Page 51 of From Drummer to Gamer

A heavy fist sucker punched my throat.

Job.

It was his job. Not because he cared. I didn’t know if it was because of the way he said it or what he said, but the fire in my chest intensified, and the anger in my blood boiled.

“I’m grateful that you are taking care of us, but Raphael is your responsibility. I’m not. I appreciate you thinking of me as a full-grown woman rather than a child. I can take care of myself.”

His brow flicked. “I never doubted that.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

A thin line formed over his jaw. “I never said that. But I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

Hurt swaddled my heart like a heavy blanket. “I see. I’m sorry to worry you,” I whispered, toning down the quiver in my voice. “I’ll make sure to get to my classes. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

A glint flashed in his eyes, almost as if he regretted his statement, but I didn’t linger.

“Sierra,” he called out.

But I strode out of the kitchen, keeping my head high as I tried hard not to let the sting in the back of my eyes win.

I thought over the past few weeks, Matty and I had grown into a comfortable place to at least trust each other. But the harsh reality said otherwise.

I was just a job to him.

A weighted responsibility on his shoulders.

One that he couldn’t shake and had to accept.

Losing my appetite, I set my now cold bowl on the table and crashed into my bed, pulling my rumpled sheets over me.

What he said shouldn’t have affected me like this, but I was disgusted with myself.

Disgusted that I couldn’t get my life in order.

People wouldn’t question my life choices if I presented them with the perfect picture of a level-headed, goal-oriented girl with concrete plans. Yet here I was, hiding my true self, trying to prove myself to the world.

It hurt—the way he viewed me.

But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter.

From here on out, I was going to keep my head down and focus on what actually mattered.

Winning the game.

“Do you know what kind of dress you want?” Katy asked, her eyes gleaming bright under the morning sun spilling through the car windows.

“Hmm, not really.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t really know much about fashion.”

“That’s okay, we’ll figure something out.” She flashed me a smile. “But I wouldn’t tell, though. You have a great style.”

My cheeks burned. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

Unlike my mortifying look yesterday, I tried my hardest to look presentable, donning a pair of clean blue jeans and pairing them with my cropped white T-shirt and green bomber jacket. I didn’t have my own style. I just picked whatever was more comfortable…well, except when it came to my alter ego.

For her, I carefully curated my outfit, capturing the essence of the girl I wanted to be rather than the girl I was.

Unabashedly brave.

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