Chapter 2- The Bad Son

Asher's POV

I should’ve walked back home. It wasn’t far. But my legs wouldn’t cooperate, they were heavy, weakened by the adrenaline crash. I ended up in a cab instead, frozen in the backseat as the city passed in blurred streaks of light. Even now, the weight of the stranger’s wrist felt like a brand burned into my palm.

My muscles were locking up in a delayed reaction to the stress.

My brain was stuck on a loop, the roar of the water, the hollow desperation in those dark eyes, and the way the sleek black car had swallowed him whole.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him, whether he was still alive, whether anything I did actually changed anything, or if I had just delayed the inevitable.

When the cab pulled up to the curb, the sight of my house made my stomach knot. The windows were glowing with a warm amber light that felt like a mockery.

I stepped out onto the pavement and stood still for a long minute, clenching my fists until the tremors subsided. “It’s fine, Asher, it’s fine,” I whispered to the empty air.

I twisted the knob and stepped inside.

The smell of roast chicken hit me instantly. They were already at the table. My mother, my father and my two sisters, Anna and Alina. The perfect family, minus the mistake.

My mother tilted her head, scanning me with sharp, clinical disdain. “And where have you been? Look at your clothes. You couldn't even bother to come home looking decent.”

“I was at Trevor’s,” I said. The name slid off my tongue with practiced ease.

Trevor was the only person my parents ever approved of. His mother was my mother’s boss, which in her eyes made him royalty by association. If I was with Trevor, I was "climbing." If I was anywhere else, I was wasting my life.

“Trevor’s, huh?” Anna, my eldest sister, didn’t look up from her plate, but a smirk tugged at her mouth. “That’s amazing, Ash. Truly. Considering Trevor is upstairs in your room right now. He’s been waiting for an hour.”

The air left my lungs. I stood frozen, the lie curdling in the silence that followed.

“Sit down, Asher,” my father commanded.

He didn’t look angry but he looked exhausted, which was worse. It was the look of a man disappointed in his inheritance. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

I blinked, my focus blurring. “When did you get back?”

“Two hours ago,” he said, setting his fork down with a deliberate clack. “I came home to find my only son missing without a word. As a man, Asher, you should be able to handle criticism without fleeing like a child. It’s pathetic. Sit, let’s eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” I whispered. The thought of chewing, of sitting under my mother’s gaze, felt nauseating. “I’m going to bed.”

“You’re doing no such thing,” my mother snapped. Her fork clattered against her porcelain plate. She pointed a finger at my empty chair. “Sit down, Asher. I spent two hours on this meal, and you will sit there and eat it like a person with actual manners.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” I repeated, my voice straining like a wire pulled to its limit. The air in the room felt too thick to breathe. I just needed the world to go quiet for five minutes.

“And I said sit down!” she barked, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare give me that attitude. You act like you’re some tortured soul who can’t be bothered with this family....”

“I AM NOT EATING!” The shout ripped out of me, raw and jagged, echoing through the dining room.

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.

My sisters froze, staring at me as if I’d grown two heads. My mother’s mouth hung open, her face flushing into a blotched, angry red.

“Asher.”

My father’s voice was a deep, dangerous rumble. He dropped his napkin and looked at me, his eyes hard. “You do not raise your voice to your mother. Not in this house. Sit down, apologize, and eat.”

“No,” I snapped, my chest tight. I didn't look away. I looked him right in the eye, the lingering adrenaline making me braver than I should’ve been. “I’m not hungry, I’m not sitting down, and I’m done with this. All of it.”

My father’s jaw tightened, but I didn’t give him the chance to respond.

“Really?” Alina cut in, her voice forced and awkward. She reached for my plate. “I’ll… I’ll take your portion then. I’m starving.”

I didn’t wait for another word. I turned toward the stairs, my heart drumming against my ribs with terrifying force.

