Chapter 16 Aftermath

Chapter 16 Aftermath
ELOWEN BENNETT

The shouting from downstairs kept getting louder.

I tried to focus on the Krebs cycle diagram in front of me, but the angry voices cutting through the walls made it impossible. Every sharp word felt like it vibrated through the floor. Alaric’s mother sounded hurt and exhausted, while his father’s replies were cold and defensive. It was the kind of argument that made you want to shrink into yourself.

I stole a glance at Alaric.

His face had changed.

The usual confident, untouchable mask he wore at school had slipped for a moment. His jaw was clenched tight, his deep blue eyes darker than normal, and there was a tightness around his mouth I had rarely seen. For a second, he looked… tired. Almost vulnerable.

Then, just as quickly, he masked it. The cold, controlled expression slid back into place like it had never left.

He stood up suddenly, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he said, his voice rough. “We can continue studying at a cafe.”

I nodded quickly, relieved. Staying here while his parents tore into each other felt wrong. Like I was intruding on something private and painful.

We packed up our notebooks and laptop in silence. Alaric didn’t say another word as we left his room and headed downstairs. The argument was still going strong, but he moved through the house like he didn’t hear it. I kept my head down and followed him out the front door.

The drive to the cafe was quiet. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. Alaric’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than usual, his knuckles pale. I wanted to say something to break the tension, but I didn’t know what.

We ended up at a small, quiet cafe a few blocks from downtown. It was half-empty at this hour, with soft lighting and the comforting smell of coffee and pastries. We found a corner booth away from the few other customers and spread our materials across the table.

For the first twenty minutes, we actually made progress. Alaric explained the ATP synthase part better than I expected, and I helped organize the slides. The studying felt almost normal again.

But the heaviness from his house still lingered in the air between us.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his expression had shifted when the fighting started. The brief crack in his armor. Part of me knew I should leave it alone, but another part the part that had been hurt so many times lately wondered if he was okay.

After we finished one full section, I set my pen down and looked at him carefully.

“Alaric…” I started softly, “are you okay? Back at your house… the argument sounded really bad.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

Alaric’s head snapped up. His blue eyes, which had been focused on the laptop, suddenly burned with anger.

“What?” His voice was low at first, but sharp.

“I just… I heard them fighting,” I continued, my voice getting smaller. “It sounded intense. I didn’t mean to pry, but you looked—”

“Stop.” He cut me off, his tone hardening. “You don’t know anything about my family, Elowen. Nothing.”

I flinched at the way he said my name — cold and biting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was just worried—”

“Worried?” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that made my stomach twist. “You think because I brought you to my house once, you suddenly have the right to ask about my personal shit? Mind your own damn business.”

His voice rose slightly, loud enough that the barista behind the counter glanced our way. Heat flooded my face in embarrassment and hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, my throat tightening. “I just thought—”

“You thought what?” he snapped. “That we’re friends now? That you can sit there and play therapist because you heard my parents yelling? Newsflash — we’re not friends. You’re doing what I tell you to do for three months. That’s it.”

The words landed like a slap.

I looked down at the table, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from forming. My fingers trembled as I closed my notebook.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Alaric didn’t reply. He slammed his laptop shut, shoved it into his bag, and stood up.

“We’re done here,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

The drive back to my house was even worse than the ride to the cafe. The silence was suffocating. Alaric stared straight ahead, jaw locked, radiating anger. I kept my eyes on my lap, regretting every word I had said. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Why did I think he would open up to me?

He pulled up in front of my house and stopped the car without turning off the engine.

I unbuckled my seatbelt slowly, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me.

“I really am sorry,” I said one last time, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

Alaric didn’t look at me. “Just get out.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and stepped out of the car. The moment I closed the door, he drove off without another word, the tires making a sharp sound against the road.

I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, watching his taillights disappear into the night.

Regret sat heavy in my chest.

I should have known better. Alaric Hayes wasn’t someone who let people in. He was cold, controlling, and dangerous to get close to. The small cracks I thought I saw earlier were probably just my imagination.

Yet, even after he shouted at me, even after he made it clear I meant nothing to him, a tiny part of me still felt bad for him. For the boy who had to listen to his parents tear each other apart behind closed doors.

I turned and walked slowly into the house, the quiet comfort of my room suddenly feeling very far away.

As I climbed the stairs, one painful thought kept repeating in my mind:

Why did I ever think I could understand someone like Alaric?

And why did his anger hurt more than it should?