Raelynn

The first time I fell in love with Asrael Kerrigan, I was ten years old and he bandaged my knee with a Spider-Man band-aid. It had little red webs on it. I remember that because he apologized three times for accidentally putting the sticky side of the tape on my skin and Rhett laughed so hard milk came out of his nose.

“Asrael,” my brother had wheezed from across the kitchen table, “you’re treating her like she got stabbed.”

“She’s bleeding.”

“It’s a scrape.”

“She’s crying.”

“I am not crying,” I’d sniffled immediately before crying harder.

Asrael had looked at me then. Really looked at me. Not like I was annoying or dramatic or just Rhett’s little sister tagging along behind them. And he smiled.

Not a big smile. Not even a special one. But to an eight-year-old girl, it felt like being handed sunlight. So naturally, my life had been downhill ever since.

At fifteen, I knew better. At least, I was supposed to. I was old enough to know that twenty-year-old college boys did not suddenly realize they were in love with their best friend’s little sister because she curled her hair and wore cherry lip gloss from the pharmacy downtown.

Unfortunately, my brain and my heart had been divorced for years.

“Rae!”

Rhett’s voice thundered through the house like a natural disaster in sneakers.

I jumped, nearly smudging mascara into my eye.

“What?”

“Hurry up! People are here!”

“I’m coming!”

“You said that twenty minutes ago!”

I glared at the bathroom mirror. The girl glaring back looked older tonight somehow. Still soft-faced. Still obviously fifteen if anyone looked long enough. But older in the fragile, hopeful way flowers looked right before rain flattened them.

Pathetic.

I grabbed my lip gloss anyway.

Music rattled the walls downstairs. Loud bass. Bursts of laughter. The house smelled like pizza, beer, and the cinnamon candles my mother would murder Rhett for lighting near drunk college students.

By the time I reached the living room, the party was already alive. Bodies crowded the furniture. Someone yelled from the kitchen. A girl in a glittery silver top was dancing barefoot near the couch. A couple was making out at some corner. I swear if mom found out Rhett and I would both be dead.

Rhett stood near the drinks table laughing with two of his teammates. And beside him stood Asrael. My stomach betrayed me instantly. Five years later and I would still remember stupid details like, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the silver watch on his wrist, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead when he laughed Some girls fell in love through poetry or grand gestures. I fell in love through accumulated fragments.

Asrael looked up. Then smiled the second he saw me.

“There’s the shadow.”

Heat climbed straight into my face. I hated that nickname. Mostly because I loved it.

“When have I ever followed you around?” I asked.

Rhett barked out a laugh loud enough to concern nearby wildlife.

Asrael tilted his head thoughtfully. “Fifth grade. seventh grade. eighth grade. The zoo incident of sixth grade.”

“That monkey stole my juice because of you.”

“You screamed like the apocalypse started.”

“I was ten!”

“You cried.”

“I did not cry.”

Rhett snorted into his drink. “You absolutely cried.”

Traitors. Both of them.

Asrael reached over without thinking and flicked my forehead lightly. The gesture was easy. Familiar. Careless. My heart, unfortunately, treated it like a religious experience.

“Move,” Rhett said, shoving a bowl of chips into my hands. “Be useful.”

“Wow. You’re such a loving brother.”

“I kept you alive through childhood.”

“You once fed me glue.”

“You survived.”

Before I could argue further, somebody shouted from the center of the room.

“CONFESSION GAME!”

A chorus of drunken approval erupted immediately.

“Oh no,” Rhett muttered.

“Oh yes,” said a blond girl already climbing onto the coffee table with alarming confidence. “Everybody circles up!”

The living room transformed quickly. People dragged pillows onto the floor. Someone lowered the music. Half-empty cups littered the table like casualties of war.

I ended up squeezed between Rhett and Asrael on the carpet.

Terrible for my emotional stability.

The rules were simple. Pick a card. Answer honestly. No skipping. Which was exactly the kind of game that sounded fun until human beings got involved. The first few rounds were harmless.

“Who was your worst kiss?”

“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve done drunk?”

“Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Laughter exploded every few seconds.

Rhett admitted to accidentally texting a professor “love you.”

A girl confessed she dated identical twins without either realizing.

Someone else cried laughing after revealing they once threw up in a decorative vase at a wedding.

