“Sixty-three?” Her question, although lowly spoken, couldn’t have been any more brutal on my mind. “Are you even still on the diet?”

“Of course, Mum.”

“If you were, you would have lost three more kilos by now.” She motions at me with a finger. “Come here.”

“But Kir –”

“Come. Here.”

I’m reduced to a small child, the one who lost her nana and cried at her grave all day, begging her to come back, to not leave her with this mother, because she hated her, because she didn’t want to live with her.

As soon as I’m within reach, Mum motions at the scale she has near the dinner table. She has planted those all over the house during all these years. Dad told her to get rid of them, and he actively throws them away when he comes home, but there’s nothing we can do when he isn’t around.

“Get on it.”

“Mum…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Kimberly.” Her voice is like a scolding teacher, biting and meant to be obeyed.

The fog surrounds me, thickening and magnifying as I step on the scale. People’s hearts thunder when they’re waiting for an exam result, when they have a crush. Mine nearly beats out of its place as the electronic numbers of my weight filter in front of me. The thing that defines me as a person in Mum’s eyes are those numbers and nothing else.

Sixty-four kilos.

I nearly stop breathing. Shit, what did I do wrong? I ate nothing, or at least nothing I couldn’t vomit back up. Was it that diet cola?

“Didn’t you say it was sixty-three?”

“It was this morning.” I slowly step down, as if the disappearance of those numbers will save me from the lashing of my mother’s tongue.

“I expect you to be sixty by the end of the week and fifty-seven by the end of next week.”

“But –”

“No buts, Kimberly.” She taps her Louboutin heels on the ground. “I’ve been patient with you, but you’re not watching your weight. You’re not even tall, so you can’t afford the extra kilos. I expect results or else Kir will go to that boarding school.”

“N-no, Mum. You promised!” It’s as if someone took my heart and pierced it open with sharp knives.

The fact she could and would send Kirian away to have more space for her art as soon as I’m in college has always given me nightmares.

I won’t allow her to ruin his childhood like she destroyed mine.

“Only if you keep your promise.” She flips her hair as she ascends the stairs.

“I’ll do it.” My voice is brittle. “I’ll do it, Mum.”

She doesn’t even look back. I stopped expecting my mum to glance back at me, acknowledge me, see me.

I know I should stop asking for her attention by now, but the small child in me won’t let go.

With one final glimpse at the scale, I step outside.

Moisture pools in my eyes as I search for my keys on the counter.

For Kir. All of this is for Kir.

The fog won’t get to me. Not today, not tomorrow. Not until Kir is all grown up and can handle himself.

“Where are the stupid keys?” I groan in frustration, fighting the need to crawl into a dark corner and allow those morbid thoughts in.

They would devour me in no time and the next thing, I’ll be in the bathroom and –

“They’re in your hands, Kim.” Marian’s soft voice wrenches me out of my thoughts.

“Oh.” I stare at her kind face with a faint smile, then back to the keys which are, indeed, dangling from my pinkie. “Thanks, Mari.”

“Anytime, honey.” She smiles a little. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Broccoli and a small portion of mac and cheese for Kir.”

“How about you?”

“Salad – actually, forget about it. I’ll grab something on the way.”

I won’t.

This will be another day without dinner. It’s harder to vomit my food at night. It leaves me jittery with a stomachache and the inability to sleep, and if I can’t sleep, that fog will eat me in a matter of seconds.

After bidding Mari goodbye, I step outside, plastering a smile on my face. No matter what happens between me and Mum, Kirian can’t and will never find out about it. Not that he doesn’t suspect it, but I want to protect him as much as I can.

My smile falls when I find him dragging Xander by the hand from across the street. The freaking boy next door appears. His sun-kissed hair is tousled, bedroom style. His white hoodie contrasts against his tanned skin and his black jeans hang low on his hips as if Kir found him in bed and he barely had the time to button his clothes.

Shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the exact case. Kirian has free access to the Knight’s mansion – sort of like I did in the past. Ahmed opens the door for him, even if no one is at home. Lewis always dotes on him and the shit, Xander, treats him well.

“Hold on, Superman.” Xander rubs his fingers through his hair as if submitting it, but it’s only making it hotter.

Wait. No. There’s nothing hot about Xander.

My blood still boils from the way he called me a slut earlier. How he said he’ll make me watch as he fucks other girls.

Screw him a million times over and all the other girls he screws.

A prickling sensation has been digging at my skin since he said those words. I meant it, though – he’s the last person I would ever want.

I might have been stupid enough to wait and hope for his forgiveness once upon a time, but now, he’s just the boy next door.

The arsehole who lives across from me.

“You said you’ll help, Xan.”

“Of course.”

Kir wraps both his small hands around Xan’s bigger one, tugging him in my direction. “Kimmy is with Mum. You have to bring her out.”

My heart warms so hot, I can feel the remnants of the fog withering away, condensing into water and falling in the distance.

My baby brother is thinking about me. I underestimated his ability to feel the tension between me and Mum.

He shouldn’t have sought Xander for help, though. He’s part of the problem, not the solution.

Heck, he’s the worst part of the problem.

“Kimmy!” Kir shrieks upon seeing me and runs in my direction, his little feet carrying him slower than he likes.

I watch the street for any cars, even though we don’t have traffic around here.

“Hey, Monkey.” I ruffle his hair, completely erasing Xander from my surroundings. “Are you ready to go?”

He nods several times, then stops as if remembering something. “Can Xan come with us?”

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I plaster a fake smile and direct it to said arsehole. “I’m sure he has things to do.”

I think I imagined it, but his jaw tics before he offers me his golden boy smile that causes his cheeks to crease, and there they are. Dimples. Deep, attractive as hell dimples.

He really shouldn’t have dimples. That should be exclusive to the good guys, not to bastards.

His smile and those dimples are a couple of the reasons why the girls fall all over him at school like he’s some sort of Casanova.

Actually, he is one. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s disappeared with a girl – or two – in one of Ronan’s parties, only to appear some time later with lipstick all over his shirt and neck and the girl, hair messy and lipstick smudged, grinning like an idiot as if she ascended to heaven and is now returning.