Chapter 11 – Cracks in the Mask
"Conor!"
Jaime's voice ripped through the silence as he stumbled into the apartment, panic crashing over him like a wave. His eyes widened the instant they landed on his younger brother—lying limp across the bed, skin deathly pale, lips dry and cracked, chest rising in shallow, uneven gasps.
For one horrifying second, Jaime froze. The world tilted, his ears rang, and all he could hear was the frantic thud of his own heartbeat.
Then—instinct snapped him back.
"Conor! Hey—hey, no, wake up!" Jaime dropped to his knees, grabbing Conor by the shoulders, shaking him gently, then harder when there was no response. His own pulse thundered, cold sweat dripping down his temple. "Don't you dare do this to me. Please, open your eyes!"
Nothing.
His fingers trembled so violently he almost dropped his phone while dialing emergency. "My brother—he collapsed, he's not responding! Please—hurry!"
Every second dragged into eternity. Jaime clutched Conor's cold, clammy hand as if he could keep him tethered to life by sheer will.
When the paramedics finally stormed in, Jaime stumbled back, watching helplessly as they fitted an oxygen mask over Conor's face, checked his vitals, and lifted him carefully onto a stretcher. Jaime followed closely as they carried him down the stairwell, his mind spinning with flashes—Conor's weak smiles, his shrinking frame, every time he brushed off concern with I'm fine.
But Conor wasn't fine. He hadn't been fine for a long time. And Jaime hadn't seen it.
The clinic was suffocating—bright lights buzzing overhead, antiseptic stinging the air. Conor lay unconscious on a hospital bed, too fragile, too still.
A doctor pulled Jaime aside. "He's severely exhausted. Malnourished, dehydrated. His body has been under constant strain—stress, overwork, no rest. It finally gave out."
Jaime's chest clenched. "How could it get this bad?"
The doctor's eyes softened. "People hide more than you think. Especially when they don't want to be a burden."
The words sliced through Jaime like glass. When they don't want to be a burden.
Inside the room, Conor stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, vision blurry, the steady beep of the monitor filling his ears.
"Jaime?" His voice was faint, raw.
Jaime rushed to his side. "Conor. Thank God."
Conor blinked, confusion clouding his gaze. "Why... am I here?"
"You collapsed," Jaime said quickly, pressing him back when he tried to sit up.
"I'm fine," Conor whispered weakly, the lie automatic, though his trembling hands betrayed him.
"No, you're not fine!" Jaime's voice cracked, eyes burning. "You collapsed, Conor. Do you get it? You could've—" His throat tightened, words splintering. "You could've died."
Conor turned his face away, shame pressing down like a weight. "I just... overworked a little."
Jaime's jaw tightened. "A little? Stop lying! You've been hiding this from me, haven't you? How long have you been pushing yourself like this?"
The silence that followed was crushing. Finally, Conor's voice broke. "I... I had to."
"Had to?" Jaime demanded, anger and fear twisting in his chest. "Why would you destroy yourself like this?"
Conor's eyes blurred with tears. His voice cracked.
"Because I didn't want to be useless. I didn't want you to regret having me around."
Jaime flinched, but frustration boiled up, overtaking compassion.
"Regret? Do you even hear yourself? Conor, all you ever do is mess things up. Do you know how hard it is for me to carry the weight you drop? To cover for you every time you screw up at work, every time you can't even stand on your own two feet?"
Conor's throat tightened. "I tried," he whispered, trembling. "I worked double shifts. Took the blame for others. I thought if I pushed myself enough, maybe—"
"Maybe what?" Jaime snapped, voice sharp as glass. "That you'd finally stop being a burden? Look at you! Flat on your back in a hospital bed, and who's here cleaning up after you again? Me!"
Conor's lip quivered. His chest ached.
Jaime's fists clenched, his own emotions spiraling. The words spilled out, vicious and raw, before he could stop them:
"Sometimes, Conor... I wish you never existed. My life would've been easier without you dragging me down."
The room went deathly still.
Conor's breath hitched. His wide, tear-glossed eyes fixed on Jaime, shattered. His voice was barely audible. "You... really think that?"
Jaime froze, horror dawning at what he'd just said. But shame burned too hot. He couldn't take it back. His chest rose and fell in ragged heaves.
"I... I just can't do this," he muttered, stepping back, his voice breaking.
At that moment, the door burst open.
"Conor?!"
Chad's voice rang out, urgent and panicked. He rushed inside, two of Conor's friends on his heels. Their faces drained of color when they saw Conor lying frail beneath the hospital sheets.
"Bro, what happened? We came as soon as we heard—" Chad's voice cracked, panic flooding his words. He hurried to Conor's bedside, gripping his hand, his own eyes wet.