Then the bowl landed in front of me.

“Oh, this should be good,” Rhett said.

“Leave me alone.”

“Never.”

I reached into the bowl dramatically, mostly to hide how nervous I suddenly felt. The card unfolded between my fingers. And my soul immediately left my body.

Confess your biggest romantic secret.

No.

Absolutely not. I should have lied. A normal person would’ve lied. But the room was warm and loud and Asrael sat beside me smelling faintly like cedarwood and rain and my stupid fifteen-year-old heart had spent years collecting courage like spare coins in a jar. Maybe tonight was finally enough.

“Well?” somebody urged.

My pulse thundered.

Rhett nudged my shoulder. “C’mon, Rae.”

I looked down at the card again.

Then slowly up. Straight at Asrael. The room blurred strangely around the edges. I wish I could’ve fainted there and then.

“I…” My throat tightened instantly. “I like someone.”

Instant chaos.

“Ooooooh!”

“Who is it?”

“Name!”

“Tell us!”

I should’ve stopped there.

I knew I should’ve. But years of hidden feelings pressed against my ribs so hard they hurt. And for a moment, I wanted him to know. Not eventually. Not someday. Now. My fingers curled tightly around the card.

“It’s…” I swallowed. “Asrael.”

Silence hit the room like a dropped glass.

Rhett blinked once. Twice. Then burst into violent laughter. Not cruel laughter. Worse. Disbelieving laughter.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Rae has a crush.”

My face burned alive. Some people laughed softly. Others cooed sympathetically. Asrael stared at me in startled surprise before smiling. Softly. Fondly. Like I was something adorable. Something small. Something harmless. He reached over and ruffled my hair.

“You’re cute,” he said lightly.

Cute. Not beautiful. Not serious. Cute.

The room relaxed instantly after that. The tension dissolved into teasing and laughter and somebody immediately demanded the next turn. But I barely heard any of it. Because fifteen-year-old girls are tragic little creatures. We can survive humiliation surprisingly well. It’s hope that destroys us. And even then, even sitting there with my chest cracking quietly open beneath all the noise and laughter, one horrible thought still floated through my mind. At least he didn’t say no.

After the party ended, Asrael stayed and help Rhett and I to clean up. Before mom came and found her house looking like some barn.

“You look depressed,” Asrael said as he threw a pillow at me.

“Jee, thanks.”

He walked up to me and he looked genuinely concerned. Oh My God! My heart was pounding. Heck! I think it was on its way to my head. The pulse was so loud I could feel it in my ears. Then he got closer. Welp!

He gently cupped my cheeks and titled my head so that I could look at him.

“Are you okay?” He looked more worried.

“You’re heating up.”

Of course I was. His hands were on my cheeks and he was so close I could feel him breathing.

“What’s with her,” Rhett interrupted.

“She seems to have a fever.”

“Let me see,” Rhett said as he walked towards us.

Asrael moved aside and Rhett literally slapped my forehead.

“Owww! That hurt.” I pushed his hand away.

“You’re such a cry baby,” Rhett teased.

Mom walked in to us arguing as usual. She immediately turned to Rhett.

“Rhett, be nice.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes.

“Hello Asrael,” mom chirped as if he was her favourite child.

“Hey aunt Rachelle.”

Rhett and I exchanged glances like we’d both been betrayed.

Raelynn

There should be a scientific study conducted on teenage girls and humiliation. Specifically: Why do we continue returning to the exact thing that hurts us?

A moth sees fire once and thinks, terrible idea. A girl gets emotionally rejected and thinks, perhaps with better lighting.

Two years after the party, I had mastered the art of pretending not to love Asrael Kerrigan. Unfortunately, I had not mastered the art of actually not loving him. Those are very different skills.

“You’re staring again.”

I looked away from the kitchen doorway so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

“I am not.”

Rhett snorted from the fridge. “You’ve been holding the orange juice upside down for like two minutes.”

I glanced down. The carton was indeed upside down.

“That means nothing.”

“It means you inherited exactly zero survival instincts.”

“Why are you even here?” I muttered.

“I live here.”

“Debatable.”

He grinned lazily before stealing bacon straight from the pan. I slapped his hand away immediately.

“Mom said stop doing that.”

“Mom also said stop threatening people with kitchen knives but here we are.”

“I have never threatened anyone.”

