Project Apollo: Book Two ✔️

Chapter Fourteen

Jason Archer

I sat in front of my mirror, and while it was still covered, I was attempting to prepare myself to pull the blanket away. The longer I sat here, the more I was convinced I'd never be able to work up the courage to do it. I already had to face away from the mirrors in the bathroom after I showered. I didn't use a mirror when doing my skin care, which, in hindsight, was probably a shitty idea.

But I didn't want to see what the bruises looked like right now. I spent the past two days actively avoiding catching my reflection in any mirror. And I truly didn't care that I had them–they showed that Marcus believed Apollo moved on, but seeing them was an entirely different story. If I saw them, then I would likely spiral into a dark place. I was already forced to hate myself. Hated the way I looked. Hated that I loved makeup. I couldn't look in the mirror and see the stand I took for Apollo.

As for Apollo, well, he was doing awful. I didn't know what to do for him–not since I ducked out of his room faster than I could blink. But listening to him say those things–knowing he'd never look at me the way I suddenly found myself wanting–it carved out a piece of my heart. He was worried about a member of his friend group, and I knew that didn't mean I should fawn over his words.

Apollo only wanted me to know I'd been welcomed into their little club of misfit toys, and I did appreciate it. I liked having friends who wanted to protect me. But I started making the mistake I made in high school. Never gain feelings for someone in your friend group. It wasn't worth the risk. Not when you were finally together and things didn't work out. But that kiss we shared–that was different from any kiss I'd had before. No one made me feel like my chest was both on fire while butterflies swarmed around my chest.

I knew if I stayed in his room any longer that night, I'd fall into his words that weren't meant the way I wanted to take them. It was stupid. I knew better than to get close to him. But now he was getting worse with his depression, and I found myself caring about what happened to him.

Triple-A was extra attentive to him, though. Apollo didn't need me. Hell, he didn't need anyone, but maybe I wanted to be there for him. But want and need were two different things. Apollo didn't need me–so even if I wanted to help him, I couldn't. Not when my mind was straying with so many different scenarios. Most of them involving Apollo in some kind of romantic aspect. But he didn't know about me.

Emery didn't know.

Sighing, I picked myself off the floor and walked outside my room to go find something to eat. No matter how long I sat in front of the mirror, I wouldn't be able to look at myself. Not with the fresh bruises. I could still vividly recall how Apollo's mom reacted to seeing my face. She hugged me so tightly, whispering death threats in Spanish in the name of Marcus. It did the job of lifting my spirits, which I knew was what she intended.

I found myself in the kitchen, seeing the woman I was only just thinking about. She lifted her eyes and smiled when she saw it was me. "How are you feeling?"

"I can't complain." I took a seat on the bar stool across the counter from her when she gestured for me to sit with her. She was making something–not that I could tell what it was. "What are you doing?"

She smiled at me. So warm. So full of life. "I'm making Apollo his favorite dessert." She held up the whisk from the bowl. "Chocolate cake. Don't ask me how I gave birth to such a plain boy, but I will do anything to cheer him up."

"Hey, hey. No need to knock the chocolate cake–it will lack that love you're trying to put in there. And I would very much like it to taste delicious."