James

(Ten Years Ago)

The first sound is a choke—sharp, strangled—followed by the thud of something hitting the wall.

I’m out of my bed before I’m fully awake, crossing the short hall in three long strides. Tyler’s door is half-open, the cheap apartment A/C barely cutting through the thick August heat. Sweat beads along my spine. The floorboards creak under my weight, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s too far under.

“Tyler.” My voice comes out calmer than I feel. Nothing like the panic slamming against my ribs. “Hey. Ty, wake up.”

He thrashes against the thin sheets, breath sawing in and out like he’s drowning. His legs kick at nothing. His fists are clenched tight near his chest, knuckles white, elbows locked like he’s trying to defend himself in his sleep. The sounds coming out of him—soft cries, broken words—rip straight through me.

“Tyler.” I step closer. “It’s me. You’re safe. Wake up, kid.”

His head jerks to the side, face wet, lashes clumped with tears and sweat. He whimpers, “No, no, stop—”

And that’s when my heart nearly ruptures. I drop to my knees beside the bed.

I don’t grab him. The warning from his social worker runs through my head on a loop: 

“You don’t touch a kid mid-nightmare unless you want them waking up swinging or sobbing. You talk first. You stay calm. You let your voice be the rope they can use to climb back out.”

“Ty, I’m right here.” My hands hover beside his arm, not touching, but close enough that he should feel the shift in the mattress. “You’re home. You’re safe. Come back to me.”

His breathing stutters. His body jerks. And then—finally—his eyes fly open.

For a second, he doesn’t see me. He still sees whatever hell was tormenting him. His gaze darts around the room, wild and unfocused, searching for an escape before someone grabs him again. His chest rises and falls too fast. He’s trembling so hard the bedsprings squeal beneath him.

“Hey.” I keep my voice soft, even though my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself. “It’s me. It’s James.”

Recognition hits him like a punch. His whole body goes rigid except for the shaking. He scrubs a hand across his face so hard it smears the tears sideways. Then he turns away, shoulders curling inward, spine folding like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Like he’s trying to hide the crying, the fear—and the fact that he needs me.

I recognize the pattern by now.

Shame. It’s always shame first.

After that… comes anger.

“Leave me alone.” The words come out tight, bitter at the edges. “I don’t need you.”

He tries to shove himself farther away, but he’s still tangled in the sheets. His arm knocks against mine, and he recoils like my touch burned him.

I swallow hard—using every ounce of strength and patience I have to stay still. To stay steady. Just like the fucking court-appointed therapist keeps preaching.

“You were having a nightmare,” I say. “I just came to—”

“I said leave me alone.” His voice cracks, and he flinches like he hates himself for it. “You don’t have to come in here every time.”

The words sting—sharp and painful—but I bury it. The anger isn’t meant for me. It’s for the memories. The people who left scars I can’t see. The world that hurt him long before I got him back.

“I’m here because I care. Because I wanted to remind you you’re safe,” I tell him quietly. “I’m here for you, Ty. Always.”

That’s when he snaps.

His head whips toward me, eyes blazing with something far too old and damaged for someone who’s only fourteen.

“No. You’re not. Because I don’t want you. I don’t need you.”

“Ty…” My voice frays for the first time all night. “I swear to God, I’m here. I’m right fucking here.”

“For now.” His mouth twists. “Let’s not kid ourselves. You’re not staying. No one ever does.” His breathing spikes, anger sharpening with every word. “You’ll say you’re trying to help, that you know what I need or what’s best for me. And then, when you figure out you have no fucking clue—”

He sucks in a shaking breath.

“—you’ll get tired of me. You’ll send me back. Make me someone else’s problem.”

His chin trembles, but his glare dares me to notice.

“So fuck you. I don’t fucking need you.”

For a second, all the air leaves my lungs. Not because I believe him—but because I can hear the truth under every syllable.

The terror.

The desperation.

The certainty that he’s unlovable.

Too much.

Too broken.

The certainty that I’ll eventually agree.

And it’s that—the way he believes it like it’s carved into stone—that shatters something in me. Because I know exactly what that feels like. But unlike me, he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve to feel like that.

“Tyler,” I manage, but it comes out rough. Strained.

He shakes his head hard, like it’s enough to block me out.

“Don’t. Don’t pretend this is real. Like we’re some happy fucking family.” His voice wobbles—barely noticeable unless you’re listening for it. “You want me here out of some twisted sense of obligation. But you don’t even know me. You sure as hell don’t know what to do with me. So let’s knock this shit off and call it the failed experiment it is. Right now. Once and for all.”

“Tyler… I’m trying here—”

“Well, you can stop,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Just fucking stop. I’m not some stupid kid. I know how this goes.”