“You chased me through the backyard with a spatula last week.”

“You deserved it.”

“I forgot one birthday.”

“You forgot fifteen birthdays.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s literally my entire life.”

Rhett laughed and leaned against the counter, still wearing sweatpants despite it being nearly noon.

College had somehow made him worse.

Meanwhile, I stood there in my school uniform trying not to glance toward the living room every three seconds like a malfunctioning security camera.

Asrael was there. Of course he was there. He practically lived at our house. Sometimes I wondered if mom loved him more than she loved either of her actual children.

“Morning, Rae.”

And there it was. That voice. Warm honey over gravel. Bad for my blood pressure. I turned around too quickly and nearly dropped the juice carton. Asrael caught it one-handed before it hit the floor. Show-off.

“Careful,” he said, laughing softly.

At seventeen, I’d grown taller. My face had sharpened slightly. My hair was longer now. But around him, I still became painfully aware of every awkward inch of myself. Especially because Asrael looked unfairly good that morning. Dark hoodie. Messy hair. Sleep-heavy eyes. Like some expensive cologne ad designed specifically to ruin teenage girls academically.

“You staying for breakfast?” mom called from upstairs.

“If you’re offering,” Asrael shouted back.

“You know where the plates are!”

“See?” Rhett muttered. “You’ve been replaced.”

“You were replaceable.”

“Cruel.”

Asrael smirked and bumped my shoulder lightly while moving past me toward the cabinet. Tiny gesture. Tiny meaningless gesture. Catastrophic emotional consequences. I hated this. No. That was a lie. I loved this. That was the problem.

For years, my feelings for Asrael had become stitched into everyday life; movie nights, teasing arguments, late-night ice cream runs, him helping me with math homework, sitting beside him during thunderstorms because I hated lightning. Nothing dramatic ever happened. And maybe that was why I couldn’t let go.

Loving him felt less like a crush now and more like breathing. Natural. Constant. Impossible to switch off.

Which was exactly why I made another terrible decision three weeks later. Cold October rain hammered against the windows while Rhett was out with friends and my parents attended some charity event downtown. Meaning, I was home alone.

Well. Almost alone.

Asrael sat cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by papers and his laptop, swearing quietly at a finance assignment.

“You look homicidal,” I observed.

“I am.”

“Need help?”

“You failed algebra twice.”

“That feels unnecessarily personal.”

He laughed under his breath without looking up. I curled deeper into the couch blanket and watched rainwater slide down the windows. The house felt strangely soft tonight. Muted. A lamp glowed beside the television. Thunder rumbled somewhere far away.

It felt intimate. And seventeen-year-old girls are biologically incapable of making good decisions in intimate weather.

“You know,” I said carefully, “I wasn’t joking at Rhett’s party.”

Asrael kept typing for a moment before pausing. Then he looked up slowly. The room suddenly felt much smaller.

“I know.”

That startled me.

“You do?”

“I figured it out eventually.”

“Oh.”

Brilliant response, Raelynn. Truly intellectual stuff.

He leaned back slightly, studying me now with an expression I couldn’t fully read.

“Rae…”

There are certain tones people use before breaking your heart. That was one of them. But I pushed forward anyway because apparently humiliation had become my favorite extracurricular activity.

“I still like you,” I admitted quietly.

Thunder rolled outside. Asrael exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he smiled. Small. Careful. Like he was handling something fragile.

“You’re seventeen.”

There it was again. The age excuse. Not cruel. Not dismissive. Just impossibly final.

“I know that.”

“And I’m twenty-two.”

“That’s only five years.”

“At your age, five years is a lot.”

I hated that he sounded reasonable. Reasonable people are impossible to argue with.

“You’ll outgrow this eventually,” he said gently.

The words slipped into my chest like tiny blades. Outgrow. Like I was wearing feelings too childish for me now. Like loving him was something embarrassing my future self would cringe at.

“What if I don’t?”

His expression softened immediately. That almost made it worse.

“You will.”

The confidence in his voice shattered something quietly inside me. Not because he was cruel but because he truly believed it. I stared down at my hands before forcing out a laugh so fake even I hated hearing it.

“Wow,” I muttered. “This is embarrassing.”

“Rae.”

“No, it’s okay.” I smiled too quickly. “Really.”

