Ashley's pov
Utensils clicked against the plates. That tiny, metallic sound filled the entire dining room — sharp, hollow, irritating.
The food sat on my plate untouched. The smell of overcooked vegetables and roasted meat hung in the air like a punishment. My mother always said bland food was "healthier," but to me, it just tasted like cardboard and wet socks.
I poked at my broccoli with my fork, forcing myself to chew through another bite that might as well have been sand. My thoughts drifted back to the week before, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Luhle's room, sharing a pizza that was still steaming from the box. Cheese stretching between bites, laughter bubbling over at nothing. I could still taste the tangy tomato sauce and the soft crunch of the crust.
I wished I was there right now — with her, with the noise, the freedom, and the delicious pepperoni Pizza.
Here, everything felt muted. Stiff.
After our little fight earlier, I hadn't even looked at my parents. I couldn't. Every time I glanced up, the air in my chest thickened like fog. I could feel the sting of tears pressing at my throat, the kind that came with frustration — the kind that made you want to scream and cry all at the same time.
If it weren't for the clinking utensils, the silence at the table would've been suffocating.
But Ash was home tonight.
And when Ash was home, silence didn't stand a chance.
My older brother sat slouched in his chair, a mischievous smirk glued to his face as he shoveled rice into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days. His hair was messy, his leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair and there was a bruise just below his jaw that he didn't bother hiding.
My parents watched him with tight lips and hard eyes.
It was my father who cracked first.
"I had to bail you out of jail for the tenth time today, Ash," he said, his voice controlled but trembling with anger. "If you keep this up, I won't be able to bail you next time."
Ash barely looked up. "No one asked you to."
My mother's fork hit the plate with a sharp clink. "No one needs to ask us," she snapped. "We do it because we don't want you to spend your life behind bars. What about university? What about UCT?"
I almost choked on my food. UCT(University of Cape Town)? Seriously?
Were they that blind? Ash didn't look like someone who wanted to step foot in a classroom, let alone a university.
He leaned back, wiping his mouth lazily. "Nah. I don't think I want to go to university."
My father's brows shot up. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, voice rising. "You cannot not go to university."
Ash rolled his eyes with a scorn on his face,"And who are you to tell me that?"
"We are your parents!" my mother yelled. "He is your father!"
My father's hand slammed against the table. "What are you going to do if you don't go to university?"
Ash shrugged, unfazed. "I'll figure it out."
My father's face darkened. "Figure it out? You can't even spend two months without going to jail! You think the world's going to wait for you to get it together?"
"Geez," Ash muttered, pushing his chair back a little. "Calm down. Get off my back. This is my life. You shouldn't give a damn what happens in it. Like I said — no one asked you to bail me out." He smirked again. "Not like it's helping anyway. I'm failing. No university's going to take me at this point."
The words hit like a slap.
For a moment, both my parents froze.
My mother's lips parted, searching for words. My father's jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitch.
"It's because you don't even go to school anymore!" he barked. "How are you supposed to pass if you don't even try?"
Ash stabbed at his food, completely unfazed. "Like I said, I'll figure it out." He paused, then glanced at me. "Why don't you use all that energy on Ashley anyway? She's seventeen — which would make her, what, an eleventh grader?"
My heart skipped. Maybe… maybe this was it. Maybe he could make them listen.
But my father didn't even look at me. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slowly. "You know we can't do that, Ash. Ashley is too—"
"Fragile," my mother finished softly, like the word itself might break me.
I looked up at her, my fork frozen midair.
Fragile?
The word echoed inside me like a curse.
I was not fragile.
But if course they just refused to see it.
Ash noticed my expression and scoffed. "Yeah, fragile," he muttered under his breath. "You treat her like she'll shatter if she breathes too hard."
"Enough," my father snapped. "We've been meaning to tell you something, Ash." His tone softened, but only slightly. "We can't handle this anymore. The late nights, the fighting, the arrests…"
My mother sighed deeply, finishing for him. "You're barely home, you refuse to change, and honestly, we barely agree on anything anymore. So—"
"So?" Ash asked.
"So we're taking you to a boarding school," my mother said flatly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ash blinked, his jaw tightening. "What?"
"We're taking you to—"
"I heard what you said," he interrupted, his voice sharp now. "I just want to know why."
"We can't handle you," my father said, this time without hesitation.
Ash's chair creaked as he leaned forward, eyes dark. "So you think shipping me off to some uptight boarding school's gonna fix me?!"
"We hope so," my mother said softly, but her voice trembled.
"This is shit," Ash spat.
"Mind your language!" my father roared, slamming his hand against the table again.
"No!" Ash stood so fast his chair screeched backward. "I'm not going to some frickin' boarding school!" He slammed his fist against the table, the dishes rattling violently.
My father stood too, chest puffed, anger radiating off him in waves. My mother followed, her voice sharp and pleading all at once.
"Ash Leon Zion—"
"Cut it out with that bullshit, old man!" Ash shouted, his voice raw. "I'm not going to a boarding school and you can't make me!"
He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair and threw it on, the zipper clanging.
Before anyone could stop him, he was already walking toward the door.
"Don't you dare walk away from this conversation!" my father yelled after him.
But Ash didn't listen. He never did.
My parents followed him, their voices echoing down the hall — shouts tangled with anger and desperation.
I sat there, still and silent, my fork resting on the edge of my plate. The food had gone cold.
Part of me was impressed — the way Ash stood up to them, the fire in his voice. The way he didn't flinch when my father shouted, or when my mother's voice broke mid-sentence.
But another part of me was shocked.
I had never talked to them like that. Never even imagined doing so.
And for the first time, I saw it — not just their anger, but their fear.
They weren't just trying to control him.
They were desperate. Clinging to something they were too afraid to lose.