STORY 1- Kiss Him Or Not?

The alcohol blurred the edges of everything.

The room swayed gently, or maybe it was just me. My thoughts felt tangled, my emotions spilling into one another until I couldn't tell where anger ended and heartbreak began. The only thing I knew was that the fear I'd carried for years had finally drowned beneath the burn of whiskey.

"What are you talking about, Is?" Kai asked. He stood from the edge of his bed, concern replacing the lazy smile he'd worn only moments earlier.

I stumbled toward him.

"You heard me."

His brows knitted together. "Hey... are you okay?"

Instead of answering, I crashed into him. The impact sent him backward onto the mattress with a surprised grunt. I followed, catching myself with my hands on either side of him as laughter bubbled out of my chest.

"So..." I slurred. "You actually canceled practice because of me?"

A small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “Isla." His voice softened. "You're drunk."

"I know." The words came out with a bitter laugh. My pulse hammered against my ribs. When had he started looking like this?

Not the annoying stepbrother who stole fries off my plate and teased me for watching terrible reality shows. Not the guy who always called me Kid. Somewhere along the way, he'd become someone I couldn't stop noticing.

"Kai..." I reached up, my fingertips brushing lightly across his jaw. “Stop looking at me like I'm your little sister."

He froze. The breath he drew sounded almost painful. His eyes searched mine, conflicted, guarded, carrying something I'd never been brave enough to name.

"Isla," he said quietly. "Whatever you're feeling right now... this isn't the way."

"Kai..."

"Kid..."

The nickname snapped something inside me.

"I'm not a kid!" Before I could think better of it, I leaned forward and kissed him. Time seemed to stop. Then his hands closed around my shoulders.

"Isla." He eased me back, putting a few precious inches between us.

"I feel like crap, Kai!" The confession slipped out before I could stop it, raw and ugly and too honest. “I feel like everyone gets tired of me eventually. Ryan cheated like I was nothing. Like I was just some girl he could trade in the second someone prettier, smarter, or easier came along."

My voice broke, and I hated myself for it.

"You look at me like I matter. Then the moment I get close enough to believe it, you pull away. You call me Kid like it's a wall. Like if you say it enough, you won't have to admit I'm standing right in front of you!”

A flicker of conflict crossed his face. "Isla..."

"You keep calling me Kid because it's safer," I continued. My eyes burned, but I didn’t stop.

"No, Isla."

"Then what is it? I don't want to feel unwanted anymore. I'm tired of wondering why nobody ever chooses me," I whispered, my voice trembling.

I noticed that Kai’s breathing had changed by now. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and his hands curled at his sides. He looked dangerously close to losing control.

"If you don't want this, then stop me." I leaned in again fast, crashing my lips onto his. This kiss wasn't gentle. It carried every ounce of hurt, loneliness, and reckless courage the alcohol had given me.

For one devastating second... he kissed me back. Only for a second. It wasn't careful. It wasn't planned. It felt like instinct breaking through restraint before he could force it back into place.

The moment he realized what he'd done, he broke away so abruptly that I stumbled backward until my legs struck the edge of the bed. He stood several feet away now, breathing hard. One hand covered his mouth as if he wanted to erase the last few seconds.

"Fuck!" His voice came out rough. "Isla... stop!" Kai's eyes squeezed shut for a moment before meeting mine again. "You're drunk. We can't do this."

I stared at him, my eyes wide. “You kissed me back."

"I know. And I shouldn't have." There wasn't an ounce of denial in his voice. “You aren't thinking clearly."

A broken laugh escaped me. “Right. I'm just the drunk little stepsister making a fool of herself."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

"No. I never meant that."

"Then tell me what you do mean."

The tears I'd been fighting finally escaped, one after another. He took a cautious step toward me.

"Isla..."

"Don't." I lifted a trembling hand before he could come any closer. “Please."

He stopped. “I can't do this right now."

Neither could I. So I turned before he could see just how badly I was falling apart. The hallway stretched endlessly in front of me. Every step away from his room felt heavier than the last. By the time I reached mine, I could barely see through the tears.

The door slammed shut behind me. I leaned against the wood, trying to breathe. But it didn't help.

The taste of his kiss still lingered. Not because it had lasted. Because it hadn't. Ryan breaking my heart had hurt, but Kai pushing me away reached somewhere deeper, somewhere I did not know could still break.

Maybe because Ryan had only rejected the relationship. Kai had rejected me. Or at least that was what my heart kept whispering until I almost believed it.

My gaze drifted to the scissors resting on my desk. I couldn't recall deciding to pick them up. They were there, harmless and silver under the soft light one moment, and in my hand the next as I walked into the bathroom.

The light flickered on. The girl in the mirror looked exhausted. Long hair framed her pale face. Her eyes were red and swollen. The careful smile she had spent years perfecting was gone, leaving behind someone too tired to pretend.

The good girl.

The easy girl.

The girl who never asked for too much, who waited quietly, hoped silently, and convinced herself that patience would one day be enough to make someone stay.

I couldn't stand looking at her anymore. My fingers tightened around a fistful of hair, and before doubt could catch up to me, I brought the scissors close. The first snip sounded sharp in the quiet bathroom, almost violent.

Dark strands fell into the sink. I stared at them for half a second, my breath shaking, then cut again and again. The movements came faster after that, rougher, messier, like I was cutting away every version of myself that had begged to be chosen.

Hair gathered around my feet, scattered across the sink, and clung to my trembling hands like pieces of a life I no longer wanted. By the time the scissors slipped from my fingers, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

Her hair was short, uneven, and jagged in places. It was not pretty or soft. It was nothing like before. But somehow, she was different. Like someone who had finally stopped waiting for permission to change.

My breathing slowly steadied. The tears were still there, sliding down my cheeks, but they no longer felt helpless. They felt cleansing, almost cruel in the way they washed something weak out of me.

I planted both hands on the edge of the sink and leaned closer to the mirror. For the first time that night, I did not look away from myself.

Then someone knocked on my bedroom door.

"Isla. Open the fucking door before I break it down!"