The Burden Of A Shadow

Saturday arrived faster than Amara had hoped. The week leading up to Ethan's party had been filled with endless rehearsals for the role she was forced to play. Adelaide's laugh, her mannerisms, her effortless charm—Amara mimicked them all until her reflection felt like a stranger.

Lucas pulled into the driveway right on time, the purr of his car engine loud against the quiet evening. Amara stood at the door, her black dress clinging uncomfortably to her figure. It was something Adelaide would have loved—sleek and bold—but it felt foreign to her.

Lucas rolled down the window, his grin as polished as ever. "You look amazing, Adelaide."

"Thanks," Amara replied, forcing a smile as she climbed into the passenger seat. His cologne filled the space, sharp and overwhelming, just like his presence.

The drive to Ethan's house was filled with Lucas's chatter. He talked about their friends, his plans for the summer, and Ethan's infamous parties, but Amara barely listened. Her focus was on steadying the rhythm of her breathing. Tonight, she would have to be perfect.

Ethan's house was alive with noise and light when they arrived. Music thumped through the walls, and clusters of people lingered on the lawn, their laughter floating through the night air. Lucas placed a firm hand on the small of Amara's back, guiding her toward the entrance.

"Stick with me," he said, his voice low but commanding.

Inside, the atmosphere was chaotic. Lights pulsed in time with the music, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. Amara scanned the room, her stomach twisting as she recognized faces that had once been familiar. But she wasn't the same person they thought she was.

"Let's grab drinks," Lucas said, steering her toward the kitchen.

Amara nodded, grateful for the brief reprieve. Lucas handed her a cup filled with something fruity and strong-smelling, and she clutched it tightly, using it as a prop more than anything else.

As Lucas fell into conversation with Ethan's friends, Amara's discomfort grew. The crowd felt suffocating, the noise pressing down on her chest. She needed air.

Murmuring an excuse about needing to step outside, she slipped through the back door and into the cool night. The garden was dimly lit, the faint sound of laughter and music still audible in the distance.

She wasn't alone.

Ethan leaned against a low brick wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. The ember flared briefly as he inhaled, his sharp features cast in shadows.

"Adelaide," he said, his voice low and measured.

Amara hesitated. "Hey," she replied, her tone uncertain.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Just needed a breather," Amara said, keeping her tone light.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "From Lucas?"

Her throat tightened. "From everything," she clarified quickly.

He tilted his head, his eyes lingering on her as though he were searching for something. The scrutiny made her shift uncomfortably, but before she could say anything, Ethan exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him.

"You've been quiet lately," he said, the observation casual.

"I've just had a lot on my mind," she replied, forcing a small smile.

Ethan nodded slowly, his gaze flicking away as he stubbed out his cigarette. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to say more, but instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the house.

"Don't get lost out here," he said over his shoulder before walking away.

Amara watched him disappear into the crowd, her chest tight. His words had been innocuous enough, but the way he'd looked at her left her feeling exposed. Shaking off the unease, she returned to the house, forcing herself to slip back into Adelaide's confident persona.

Lucas spotted her almost immediately, his expression lighting up as he walked over.

"Where've you been?" he asked, his hand slipping around her waist.

"Just needed some air," she replied, trying to sound casual.

Lucas nodded, but his grip on her tightened slightly. "Dance with me," he said, his voice firm.

Amara hesitated, but the expectant gazes of those around them left her no room to refuse. She set her drink aside and allowed Lucas to guide her into the living room, where people swayed to the pulsing beat of the music.

Lucas's hands rested firmly on her waist as they moved to the rhythm. At first, Amara tried to follow his lead, but his closeness felt stifling. His hands pressed into her sides, guiding her movements with an intensity that made her stomach twist.

"You're so tense," Lucas murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

"I'm fine," Amara lied, forcing a tight smile.

But she wasn't fine. The music seemed louder, the crowd closer, Lucas's presence heavier with every passing second. His grip tightened as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

"You're perfect, you know that?" he said, his voice low and possessive.

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but not the kind Lucas intended.

"Lucas," she said, her voice faltering. "I don't feel well."

His movements stilled, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face. "You're fine," he said dismissively.

"I need to go," she insisted, pulling back slightly.

For a moment, his grip tightened, his jaw clenching. Then, with a sigh, he released her. "Fine," he said, his tone clipped. "Let's go."

Relief washed over her as he took her hand and led her toward the door. The cool night air outside felt like a reprieve, but Lucas's frustration was palpable as they walked to the car.

The drive home was silent, the tension in the car thick enough to choke on.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lucas didn't even wait for her to say goodbye before speeding off. Amara stood there for a moment, staring after him, before heading inside.

Her parents were in the living room, her father watching the news while her mother scrolled through her phone.

"You're back early," her father remarked, not looking up.

"I wasn't feeling well," Amara replied, her voice hollow.

Her mother's eyes flicked to her, sharp and scrutinizing. "Did Lucas notice?"

"I don't think so."

"Good," her father said, taking a sip of his drink. "You need to keep him happy. He's important."

Amara's fists clenched at her sides. "I know."

"Make sure you do," her mother added. "You've come this far. Don't ruin it now."

Without another word, Amara turned and climbed the stairs to her room. The door shut with a quiet click, sealing her in the only space that felt even remotely her own.

Her eyes fell on the easel in the corner, the half-finished painting taunting her with its incompleteness. She grabbed her brushes and began to paint, the strokes wild and furious. The colors bled together—reds, blues, yellows—all reflecting the chaos inside her.

For the first time that night, she felt free. The painting wasn't beautiful, but it was raw and honest, something Adelaide would never have approved of.

Her phone buzzed, dragging her back to reality. She glanced at the screen, expecting Lucas, but it was Ethan.

What are you hiding?

The words stared back at her, slicing through her carefully constructed facade. Amara stared at the message, her heart pounding. She typed out a response but deleted it immediately. What could she say? Ethan was perceptive—too perceptive.

Setting her phone down, she climbed into bed, her mind racing. Tomorrow would come, bringing more lies, more pretending. For now, she closed her eyes, searching for the solace that always seemed just out of reach.

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