Lonely Girl

Beneath the quilt, Ava Taylor trembled. Her heart thudded violently in her chest, and tears slipped silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her pillow. “Cole…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes remained shut, her body shivering as though she were caught in the dead of winter. “You said you loved me,” she murmured. “How could you do this to me?”

She wasn’t really awake. The words poured from her like a wound that wouldn’t close, soft and fractured.

Then the door burst open.

“Hey, you! Bitch!”

Charlotte Taylor’s voice sliced through the stillness of the room like a knife. The door slammed against the wall as she strode in, her tall frame a blur of movement and rage.

Ava flinched beneath the covers, eyelashes twitching. Her sister’s voice had torn her from the half-conscious haze she’d slipped into. She blinked slowly, her vision adjusting to the dim morning light, but stayed hidden beneath the quilt.

That only seemed to enrage Charlotte more.

Yanking the quilt away with a dramatic flourish, Charlotte revealed Ava’s tear-streaked face and trembling hands. “You’re so useless, Ava,” she snapped. “Still in bed like some lazy lump? Do you even know what time it is? Are you planning to make breakfast or not?”

Ava sat up, supporting herself with one arm, head bowed. She still had nearly an hour until her alarm was supposed to ring—but it never mattered when Charlotte was home from college. Her sister made it a mission to torment her.

She always had.

Charlotte didn’t see Ava as a sister. She saw her as a target.

Things had only gotten worse since Charlotte discovered Ava was dating someone. Back then, Ava had been glowing with happiness. She smiled more. She spent late nights whispering into her phone. The whole house could feel her joy.

Charlotte hated it.

As fate would have it, she attended the same college as Cole—the man who made Ava light up. And with ease, she took him from her.

She didn’t stop there.

Charlotte had gone so far as to have Ava’s phone taken away by their parents. But not before making sure Cole ended things—coldly, cruelly—over a phone call. Since then, Ava had been a shell of herself.

She hadn’t seen it coming. She’d believed in him. She’d believed in them.

And then, just a week later, she saw them—Cole and Charlotte. Together.

It was late. Ava had been walking home from work, exhausted, when she spotted them kissing near Charlotte’s car. Her heart stopped. Her breath caught. The world blurred as she watched her sister with the man who had once whispered love to her.

Cole had glanced up and saw her—saw the devastation in her eyes. Guilt flickered across his face. For a second, he looked like he wanted to go to her. He stood from the car, called her name softly.

“Ava…”

But she turned and fled, the tears finally breaking free.

Back in the present, Charlotte was still talking. “You’ll be doing my laundry before you go anywhere,” she said flatly, running her fingers through her red hair. “And I’m starving. You’d better hurry.”

Ava nodded quietly, too tired to protest. The day before had been brutal at work—she was the only one on shift, and it felt like the entire town had come in for coffee. By the time she got home, her mother had already accused her of being out doing something disgraceful.

Again.

Charlotte poked her forehead. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Charlotte,” Ava whispered.

Satisfied, Charlotte left the room with a flip of her hair.

Downstairs, Ava busied herself with breakfast. At least waking up early gave her time to get everything done before work. She was flipping shrimp on the grill when Charlotte reappeared—this time with her phone in hand, smiling flirtatiously into the camera.

“I miss you, Cole,” she said, pouting.

Ava froze.

The earbuds Charlotte usually used were dangling unused at her neck. Her voice echoed through the kitchen, loud and deliberate.

Cole’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I miss you too, babe. Will you be back at your place tonight? I can’t wait to see you.”

Charlotte giggled. “You were just with me yesterday, weren’t you?” Her eyes flicked toward Ava, waiting—hoping—for a reaction.

Ava said nothing. But her eyes stung. Her chest ached.

She finished cooking in silence, biting down on her tongue to keep the tears at bay. She wouldn’t cry. Not again.

Half an hour later, she was dressed for work—a soft cream sweatshirt, denim skirt, and white sneakers. Her golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Despite the pain, Ava looked radiant, as if sorrow had sculpted something heartbreakingly beautiful.

She entered the dining room where her parents, Dylan and Emma Taylor, were already seated with Charlotte.

“Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Mum,” she greeted softly.

They didn’t look up. Just grunted in acknowledgment.

Ava pulled out a chair.

“I assume you’re done with my laundry?” Charlotte asked between mouthfuls of salad.

Ava nodded.

Emma looked up sharply. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

Ava blinked. “I… I was going to eat.”

Emma slammed her fork down. “So you made the food, and you couldn’t even serve it?”

“I had to finish Charlotte’s laundry,” Ava said, voice low. “I was going to come back…”

“So now Charlotte owes you something, is that it?” Emma’s voice had dropped into something cold and dangerous.

“No, that’s not—”

“Get out!”

The shout echoed off the walls. Ava jumped, heart racing.

“Go,” Emma said through clenched teeth. “Go to those men you’ve been giving yourself to. Maybe they’ll give you a few coins.”

Ava stood. Her throat burned. Her eyes shimmered.

But she didn’t let a single tear fall.