Chapter 21
Keifer POV
The door didn't open.
I knocked once.
Nothing.
I knocked again, firmer this time. "Hex."
Silence.
I rested my forehead lightly against the door. "I'm not here to drag you back downstairs."
Still nothing.
Then I added, calmly, "Jayjay didn't send me."
The lock clicked.
The door opened just a crack. One sharp, suspicious eye stared at me.
"…What," Hex muttered.
"I just want to talk."
He studied my face like he was scanning for threats, then stepped aside. I entered.
The room stopped me in my tracks.
Things were everywhere—gadgets, notebooks, wires, toy guns, half-open drawers. It wasn't messy in a careless way. It looked like someone had been thinking too hard and exploded.
I stepped forward and my foot brushed against something solid.
An album.
I bent down and picked it up.
The first page made my chest tighten.
Hex and Jayjay.
Younger. Smaller. Sitting on a hospital floor. Jayjay was asleep; Hex was awake, watching her like she might disappear if he blinked.
I flipped the page.
Another photo. Street corner. Jayjay holding food. Hex grinning like he'd won the world.
Another page. Another memory.
Different years. Same two people.
There were no pictures of anyone else.
Just them.
So this was it.
This was his anchor.
I closed the album carefully and placed it on the bed. Then I sat down.
Hex stood by the desk, pretending to organize things that were already organized. His shoulders were tense.
I tapped the mattress lightly. "Sit."
He didn't move.
I waited.
Finally, he came over and sat—far enough to pretend he didn't care, close enough to hear me breathe.
"Hex," I said softly, "do you really care about Jayjay?"
He looked offended. "That's a stupid question."
"How?"
He turned fully toward me, eyes serious. "She's my person. She saved me. She stayed. She didn't leave when things were ugly. She chooses me every day—even when I'm annoying."
I nodded. "She does."
He continued, voice firmer. "She skips meals when I forget to eat. She sleeps on chairs when I'm sick. She lies for me. She fights for me. She yells because she cares. I know that."
"She didn't have to keep me," he said. "She could've left me anywhere. But she didn't. She stayed even when I was annoying, angry. She stayed when I broke things. When I didn't talk. When I yelled."
His voice dropped. "She's the only reason I feel safe."
I nodded. "Then answer me this."
I turned slightly toward him. "Why won't you go to school?"
His jaw tightened.
"My grandma died because of school."
The words came out flat, but his hands trembled.
"She was coming to pick me up," he said. "She never reached. A car hit her. If I hadn't gone to school that day… she'd still be alive."
I felt my chest ache.
"I waited," he whispered. "I waited and waited."
I let the silence stretch.
Then I spoke.
"When I was younger," I said, "I was afraid of water."
He glanced at me.
"I nearly drowned once. After that, I refused to go near water. People thought I hated swimming. Truth was—I was scared."
I leaned forward slightly. "One day, someone told me: 'Avoiding water won't save you. It will only shrink your world.'"
Hex stared at the floor.
"I didn't jump into the sea," I continued. "I sat at the edge. Then I put my feet in. Then my legs. Slowly."
I looked at him. "School isn't the car that hit your grandma. Fear is."
He didn't reply.
So I changed the question.
"Are you happy when Jayjay is happy?"
"Yes," he answered instantly.
"Do you like making her laugh?"
"She laughs at stupid things."
"Do you remember the things you've done together?"
A pause.
Then he nodded.
"List them," I said.
He sighed. "We stole food and ran."
"She slept on a plastic chair for two nights."
"She taught me how to lie properly."
"She cried when I won my first contest."
"She yelled at me for skipping meals."
"She calls my name three times when she's angry."
He swallowed. "Hex. Hex. Hex."
I smiled faintly.
"Does she look happy worrying about you forever?" I asked.
"No."
"Then," I said gently, "if you went to school—not because she forced you, but because you chose to—would that make her happier?"
Hex went quiet.
A long minute passed.
Then another.
Finally, he spoke.
"…Yes."
I exhaled.
"If I help you find a school you'll like," I added, "one that fits you—would you try?"
He nodded once. "I'll try."
Downstairs, voice echoed.
"Hex!"
He stood up.
This time, he didn't ignore her.
"I'm coming," he called back.
As he walked to the door, I knew something had shifted.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Choice.
And that mattered more than anything.