Page 4 of Top Shelf

This isn’t what I want.

This isso farfrom what I want that my lungs burn with the need to scream about how unfair life is.

Which makes me sound like the entitled Winslow most people think I am. Why else would I turn up my nose at being handed the top-floor unit of a ‘prestigious’ brownstone? I’m a college student. Most students have no other choice but to suck it up in the dorms or crappy student accommodation. Yet, I’m fortunate enough to be handed this beautiful, spacious apartment where I get to live all by myself. No rent. No bills.

The problem is that it’s notme.

This isnotwhere I belong.

This apartment. This town. This college.

I want my old life back. The one where I have hot chocolate movie nights with my best friend, Dylan. One where I spend my free hours in the library because it’s quiet and I don’t have to worry about people recognizing me—or worse,wantingsomething from me. One where I go to sleep and wake up in an apartment that ismine. That has my rickety second-hand furniture that I picked up at various yard sales, and my mismatched lamps. Windows that let in a frigid breeze in the dead of winter, and a kaleidoscope of color everywhere you looked—pictures, blankets, cushions, plants. It was far from perfect, but it was mine. I picked it. I decorated it. I paid the rent with money I earned working at the college sports bar. My mother didn’t have a say in a single thing to do with it.

Unlike this Scandinavian museum of an apartment.

Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I move to stand at the wall of tall windows. The view out of them is as depressing as inside the apartment.

“I know it’s not BSU, but Valehurst isn’t that bad,” my brother says in a poor attempt to make me feel better. Nothing he says would help, anyway.

He moves to stand beside me, both of us looking out over theValehurst campus—home to legacy and elitism. It’s everything I despise about our world. Everything I ran away from…only to get dragged right back as soon as it suited my parents.

I shouldn’t have been so naive as to believe my parents would be content to let me live my own life. I should have realized when my brother chose toplayfor the Serpents hockey team instead ofowningit that my parents would be deliberating on his replacement. Deciding who else could run the family business.

Sighing wearily, I don’t bother responding to my brother’s words. What is there to say? Perhaps he enjoyed his time at Valehurst, but I already know I won’t. And not only because I’m essentially here against my will.

Three distinct faces flash behind my eyes, sending a shiver sliding down my spine. Nerves make my hands tremble, and I have to clench my fists to hide the tell-tale sign from my brother. Although he’d likely just misconstrue it for nerves about tomorrow, anyway.

He doesn’t know the true reason.

No one does.

Except them.

“Anyway,” my brother begins, clearing his throat as he turns to face me. “I should get going. Do you need a hand with anything before I do?”

I shake my head, giving him a small smile. It’s all I can muster right now. I’m drained, exhausted, and I just want to crawl into bed and cry at the fucked-up reality that is my life.

“I’m good.”

“Alright.” He pulls me in for an infamous big brother hug, squeezing me until I swear I feel some ribs crack. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

He makes his way toward the door, but before he disappearsthrough it, he pauses, turning to face me one final time. “I’m sorry,” he says, genuine regret scored into the lines of his face. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“It isn’t your fault either,” I tell him, meaning it. It would be easy to blame it all on Carson. If he’d just followed the path my parents laid out for him, then I wouldn’t be here. The expectation wouldn’t have fallen on me instead.

But how can I resent him for following his dream?

“You know Mom and Dad. They always get their way.”

“Yeah.” He nods, but there’s something buried in his eyes as he holds my gaze. “And you’ve always let them.”

The apartment feels colder and more isolating once he’s gone. The walls seem even more stark white than they did a moment ago, and even the air has a newfound chill to it.

“Ugh, I hate this place.”

With my stomach grumbling, I stalk toward the kitchen. More offensive white assaults my eyes, broken only by the injection of the occasional stainless-steel appliance.