He closed his laptop finally and stood. For one terrifying second, I thought he might hug me. I would’ve died on the spot. Instead, he sat beside me on the couch. Close enough for warmth. Far enough for heartbreak.

“You’re important to me,” he said carefully.

Every girl in love should be protected from that sentence. It sounds beautiful. It rarely means what you want it to mean.

“You’re Rhett’s little sister.”

There it was. The title again. Not Raelynn. Not a girl. Not someone he could love. Just Rhett’s little sister. My throat tightened painfully. Still, I nodded. Because what else could I do? Force him to love me?

People always talk about unrequited love romantically. Poetry. Longing. Yearning. They never mention how humiliating it feels sometimes. How small. How every confession feels like placing your heart into someone’s hands and watching them give it back politely because it does not belong to them.

“I should probably stop saying things like this,” I said with a weak laugh.

Asrael looked genuinely relieved by that. And somehow that hurt worse.

I had been talking to Grant, a friend from school, occasionally. Mostly whenever I felt like I was suffocation on my one-way trafficked emotions. He was handsome and helped me get carried away and he claimed to want company so it was always a win-win.

But for some reason, I never saw him as a romantic interest. Sure he looked good and smelled nice and was kind and what not but I was fully blinded by my love for Asrael that no matter how good the looked or was, I lacked interest.

I tried explaining this to Grant but he didn’t get me at all. Had this man ever fallen in love? Or was I just obsessed?

“Look Grant we can’t date,” I tried.

“Why not? I don’t see what is stopping us,” he argued.

“I like someone else and I’ve told you before,” I sighed.

“I’m not trying to sound rude but from what I know Asrael doesn’t like you.”

My breath hitched, I felt a bitter lump form in my throat. Of all things he could’ve chosen to say he saw that fit. My vision began to blur. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. No. Not here. Not now.

“So why don’t you just forget the guy and date me,” he added.

My fists clenched and the next thing I knew, I was towering above him with an empty glass orange liquid dripping from his head to his white polo t-shirt. I couldn’t care less whether it got stained or cost a thousand dollars.

“I don’t want to ever see you again. You got that?”

I stormed off and immediately went home. His words were replaying in my head and I thought I was going to lose it. I wished I could cry and forget it all happened. I sat by my window staring into nothing and I eventually fell asleep.

I woke up to my phone buzzing. It was Grant. I really didn’t want anything to do with him so I blocked his contact on all platforms. A part me was quietly wishing I could block what he had said about Asrael.

Raelynn

By eighteen, I had become very good at lying to myself. Not big lies. Small survivable ones. Like I’m over him. Or this doesn’t hurt anymore. Or my personal favourite maybe this time will be different.

That last one should’ve legally counted as self-harm.

Asrael was leaving in three weeks. Three weeks.

After graduation, he’d accepted a position overseas through his father’s company. London first. Then maybe New York. Maybe somewhere else after that.

Every conversation around him had become filled with excitement. Future. Movement. Meanwhile, I felt strangely left behind already. Like everyone else had received instructions for growing up except me.

“You’re sulking.”

I looked up from the kitchen counter to find Asrael watching me with amusement.

“I’m existing.”

“Dramatically.”

“I learned from Rhett.”

“Tragic influence.”

He walked past me toward the fridge sleeves rolled to his elbows again. That tiny detail still ruined my emotional stability after all these years. Embarrassing. Truly embarrassing.

Outside, late summer sunlight spilled gold across the backyard. Rhett had people over again. Normal afternoon. Normal conversation.

Asrael grabbed a bottle of water before glancing at me again.

“You’ve been weird lately.”

My laugh escaped too quickly. “What a horrifying thing to say to someone.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, maybe I’m evolving.”

“Into what?”

“A threat.”

That earned a laugh. I wondered if he knew how easily he occupied space inside people. Probably not. People like Asrael rarely understood their own gravity.

“You excited to leave?” I asked carefully.

His expression shifted slightly.

“A little.”

Only a little? That surprised me.

“You don’t sound convincing.”

He leaned against the counter beside me.

“I think it just hasn’t fully hit me yet.”

I nodded slowly. Because it had hit me. Repeatedly. Violently. Like emotional blunt-force trauma. The thought of him leaving made my chest ache in ways I couldn’t explain without sounding insane. No more him.

Eight years of loving someone and suddenly the universe expected me to continue existing normally afterward. Cruel.