“Of course!” my mother’s voice shrieked after me. “Go ahead! Walk away! So full of himself! What is always wrong with that boy? Did you see that, Thomas? The utter disrespect!”

I didn’t stop until I reached my room. I slammed the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes, my chest heaving.

“Whoa. Easy there, Killer.”

I flinched and spun around. My friends, Trevor and Brady were sprawled across my bed. Trevor’s grin faded the moment he saw me.

“Ash? You look like you just crawled out of a grave. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, tossing my jacket into the laundry basket to hide the salt stains. I sat at my desk, staring at my blueprints, but all I could see was the dark, swirling water beneath the bridge.

The room went quiet for a moment before I spoke, my voice sounding distant.

“Hey… can I ask you guys something weird?”

Brady sat up, his expression sharpening. “Weird is your specialty, Ash. Go for it.”

“If someone had everything,” I started, tracing the edge of a ruler. “I mean, if they were rich, young, clearly healthy… why would they want to end their own life?”

Trevor snorted, leaning back. “Probably bored. Or a girl broke his heart. Rich people have golden problems, Ash. They cry in Ferraris while the rest of us cry on the bus.”

“I don’t know,” Brady countered, looking at me intently. “Money doesn’t fix a rotten house. Sometimes the more you have, the more people expect from you. It’s like a gilded cage. Why? Did you see something tonight?”

I felt their eyes on me, waiting. I could have told them I’d held a man’s future in my hands tonight. Instead, I just shrugged.

“Just a video I saw online,” I lied. The weight of the secret was heavy, but it was mine. “It just didn’t make sense.”

“Well, stop watching depressing stuff,” Trevor said, standing up and clapping me on the shoulder.

“What are you guys even doing here anyway?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away.

“We’re crashing here tonight,” Trevor announced, flopping back onto my pillows. “My mom started her usual lecture about cleaning my room, doing the laundry, being like my cousin. I had to escape.” He sat up again, eyes bright. “Which is why, after class tomorrow, we are going clubbing. We need music, drinks, and maybe some pretty girls to...”

Brady cleared his throat loudly, shooting Trevor a warning look.

Trevor froze, then glanced at me and winced. “Right. Sorry, Ash. Brain fog. We’ll find you a guy. A hot one. Whatever makes you forget that depressing video you watched.”

Brady rolled his eyes and reached into his bag, pulling out a crumpled flyer.

He smoothed it out on my desk, right over my engineering notes. “Actually, I came to show you this. That art exhibition. The neo-realism paintings you wouldn’t shut up about, it is tomorrow. We should all go.”

I stared at the poster. The colors were vibrant, a stark contrast to the gray, lifeless blueprints on my desk.

“I’m not going,” I said quietly.

Brady blinked. “What?”

“We’ve got the structural analysis seminar tomorrow,” I added, the old defensiveness creeping back in. “We can’t miss it.”

“Screw the seminar,” Brady said, not missing a beat. “It’s one class, Ash. We’ve spent years doing what we’re supposed to do. Missing a lecture to see something that actually matters to you isn’t going to ruin your life.”

“Exactly,” Trevor jumped in, leaning over my shoulder. “We go to the gallery, get some culture, and then we go clubbing. It’s the perfect plan.”

“I’m not in the mood,” I said, turning away. “Just… go without me.”

The room went quiet.

Brady moved in front of me again, his gaze softening. “Ash,” he said gently, “this is your thing. You’ve been talking about this for months. And now you’re choosing a seminar over it?”

I didn’t answer.

“Just one day,” Brady added. “Do something for yourself.”

The words sat heavier than I expected. I looked back at the flyer, the streaks of color suddenly too bright, too unreal, like they didn’t belong in my world at all. My father’s voice slipped into my head, “You skipped class for this?”

I could already hear the disappointment. I could already feel the coldness of his gaze.

For a second, I almost reached down and put the flyer away. I almost stayed the good son.

“Fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

If I was going to disappoint him anyway… I might as well do it for something that felt like it was mine.