Conor blinked, dazed, relief flickering briefly at the sight of them—but it was smothered instantly by Jaime's words replaying in his head like a curse: I wish you never existed.
Jaime's chest twisted painfully. He couldn't bear it—the sight of Conor surrounded by people who cared, while all he'd given him was pain.
"I... I need air," Jaime muttered hoarsely, brushing past Chad and the others without meeting their eyes.
"Jaime, wait—" Chad called after him, but Jaime was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway.
The door clicked shut, leaving Conor trembling, tears spilling silently.
Surrounded by friends, he had never felt so utterly alone.
And in the hollow of his chest, Jaime's words echoed mercilessly, over and over:
"I wish you never existed."
✨ Cliffhanger: Conor lies brokenhearted in the hospital bed, his friends by his side but his spirit shattered. Outside, Jaime paces the hall, drowning in guilt he doesn't yet know how to face.
The door shut behind Jaime with a heavy finality, leaving a silence that pressed down like a weight.
Conor's throat tightened as he stared at the ceiling, his brother's words ringing in his skull:
"I wish you never existed."
It cut deeper than any wound. His chest ached with a pain that no oxygen mask could fix. He blinked rapidly, but tears slid down anyway, burning as they fell into his hairline.
"Conor," Chad's voice was low, filled with concern. He pulled a chair closer to the bed, his hand firm on Conor's arm. "Don't listen to him. Jaime didn't mean it. He's just—"
"He meant it," Conor whispered, voice raw. His lips trembled. "You don't say something like that unless you've thought it before."
Chad's chest constricted. He glanced at his friends—Mark and Evan—who exchanged uneasy looks but stayed quiet, giving space.
"Bro..." Chad's voice cracked. "We've been worried about you for weeks. You've been pale, quiet, always tired. And now this? Collapsing? Why didn't you say anything?"
Conor turned his face away, ashamed. His voice was small, barely above a whisper.
"Because it doesn't matter. I mess everything up anyway. At work... they blamed me for things I didn't even do. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. My boss yelled at me in front of everyone. Said I was useless."
His hand clenched the blanket. "I was fired for someone else's mistake. And I still took the blame, because I thought... if I complained, I'd just drag everyone else down. I thought maybe I deserved it."
Chad's jaw tightened, fury burning in his eyes. "No. You didn't deserve that. Those people are trash for what they did. You worked yourself to the bone, and they threw you away. That's on them—not you."
But Conor shook his head, the shame too heavy. "I believed them, Chad. Every word. That I was a screw-up, a burden. And when Jaime said he wished I didn't exist..." His voice cracked, tears spilling freely now. "It felt like confirmation of everything I already thought."
The room fell into a painful silence.
Mark, usually the quiet one, finally spoke, voice steady but firm. "Conor, that's not true. We see you. We know how much you give. You've always been there for us, even when you were breaking yourself apart. That's not a mistake—that's strength."
Evan nodded quickly. "Yeah. Jaime's wrong. You matter, Conor. To us. To me. To all of us."
Conor's eyes burned, but deep inside, the words Jaime left behind clung like chains.
Chad hesitated before speaking again, softer this time. "Conor... earlier, you said you tried to handle everything alone. But you don't have to. If there's something you're not saying—something you've been keeping in—please, trust me. You can tell me."
Conor swallowed hard, panic flickering in his chest. The words almost slipped out—the diary. But fear sealed his lips shut. He shook his head, forcing a fragile smile.
"It's nothing," he muttered. "Just thoughts."
Chad studied him carefully, suspicion in his eyes. He wanted to push, but Conor's fragile state stopped him. Instead, he squeezed Conor's hand. "Fine. But whatever it is, we'll be here. Always."
Conor's lips trembled, a silent thank you caught in his throat.
As Chad and his friends stayed by his side, Conor closed his eyes, but inside his chest, everything still hurt. Because no matter how much comfort his friends offered, Jaime's voice still echoed in the shadows of his mind.
"Sometimes, I wish you never existed."
And only Conor knew the truth—that every wound he carried, every burden he couldn't share, was written down in hidden pages that Jaime was now desperate to find.
✨ Cliffhanger: Outside in the hallway, Jaime leaned against the wall, fists clenched, his chest heaving with guilt. His words replayed mercilessly in his head. He didn't know how to fix what he'd broken—but he knew one thing: somewhere, Conor was hiding the truth in a diary. And Jaime was going to find it.
This closes Chapter 11 – Cracks in the Mask with:
Jaime finding Conor collapsed.
The hospital confrontation.
Conor's emotional breakdown: guilt, overworking, invisibility.
Their first raw emotional clash.
Cliffhanger: Jaime realizing there's a diary, Conor's hidden truth.