The stale beer smell clung to Stella’s clothes as she pushed herself up from the sticky floor. The cheap laminate felt cold against her skin. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes.
“Where are you going?” Flora’s voice, sharp and immediate, cut through the low hum of conversation drifting from the other room.
Stella swayed slightly, catching her balance. “Bathroom,” she replied, her voice a little slurred. “Coming?”
Flora, already on her feet, nodded, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. The question wasn’t really a question. They were a pair, a matched set, even in their shared need for bathroom breaks.
Tyros’s voice, laced with playful curiosity, interrupted their unspoken agreement. “Why do you always go to the bathroom together?”
Flora’s smile was slow, deliberate, a knowing curve of her lips. “Girl things,” she said, the words light and airy, yet somehow carrying a weight of shared secrets. She extended a hand to Stella, a gesture both supportive and teasing.
Stella grasped Flora’s hand, the unexpected warmth a comforting contrast to the chill of the floor.
Flora’s grip was firm, pulling Stella upright with gentle strength. As they moved towards the bathroom, Flora leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Drunk?”
Stella shook her head, a playful defiance in the movement. “Not at all! I’m a heavy drinker,” she declared, a smirk playing on her lips.
The words were bravado, but a slight tremor in her voice belied her confidence.
“Dang! I hope you pass out later,” Flora said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The anticipation in her tone was palpable. They reached the bathroom door, the muffled sounds of running water from within a stark contrast to the boisterous laughter emanating from the living room.
Stella tapped Flora’s shoulder lightly, a playful reprimand. “You shouldn’t say that,” she murmured, a hint of warmth in her tone that softened the rebuke.
Stella slipped into the small bathroom, the dim light reflecting off the chipped porcelain sink. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale beer and something faintly floral probably the air freshener Flora insisted on. She quickly attended to her needs, the sound of running water a welcome distraction from the growing unease that had settled in her stomach.
Then, a sharp, mournful howl pierced the night, echoing unnervingly close to their house. Stella recognized it instantly. Daisha, she thought, a sudden jolt of adrenaline coursing through her. She finished quickly, her movements brisk and efficient.
Washing her hands, she hurried out of the bathroom, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Flora was waiting, her brow furrowed with concern. “Did I just hear Daisha howl?” She asked, her voice laced with apprehension.
“Yeah, she’s here!” Stella replied, her voice tight with urgency. She didn’t wait for a second invitation, breaking into a run towards the living room.
Brandon, sprawled comfortably on the sofa, was engrossed in his phone, oblivious to the growing tension.
Stella stopped abruptly before him, her eyes blazing. “Hey! Stand up and leave!” she commanded, her voice sharp and commanding. She grabbed his arm, yanking him roughly to his feet.
Brandon looked up, completely bewildered. “What for?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion.
Before Stella could answer, Flora’s voice cut through the air, sharp and impatient. “Just do it!” she yelled, pushing him towards the main door with surprising force.
Brandon stumbled, his protests muffled by the opening door. “I’m still enjoying the vibe!” he mumbled, his words swallowed by the night air as Stella shoved him out onto the porch.
Stella shook her head, a mixture of frustration and worry etched on her face. The howl sounded again, closer this time, and Stella knew they had to act fast.
“Please, leave now!” Stella’s voice, though strained, held an undeniable firmness that cut through Brandon’s protests. The words hung in the air, silencing his argument.
Brandon looked from Stella to Flora, his defiance crumbling under the weight of their combined insistence. A sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of resignation and annoyance. “Fine!” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He turned and strode out of the house, the slam of the front door echoing in the sudden silence.
Stella and Flora exchanged a relieved glance before returning to the living room. The quiet lasted only a few moments before the familiar sound of the front door opening shattered the peace.
Daisha stood in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, a mixture of concern and apprehension etched on her face. “Where’s Brandon?” she asked, her voice soft but urgent. She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the empty space where Brandon had been moments before.
Tyros, leaning against the wall, leaned closer to Flora, his voice barely a whisper. “How did you know she’d be here?”
Flora’s reply was equally soft, her words barely audible above the quiet hum of the room. “We heard her howl… from the woods.” Tyros nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their shared understanding.
Stella, picking up her beer, took a long drink, the cold liquid a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.
Daisha, meanwhile, had moved closer, stopping directly in front of Stella. Her eyes, dark and intense, met Stella’s gaze. “Brandon,” Daisha repeated, her voice laced with worry. “Where is he?”
Stella answered calmly, trying to project an air of normalcy despite the undercurrent of tension. “He came by to grab some beer, then left. Maybe he’s at your place now.”
Daisha’s gaze softened slightly, but she didn’t move, her eyes still fixed on Stella’s, a silent acknowledgement passing between the two sisters. “What did you do while drinking with him, huh?” Her voice was sharp, accusatory. Her eyes, narrowed and intense, were fixed on Stella, a silent challenge hanging in the air. The question was less a query than an accusation.
Stella met her sister’s gaze, her own eyes hardening. “Nothing!” she retorted, her voice equally firm. The unspoken tension between them crackled like static electricity.
Daisha scoffed, a dismissive sound that betrayed her skepticism. “Okay, he didn’t like you at all,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She pushed herself up from the chair, her movements abrupt and restless. “Tell Dad I came by,” she added, her voice already fading as she headed for the door.
“I will,” Stella replied, raising her beer in a small, defiant gesture.
The clink of glass against glass was almost lost in the sound of the door closing behind Daisha.
A collective sigh of relief washed over the remaining three. The tension that had filled the room dissipated like smoke.