“You’ll be fine without me,” he said casually.

That sentence irritated me instantly.

“Oh, obviously. I’ll throw a celebration actually.”

“I knew you secretly hated me.”

“I tolerate you at best.”

“Heartbreaking.”

I smiled despite myself.

And there it was again. That ease between us. Maybe that was why I could never let go. Nothing between us ever felt forced. Not the conversations. Not the teasing. Not the silence. Loving him had become stitched into ordinary moments so deeply that removing it felt impossible. Like trying to separate thread from fabric after years.

“Asrael?”

“Hm?”

The question sat heavily in my throat. I already knew this was a terrible idea. My brain knew. My dignity knew. Unfortunately, my heart had the survival instincts of roadkill.

“When you leave…” I paused. “Do you think you’ll miss me?”

He looked genuinely startled.

“Of course I will.”

“No, I mean…” I stared down at my hands. “Specifically me.”

The air changed. Slightly. Asrael went quiet. And suddenly I hated myself. Because here we were again. Same conversation. Different year. God, I was pathetic.

“Rae…”

There it was. That tone again. Soft. Careful. Merciful. The verbal equivalent of being escorted gently toward rejection. I laughed weakly before he could continue.

“You know what? Never mind.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Pretending you don’t mean something after saying it.”

I looked away immediately.

Outside, someone cannonballed into the pool. People screamed. Music blasted louder. Inside the kitchen, everything felt painfully still. Then I made my third mistake.

“I still love you.”

The words fell out quietly. Asrael stared at me. And for one heartbeat, hope flickered again. Then he exhaled slowly and stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to break me politely.

“Raelynn,” he said softly, “you’re eighteen.”

I laughed once. Sharp. Humourless.

“That excuse is getting old.”

His expression tightened immediately.

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Then what is it?”

He looked frustrated for the first time in years. Not angry. Never angry. Just trapped.

“I care about you.”

There it was again. The sentence that never meant enough.

“But not like that,” I finished quietly.

Silence. And silence can be an answer too. Something inside me finally sagged tiredly. Not shattered this time. Just exhausted. Like my heart had been knocking on a locked door for years and finally realized nobody lived there. Asrael rubbed a hand over his face before speaking carefully.

“You deserve someone who can give you the same feelings back.”

I smiled faintly.

“That’s a very kind way of saying no.”

His eyes softened instantly. God. I wished he’d stop looking at me like that. Like I was something fragile he didn’t want to damage. Too late for that.

“You’re going to meet people,” he continued gently. “Real people. And one day you’re gonna look back at this and wonder why you ever liked me so much.”

The terrifying thing was, he truly believed that. I nodded because I couldn’t trust my voice anymore. And because I finally understood something awful. Asrael wasn’t rejecting me because he was cruel. He was rejecting me because he simply did not love me. And there was nothing in the world more helpless than that.

Three weeks later, he left.

Before getting into the car, Asrael pulled me into a hug.

“You’ll take care of yourself?” he asked softly.

I nodded against his shoulder.

“Good.”

And then he smiled at me. That same stupid smile that had ruined my life since I was eight years old. Then he left. And somehow the world kept moving afterward. Cruel again.

While he was away, I tried dating but nothing ever felt right. The guys always felt a bit too much or less that what I wanted. Asrael. I knew it was a bad idea but I was so determined to find a new love interest. Someone that actually liked me back and didn’t just see me as his best friends sister or didn’t care about how I felt. God, I felt hopeless.

As much as I wanted to get help, I didn’t know who to turn to. If I went to Rhett, he’d either one, not take me seriously. Or he would make fun of me and just the thought of that happening depressed me. And if I went to Maddie, she would try and set me up with lousy dated just for the fun of it.

What a horrid social circle I had.

I tried talking to mom and she thought Asrael was right and I would just outgrow the feelings. Why was she always on his side? And what was so wrong with liking him? I didn’t want to get over him, where would I have found someone like him?

“You’re about to join college and soon after that you’ll start working. You’ll be so busy that you won’t have time to think about him,” mom advised me.

I really wanted to believe what she said and I did. It worked and I wasn’t thinking much about him. But soon enough, it became non-effective since he and Rhett would do video calls almost everyday.

Four years later, Asrael Kerrigan came home. And I still loved him.