Shattered Peace

Saturday mornings used to be my sanctuary,but the only time the house was quiet, and I could breathe without anyone watching or judging.

My stepmother always left early for her gym class. Vanessa was busy with her drama club rehearsals. And Anastasia, though around, barely acknowledged me unless she needed something.

I woke up early, savoring the silence like a secret gift. After a peaceful breakfast, I retreated to my room to work on my painting, the one of the mysterious guy I met at the festival. The more I painted him, the more I found myself falling into a fantasy I couldn’t escape.

He was captivating, dangerous-looking, yet soft in my imagination. A stranger who made me feel more than anyone I actually knew.

But even as I lost myself in the brush strokes, real-life shadows crept in. Thoughts of my father's lingering debts to the Blackwood family, the haunting final words Peter and I exchanged, and those cryptic, threatening messages from that unknown number, all of it weighed me down.

“I’ll survive this,” I whispered to myself, as though saying it would make it true.

Just then, I heard a familiar, shrill voice echo from downstairs.

Tiffany.

She was asking for me, loudly and purposefully.

What the hell does she want now? I muttered under my breath, already bracing for the inevitable drama. I slipped into a loose sweatshirt and joggers, something I wouldn’t mind getting blood on, if it came to that and headed downstairs.

“I swear, whoever’s ruining my peace is going to regret it”

And there she was.

Tiffany.

Smirking, standing like she owned the place. Her presence made my skin crawl.

“Finally, the bitch shows up,” she sneered.

My patience snapped like a brittle twig. “What do you want, Tiffany?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she said, stepping closer. “You think you can steal my boyfriend?”

“I don’t want Peter.”

“Liar. You told him to break up with me, didn’t you?”

“Peter and I are just friends,” I said firmly, though the word friends tasted bitter now.

But before I could add another word, her palm cracked across my cheek.

The sting burned, and for a moment, I stood frozen in shock. But then the fire inside me ignited. As she turned smugly, I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the floor.

"You want a fight? Fine. Let's fight."

We rolled across the floor, limbs tangled, our screams echoing through the house. I pinned her down and rained fists on her flawless, caked-up face until her mascara bled down like war paint.

Anastasia tried to pull me off her, shouting something, but she was useless. I barely noticed her.

Then…

“Rory! What the hell is going on?!”

My father.

James stood at the foot of the stairs, shock etched into every line of his face.

“She hit me first!” I said, scrambling to my feet.

“She’s lying!” Tiffany screeched. “She attacked me!”

James held up a hand. “Enough! Rory, go upstairs. Tiffany, leave. Now.”

Tiffany’s chest heaved with fury. “You’ll regret this,” she hissed, her eyes venomous as she stormed out.

James rounded on me. “You're grounded for a week. And Anastasia, hand over your phone. I don’t want any of you involved in this mess.”

I didn’t bother arguing. I stormed upstairs and slammed the door behind me. My hands were trembling, my chest tight with rage and humiliation. I looked in the mirror and winced. Blood, a bruise already forming, and scratches on my cheek and neck.

All because of Tiffany. And Peter.

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall.

I’m done with Peter.

Even if part of me still cared about him, even if there were moments I imagined something real between us this wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth losing myself.

I cleaned my wounds in silence, music blasting through my headphones to drown out the rest of the world. Eventually, the exhaustion pulled me into a restless sleep.

When I awoke, the clock read 4:03 PM. I reached for my phone.

A new message from Peter.

"I’m coming to see you tonight. 7 PM."

My heart thudded. I sat upright, tension surging through me.

So it wasn’t over.

Maybe now’s the time to set everything straight.

But the confidence I felt earlier was replaced with unease. What if this wasn’t just a conversation? What if Peter wanted more than an apology? What if his visit brought answers I didn’t want?

My thoughts spiraled.

What if this night doesn't bring peace? What if it unravels everything?

One thing was certain: I had to be ready.

Whatever secrets were waiting…

Whatever truth Peter had to tell me...

I was going to face them.

Even if it shattered me all over again.