you're the one in control of it."
She looked up at him, something raw and wide in her expression.
"I don't want to ruin this," she whispered.
"Then don't."
"I don't know how not to."
He reached for her hand.
"You just did."