Page 3 of Broken Desires

The café door closes behind them, leaving me enveloped in the warm, aromatic embrace of the coffee shop. I take a moment to breathe in the scent of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries before ordering my usual caramel latte. Settling into a corner, I scan the café before delving into my bag and pulling out a pair of large headphones. They’re more than a fashion statement or a barrier against the world; they’re a shield to hide my deafness. With these on, people assume I’m just lost in music, not that I’m unable to hear them. It’s a little trick I’ve picked up to avoid the awkward explanations and the pitying looks. I’m in my own little cocoon, observant yet detached. That sense of isolation shatters momentarily when he walks in. Well, hello, unexpected hotness. Mr. Posh Biker over there is throwing a curveball in my usual “don’t care” morning vibe. Light-brown hair styled in a preppy side part contrasts with the rugged leather jacket and tight-fitting Henley. His designer jeans seemed tailored to complement his frame, highlighting powerful thighs and a rock-hard ass.

As he turns toward me, I’m struck by his face—those glasses with thick black frames have no right to look so good on him. Our eyes lock for a fleeting second, sending a jolt through my heart. But then he looks away, breaking the connection. I’m left frowning, a familiar sting of being disregarded washing over me. Sure, I’ve been ignored before, but there’s something about him doing it that rankles me more than it should.

I take a casual sip of my latte, still watching him. He’s got an air of mystery, and I find myself curious despite my better judgment. For now, I’m just the tall goth in the corner with her coffee, watching everything unfold.

I told myself no boys and no drama this year. But looking at him, I think I might just make an exception.

Chapter 2

Liam

Iwake up at six a.m., naturally, before the alarm even has a chance to sound off. Stretching, I feel my muscles wake up, responding to the familiar routine. Slipping quietly out of bed, I’m careful not to disturb my roommates, who are still sleeping soundly. I quickly slip into my running gear, its familiar fabric a silent comfort against my skin.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the campus is still and quiet, almost serene. There’s a certain peace in being the only one awake, a solitude that I’ve come to cherish in my years here at Silverbrook University. My feet find the rhythm on the pavement almost instinctively, carrying me through the empty paths and green spaces.

As I run, I can’t help but reflect on the fleeting nature of time. This is my last year here—my last year of what feels like true freedom. These years have slipped through my fingers like sand, each one faster than the last. It’s a bittersweet realization, this impending end of an era.

I pass by familiar buildings and landmarks, each one etched with memories of the years gone by. This place has been more than just a school to me—it’s been a haven, a crucible, a playground.

But as much as I want to hold on to these moments, I know that change is inevitable. The real world awaits, with all its challenges and uncertainties. For now, though, I have this run, this moment of solitude before the day begins in earnest. And I plan to make the most of it.

I get back from my run, the campus gradually coming to life as I make my way to our house. Stepping inside, I find Ethan already up, nursing his energy drink.

It’s way too early to drink this kind of poison. I head to the fridge with a stride that’s become second nature, my movements fluid from years of disciplined physical training. Retrieving a bottle filled with my kale and algae smoothie, I then turn toward him.

“Rough night?” I ask Ethan. My British accent often adds an unintended touch of judgment to even the most casual conversations. I unscrew the cap of the smoothie bottle, taking a sip without a wince despite the grim taste. My concern for Ethan is genuine, but I can’t help the hint of amusement in my clear green eyes. It’s too early for this, but someone’s got to keep an eye on these lads.

“You can say that,” Ethan mutters, clearly not in the mood for a chat. I suspect it’s not the hangover type of rough, but something deeper, something he’s not ready to share.

I take another sip of my smoothie, feeling the blend of nutrients kick-starting my system. “You understand that this stuff’s like poison, right? Do you even realize what’s in it?” I say, nodding toward his can of energy drink. I try to keep my tone light and non-accusatory, but the concern is there, buried beneath layers of casualness.

“Not now, Liam,” he grumbles, his eyes rolling in familiar mock annoyance and underlying respect. It’s the usual response, but I keep trying. Maybe one day, it’ll stick.

“Bull sperm!” Cole appears in nothing but his boxers, his presence instantly changing the dynamic in the room. He’s the volatile one of our trio, always a whirlwind of energy and emotion. I still can’t quite figure out what made me decide to get roommates after two years of solitude. Maybe it was Uncle Jake’s insistence that I needed to embrace the whole college experience. He’s been the only one in my family supportive of my decision to pursue this path—what my parents deem “this insanity.”

While my parents still see my time at Silverbrook as a temporary detour from the “real world” they’ve planned out for me, Uncle Jake understands. He gets that this experience is about more than just academics; it’s about growth, about finding out who I am outside of the expectations and plans they’ve laid out for me.

“There’s no bull sperm, you asshole, and nobody needs to see your fucking dick so early in the morning,” Ethan shoots back, barely hiding his annoyance.

“That’s not what your girl said,” Cole quips, the mischief in his eyes betraying his enjoyment of the banter.

Ethan doesn’t rise to the bait as usual. Instead, there’s a shadow over his face, a hint of something unresolved. It’s then that he asks me, “Are you still seeing the secretary from admissions?”

I take a nonchalant sip of my smoothie. “Occasionally,” I reply. My one rule is no students—it keeps things uncomplicated. Plus, Ethan and Cole don’t seem to mind the indirect benefits of my policy.

Ethan’s next question catches me slightly off guard. “Can you dig up some info on Poppy Lockwood for me? She’s a transfer or something.” There’s an unusual edge to his voice, something that speaks of more than just curiosity.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why the sudden interest in this Poppy?”

Cole’s laughter cuts through the tension. “Remind me again how you’re not obsessed.”

Ethan’s response is a middle finger, but his gaze stays fixed on me, expectant. I look from him to Cole, sensing an undercurrent of something unspoken, something more than just a passing fancy.

This moment underscores a subtle disconnect between us.

We’re only a little more than two years apart—they’re both nineteen, and I’m twenty-one. All born into legacy money, but it’s our upbringing that sets us apart. Despite my attempts to immerse myself in the “college experience,” my future role in society and my deeply ingrained moral code always loom large. I’m living as normally as a rich boy in an elite school can, but there are rules, unspoken and etched in stone.

It’s not that Ethan and Cole lack a moral compass; it’s just that theirs points in a different direction than mine. But they do possess a carefree view of life that I can’t afford, a certain reckless abandon that strengthens their bond, a bond I sometimes find myself envying.

---