"This story is about the boy I loved. This is about his suffering. This is about my suffering. All of it due to one thing. Affluenza."
TW : Key themes of suicide.
Sebastian Grey. Golden boy, trust fund baby, and Braylen Adams' mortal enemy. Braylen...
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"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" I shout into the phone at Sebastian, grinning from ear to ear. He chuckles on the other line and a surge of pride rushes through me. He'd been all too serious these days.
"Who says 'Happy Christmas' in America?" he asks sarcastically. I can almost picture his lip curling. "What're you doing today?"
I sigh, leaning against the table and watch as Oba pulls out her burnt chicken. She was never too good with ovens. "Just with my family. What about you?"
"What about me?" he mumbles, sounding distracted.
"What are you doing with your family today?"
There's a pause. "Braylen. I'm not doing anything with them. Haven't you paid attention to my life at all?" He laughs it off but it's clear to see how much this angers him. "Rachel and Victor are up north with Victor's family," he continues.
I bite my lip. "And why aren't you there with them?"
Sebastian scoffs. "You clearly don't pay attention. I'm not there because that's not my family, Braylen."
"Then who is, Seb? You can't go through life alone," I press. "Spending a couple of hours with a family—even if you don't consider them yours—could do you a world of good."
Sebastian sighs over the phone. "Stop. You're my family. Devin and Hunter are my family. Hayley and Robs are my family. Not my mother and certainly not my stepfather."
"Ugh!" Oba groans, tossing the chicken into the trash. "This is an absolute disaster. I should've ordered the food like I did for Thanksgiving."
I suck my teeth together. "Why don't you actually make something you know how to? Instead of giving us blackened chicken."
"All I know how to make is Miso soup, pancakes, and pasta," she hisses. "Do you really want pancakes for Christmas dinner?!" She waves around a knife like a crazy person and I wince.
"Okay," I say, reaching over and grabbing the weapon for her. "How about I take over from here? I'll make dumplings and Miso and chicken and rice."
My aunt shakes her head, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. "That's too much for one person. It's nearly two and dumplings take ages to get ready."
"Who said anything about one person?" I ask. "Sebastian. Care to join us for dinner?"
"I really don't think that's the best idea—"
"Perfect! See you in twenty!" I interrupt, beaming. I click End Call before he has time to even argue.
I turn to Oba who harrumphs. "Well, that was easy."