“Next time,” Stella said, turning to Tyros, “don’t bring Brandon here.” Her voice was weary, the aftermath of the confrontation still clinging to her.
Tyros nodded, his expression serious. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, his voice low and thoughtful.
Flora, her hand trembling slightly, looked from Stella to Tyros, her eyes wide with lingering fear. “I’m really scared of your sister, Stella,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She held out her shaking hand, a silent plea for reassurance.
Stella reached out, taking Flora’s hand in hers, her touch firm and comforting. “She won’t harm you,” she said, her voice gentle but resolute.
Tyros added, his voice firm and protective, “I’ll never let her.”
The three of them resumed their drinking, the quiet companionship a welcome contrast to the recent storm.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Daisha was returning home. She pushed open the front door, expecting the quiet solitude of her own house, only to find Brandon asleep on the couch, a half-empty bottle of beer resting on the coffee table.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were in our house?” Daisha’s voice was sharp, the question laced with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
Brandon stirred, blinking sleepily as he sat up. “Is there anything wrong with that?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. His casual tone only served to further irritate Daisha.
“Why are you always throwing questions at me whenever I ask you something?” Daisha retorted, her frustration bubbling over. The quiet evening was shattered, replaced by the familiar friction between them.
An uncomfortable silence descended, heavy and thick with unspoken accusations. The air crackled with tension, each person acutely aware of the other’s presence.
Finally, Brandon broke the silence, his voice low and defensive. “Fine,” he began, meeting Daisha’s gaze directly. “I had a few drinks with Tyros and his girlfriend.” He paused, waiting for her reaction. The confession hung in the air, a fragile truce offered in the face of her unspoken judgment. “Stella was there too,” he added quickly, attempting to preempt further questions. “Actually, they invited Tyros, and I came along.” He watched Daisha’s face carefully, searching for any sign of anger or disapproval.
Daisha nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. The tension eased slightly, replaced by a quiet understanding. “Next time,” she said, her voice softer now, “you should tell me.” She reached out, pulling him into a tight hug, the gesture a silent apology for her earlier accusations.
The hug ended, and Brandon’s eyes fell upon the state of the living room. Dust motes danced in the dim light, clinging to the surfaces. He ran a hand across the coffee table, wiping away a layer of grime.
“You didn’t clean the house?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
Daisha shrugged, her tone nonchalant. “No. Why should I?”
Brandon chuckled, shaking his head in mock despair. “I’ll hire a maid,” he declared, a smile playing on his lips. The tension had completely dissipated, replaced by a comfortable ease.
As the night deepened, the remnants of their earlier conversation faded into the background. The lively chatter and laughter gradually subsided, replaced by the quiet exhaustion of a long day.
Tyros, noticing Flora slumped asleep on the couch, spoke softly. “I thought we weren’t going to drink that much,” he said, his voice laced with gentle amusement. He looked at Stella, who was attempting to stand, her movements unsteady.
“Who told you that?” Stella replied, her voice slurred slightly. She swayed precariously, her balance precarious.
“Hey, easy! You’re drunk,” Tyros said, reaching out to steady her.
Stella waved him off, her hand slightly unsteady. “I’m not!” she insisted, her voice slightly louder than before. “Just leave the mess; I’ll clean it later.” She stumbled towards her room, leaving Tyros to survey the remnants of their evening a testament to their late-night revelry.
Stella, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated, stumbled towards her bed. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto the mattress, her body sinking into the soft pillows. The room spun slightly, the familiar surroundings momentarily distorted by the alcohol swirling in her system.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Brandon’s phone buzzed, interrupting the lingering silence. He answered, his voice still thick with sleep. “What’s up?” he mumbled into the receiver.
Tyros’s voice, urgent and slightly breathless, cut through the night. “Can I have Theo’s number?”
Brandon sat up, his drowsiness fading. “What for?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. He pushed himself up from the couch, his movements suddenly alert and purposeful.
“Stella’s drunk, and their house is a mess,” Tyros explained, his voice conveying the urgency of the situation.
The words were enough; Brandon didn’t need further explanation. He was already heading for the door. “I’ll be there-” he began, but his words were cut short.
Daisha appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. She stood silently, observing Brandon’s hasty preparations.
Brandon stopped, turning to face her, his expression serious. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before speaking. “I’m going to call my brother,” he said, his voice firm and steady, despite the underlying urgency. He didn’t elaborate, knowing that Daisha understood the unspoken implication Stella needed help, and he was going to get it.
Daisha nodded, her apprehension evident in the slight tremor of her hand.
The call ended, and Brandon immediately dialed Theo’s number, his thumb hovering over the end button, a mixture of reluctance and urgency churning within him. The phone rang, each ring a tiny hammer blow against the silence.
Theo answered, his voice bright and cheerful, completely unaware of the unfolding drama. “Oh! I didn’t know you had my number!” he exclaimed, his surprise evident.
Brandon hesitated for only a moment before blurting out the reason for his call. “Just go to Stella’s place. She needs you.” He kept his tone clipped, avoiding any unnecessary details, a reluctance to share the specifics of Stella’s predicament warring with the urgency of the situation.
Theo’s cheerful tone shifted instantly, replaced by a concerned seriousness. “How did you- I will! Thank you!” he said, his voice tight with concern.
The call ended abruptly, leaving Brandon with a sense of relief and a lingering unease.
Returning to the house, Brandon found Daisha sitting on the couch, her gaze fixed on something beyond his vision, her expression unreadable.
“Do you want to check on her?” Daisha’s voice was low, serious, her words a question but carrying the weight of a suggestion. Her eyes, intense and probing, met his.