His hands curl into fists on his lap. His shoulders hitch like he’s holding his breath to keep the tears from coming back. But his eyes—God, his eyes—shine, glassy with misery he refuses to acknowledge.

“You’ll get sick of me,” he throws at me again. “All of this. The nightmares. The attitude. The… everything. You’ll get tired, and then you’ll decide you don’t want to deal with it. With me. And then I’ll be right back where I started.”

His voice cracks wide open.

“Alone and on my own.”

Something inside me snaps.

“Tyler.” I’m not calm anymore. My voice doesn’t rise out of anger—it rises out of heartbreak. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever fucking say that.”

He flinches, but he holds my gaze, glaring through the tears he refuses to let fall.

“Why the hell not? It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” His chin trembles. “People say they want to help. Then they leave. They always leave.”

He drags the back of his hand across his nose like he’s trying to wipe away more than tears—like he’s trying to wipe away the years of being passed around, pushed aside, neglected, and forgotten.

“You’ll leave too,” he whispers. “So what’s the point of all this? What’s the point of trusting you? What’s the point of getting used to you being here? Why should I listen to anything you say?”

I stare at him, and for a moment the room blurs around the edges.

Not just from tears.

But from fury.

From grief.

From the knowledge that my fourteen-year-old kid brother has learned the hard way, that the world doesn’t care.

And because at least in this… I agree with him.

But I’m not like the rest of the world. I guarantee I’m nothing like anyone he’s ever met.

“Tyler.” My voice breaks, yet hardens all the same. “I. Am. Not Them.”

“But you will be,” he murmurs. “Because that’s what they all say at first. And it’s nothing but more bullshit lies.”

And that’s when my patience finally fractures—not into anger at him… but into a desperate, devastating, terrified need to make him understand.

“Look at me,” I say, sharper now, every calm technique those therapists and social workers preached burning away under the weight of my frustration. “Ty. Look at me.”

He does. Defiantly. Angrily. His eyes narrow to slits of fury, daring me to prove him wrong.

And that’s when I feel it—the exact moment we cross a line we can’t uncross.

The exact moment everything that defines us changes forever.

I take a breath. Not a steady one. Not a calm one.

A shaking, gutted, furious breath.

“Listen to me,” I say, voice calm but sharp enough to cut. “I don’t give a damn what anyone else did to you. I don’t care who left. I don’t care who failed you.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t look away.

“I’m not them.” The words scrape out of my chest, raw and bleeding. “I will never—ever—be them.”

He scoffs under his breath, a humorless, heartbroken sound. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s what I say—and you better fucking hear me.”

I lean forward, close enough that he can’t ignore the conviction in my voice or the determination in my eyes.

“I won’t leave you. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not next month or next year. Not ever.”

His throat bobs. He tries to hide the fact that my words mean something.

I refuse to let him.

“You think I’m that weak? That soft? That I’d send you back because I’m tired of you? Because—like me—you have the uncanny ability to act like an asshole? Fuck that.”

I push to my feet, hands braced on my hips as I fight the fury burning through my veins.

This kid thinks he understands what it’s like to hate the world? To be so angry you’d gladly burn the whole damn thing down—even if it takes you with it?

No.

He has no goddamn clue.

What he feels—what he thinks—doesn’t have shit on the monster that lives inside me.

“You better strap the fuck in, kid. Because I’m your big brother. And you are my responsibility. It’s my job to love you. To be there for you. To support you. To take care of you and protect you—regardless of your foul mouth, your nightmares, or your hatred of me and this little experiment we find ourselves in.”

I stop pacing.

Then, with an angry glare that would send most of my opponents in the cage trembling, I declare:

“I will never, ever give up on you. I will never, ever make you someone else’s problem.”

His breathing picks up again—faster, sharper—like my words are affecting him in ways he wasn’t prepared for and desperately wishes they wouldn’t.

“Like it or not, we are bound by blood and a shitty past, which means we’re stuck with each other. Which is why I can look you in the eye and, serious as fuck, swear to you—”

My voice cracks, though it’s still all bone and steel.

“I will never let anyone hurt you. I will never let anyone take you from me. I will protect you, Tyler. With everything I am. With everything I have. With every last breath in my fucking body.”

I stop—catching my breath, swallowing down the lump of emotion threatening to choke me.

“I choose you, Ty.”

The words come out rough, torn from somewhere deep.

“You. No matter what, I will always choose you. Because you are my little brother. Because you are my family. Now and always. And there is nothing—nothing—that will ever change that.”

Not now.

Not ever.

I’m making that choice right here, right now—Tyler will always come first.

No matter what it costs me.

I owe him that… after what I let happen to him.

❤️ Can’t wait for more? I’ve got you… 👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead! 

And the best part? Following me there is totally FREE.

Find me at: (https://reamstories.com/arianaclarkauthor)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!