Imogen's POV
I sat there, hands trembling slightly as I replayed the moment over in my mind. Did I say something wrong? Did I say something offensive? The questions echoed louder with each passing second. Why did he walk away like that—abrupt, cold, distant? We're not exactly close, I know that. But still, that kind of reaction felt disproportionate, like a wall had suddenly gone up between us.
My mind darted to the worst-case scenarios—did I offend him without realizing it? And then, a thought that refused to fade: I knew, damn sure, that a pole didn't punch him in the eye. That kind of injury didn't come out of nowhere. He was lying to me, hiding something, and I had no idea why.
I looked after him as he disappeared into the distance, feeling a strange mixture of frustration and bewilderment. Whatever was going on, I knew one thing for certain—something wasn't right, and I was desperate to find out what it was.
Tom's POV
I pushed open the door and was immediately hit by that terrible smell. God, it was like Mom's cooking again—some strange mix of burnt and sour that made my stomach turn. Before I could even step fully inside, she was already rushing toward me, panic written all over her face. "Oh no, honey! Who did this to you?" she asked, voice trembling as she reached out, worry etched deep in her eyes.
I rolled my eyes internally. I didn't understand why she always panicked like this. I was in high school—almost an adult. Getting into fights or rough situations was just part of life, wasn't it? Still, her concern made me uncomfortable, so I shrugged and tried to downplay it.
"No one, Mom. It's just some guys from the street, nothing more," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze. I knew she could tell I was lying, but she didn't press further. Sometimes, I appreciated that. Sometimes, I just wanted her to back off.
She looked at me with that motherly softness, but her voice was gentle, almost pleading. "Sit down, honey. Come have dinner. Your dad will be home in a minute." I hesitated, my stomach twisting. "I'm busy —"
"What's more important than your family?" she interrupted softly.
I clenched my jaw. "I'm busy with stuff. Now, let it go." I knew I probably shouldn't have snapped at her like that, but she could be so clingy sometimes. I just needed a little space, a moment to breathe. I turned away, heading toward my room, feeling the weight of her concern settle over me like a heavy blanket. Sometimes, I wondered if she ever really saw me, or just the version she wanted to see.
I got to my room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. Without wasting a second, I went straight to the bathroom, facing the mirror. My eyes immediately darted to the reflection—there it was, a full-blown black eye staring back at me. I reached for some ointment and started applying it, my mind drifting elsewhere.
Imogen. Was I too rude to her? I asked myself, feeling a flicker of doubt.
Fuck no. She deserved it. She could have been sent by Tyler for all I knew. That thought crept in, uninvited yet persistent, and I let it take hold. Then, the realization hit me like a punch to the back of the head—of course Tyler sent her. There was no way in hell a girl like Imogen could suddenly take an interest in me out of nowhere.
Well played, Tyler. But two can play at that game.
I hesitated at the top of the staircase, my hand hovering over the banister as I debated whether I should go downstairs to apologize to Mom. I knew I'd been a complete asshole earlier—god, she didn't deserve my attitude, not after everything she's done for me. With a deep breath, I took the final step and made my way toward the kitchen.
As I reached the last step, my heart sank. There she was, sobbing softly in the kitchen, her back turned as she cooked. The sight hit me like a punch—fuck, now I felt even worse. Guilty as hell.
"Mom?" I called softly, approaching her carefully. Her shoulders shook as she wiped at her eyes, and I felt my stomach tighten. "Mom, I'm sorry. I was rude earlier, I didn't mean to, okay? I let my emotions get the better of me," I said, voice thick with remorse.
She turned slowly, puffy eyes meeting mine. Her voice cracked as she looked at me with that same worried, tired expression. "What's going on with you, honey? You come home every week with a new bruise. You don't wanna spend time with me anymore. Hell, you don't even talk as much as you used to."
I sighed, knowing she deserved an explanation—more than I could give her. But if I told her the truth, it would only break her heart. I couldn't have her at my school, trying to figure out who was hitting her son.
"I know, Mom. I'm sorry," I whispered, voice trembling. "I promise, one day, I'll explain everything." Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. She was all I had—the only person who truly cared, who always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.