This story contains mature themes including emotional trauma, mental health struggles, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised

CHAPTER 4 (Charlie's POV)

The kettle boils louder than usual this morning. 
Or maybe my head’s just too loud. 

I don't think i sleep much after the nightmare. 

I pour the hot water into two mugs — one with sugar for Kara, one without for me — and pop in the tea bags. I place her tea infront of her and sit across from her at the small kitchen table. 

She’s scrolling through her phone with one hand and buttering a slice of toast with the other. 

“Sleep okay?” she asks without looking up. 

I hesitate. Should i tell her? Perhaps she will understand 

“Yeah,” I lie. 

Kara nods. But I can feel her glance at me for a second too long. She’s always been good at reading people — especially me — even when she pretends not to. 

She pulls her hair into a small messy bun, leans back in her chair and takes a bite of her warm toast. 

“I think I’m gonna take that uni tour thing this week,” she says. “Figure out the layout, try not to get lost on day one.” 

I sip my tea.  

“Sounds smart,” I say. 

She looks at me again. This time, properly. 

“You sure you’re alright?” 

I force a smile. “I’m good, Kara. Just tired.”  

She shrugs and takes another bite of toast. 

I try to add in some humor “you know how long i can stay awake when Gwen's here” 

She smirks. 

I stare at the table. I can still feel it. The blood. The weight of being invisible. 

I clench my fist under the table. 

Don't fall apart. Not in front of her. 

“Do you remember Alfie?” Kara asks suddenly 

I blink. “Uh… yeah? That tall guy? From your PE class?” 

She grins. “He’s going to Northfield too.” 

I try to smile for real this time. “Nice. You gonna talk to him?”  

“Maybe,” she says, grinning at her toast . 

She’s excited. Hopeful. 
I’m glad. She deserves that. 
Someone in this house must feel something other than dread.