0 9| b o y n e x t d o o r

H E R M I A

"What was all that about Hermia?" Mom yelled as soon as Aaron left and we got in. I rolled my eyes.

Typical of mom.

I didn't answer her immediately and headed for the guest room, where I tucked Sally into bed as slowly as I could. I was only doing that just to avoid seeing mom the moment I stepped out of the room. I was hoping she'd be tired of waiting and just leave for her room already.

I heaved out a loud sigh when I couldn't hear her loud voice anymore and made for the door.

"What—"

"Ahhhhhh!" I shrieked and lost my footing.

I wasn't expecting mom to still be at the door! I had a bad ankle before, but now, it got worse.

I could barely stand on my feet.

_______

"When you couldn't take care of your friend, why did you both go?" Mom lamented as she not-so-gently rubbed ointment on my ankle.

"Ouch! Ouch—" I jumped intermittently.

"Shut up and sit still!" She scolded me when I kept whimpering and tried to pry her hand off my ankle.

"Mom please... It hurts!"

"Really? You should've considered the consequences before getting into a fight. "

"No, mom... I didn't get into a fight today, I promise."

She paused. "Really? And how did you get hurt then?"

I paused to reminiscence on the events that led to my sprain.

I was getting curious about that Nerdy and Sally suddenly jerked backwards...

"Ah, it's not so important right now. I'll be fine soon Mom and you might yell at me as much as you want, okay?" I tried to giggle but it just wasn't so me... And I was forced to stop the fake laughter.

Mom pouted in disapproval and stopped to rub the ointments...

"I'm sure you must've had a fight... And that's how the car got wrecked, isn't it?" She paused for some moments, probably to evaluate if I would deny her allegations. Right now, it seemed like an option for me not to deny rather than telling her the details of the night.

But I soon realised it was a bad idea because —

"Hermia Jones! Do you even consider how much I work before you do these things? All you do is bring trouble home..." she sighed and moved her arms in circles. "And now, you involved that poor girl. " She pointedly glanced at the guest room which my line of sight also followed.

I wasn't sure what to say to calm her down, before she starts to go into history about how hard it was for her to be a single mother and raise a stubborn kid like me.

I dropped my leg off the couch where we were and slowly moved a little away from mom.

Maybe I should hug her? But, I'm not even a hugger.

Aish...

She was about to start the emotional wreck when I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I'll talk to you later, Mom. My ankle is okay now, hmm? Tata!"

And I shot to my feet in an instant.

“Don’t you dare walk out on me just—” Mom’s voice cracked, shaky and raw, freezing me in place.

“Like your father?” I finished for her, my tone sharper than I intended as I turned back around.

The accusation hung heavy in the air. She hadn’t said it outright, but I knew what came next. It was always the same.

And I never failed to tell her how much I hated it.

But when I met her eyes, the breath hitched in my throat. Her face crumpled, and something inside me twisted so hard it felt like my ribs were caving in.

I hate Cole Jones with everything in me. How could she compare me to that man?

Anger burned in my chest, words clawing their way up, bitter and unforgiving—until I saw the tears.

Mom was already sobbing.

I made her cry. I ripped open a wound that never truly healed. And just like that, the fury in me wavered, replaced by something I didn’t want to name.

“I… I’m sorry,” I forced out, the words bitter on my tongue, my hands shaking with the urge to hit something, to break down, to do anything but stand here drowning in this moment.

I’d spent my whole life watching her break under the weight of his memory. And still, she looked at me like I was becoming him.

She curled into the couch, her fists clenched tight against her chest, shoulders shaking as she tried to hold it in.

She loved him. She loved that bastard.

Not knowing what else to do or how to escape the suffocating weight in my chest, I bolted upstairs, shoving my door open with more force than necessary before slamming it shut behind me.

_______

“Ah!” I yelled in frustration, raking a hand through my hair. “Just block it out, Hermia. Just…”

I paced toward my window, gripping the sill as I stared out at the moonlit sky, willing the tightness in my chest to disappear.

I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to break down. I refused to be that kind of girl—to let emotions crack the walls I had spent years building. It’s fine. Everything will be fine by morning.

I wished that were true.

But the truth was, my mood was ruined, and no amount of false reassurance could fix it. It had taken me years to build this armor, and I wasn’t about to let it shatter now. I had sworn never to shed a tear for any man, least of all him. The man responsible for everything falling apart. The man whose choices had left my mother in pain while I stood by, helpless to take it away.

Folding my arms tightly, I stood there for what felt like hours, letting the silence settle over me, forcing my breathing to even out.

Then, from the house next door, a flicker of light escaped through the dark curtains.

Aaron’s room.

His words echoed in my mind.

We’re really neighbors…?

I observed shadows going around reflecting on the curtain and then it stopped. I should have turned just then and walked away but I didn't.

The moment the curtain slid open, my breath hitched—there he was, the boy next door, eyes closed, arms slightly outstretched as if caught in some unseen moment.

Aaron.

But he wasn’t just standing there. He was shirtless.

My eyes widened on instinct, my heartbeat a frantic rhythm against my ribs. If someone had told me the nerd hid eight-pack abs beneath all those sweaters, I would’ve laughed—but here they were, sculpted and glistening, every ridge carved in betrayal of my expectations.

A bead of sweat traced its way down his torso, following the rise and fall of his steady breaths, each movement impossibly effortless.

I needed to stop looking.

But just as I willed myself to turn away, his eyes fluttered open—blue, sharp, and electrifying as they locked onto mine. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, four faint lines creasing his forehead, but I couldn’t move.

“Hermia…” he mouthed breathlessly.

And instead of scrambling for an excuse or looking away in embarrassment, I just stood there, rooted in place—staring, shamelessly, as if caught in a moment I didn’t quite understand but wasn’t ready to break.

What is wrong with me?