Dress shopping for the end of year dance may be my least favourite activity, ever.

As I suspected, my mother was over the moon with the fact that I was finally going to my first dance, and gave me far too much money for an outfit, shoes, makeup, and a list of things I have no intention of buying.

So, here I am at the local shopping centre, trailing behind Emma and Erin as they debate over duck egg blue chiffon or pink sequins.

I'm tempted to disappear and head home—Emma is unlikely to miss me—but Erin seems to be as out of her depth as I am. I stay, for her.

Hours later, they've finally decided on their dresses, while I bought a black, lace dress from the first store we visited. If not for my loyalty to Erin, I could have gone home only thirty minutes into this trip.

Emma convinces us we need new makeup too, so that's another hour spent in Boots listening to her advice on the finer details of contouring. It’s bizarre, listening to her talk about primer and highlighters when a few weeks ago we’d be talking about books, movies or music.

I don't know where my old friend has gone—it's like an invasion of the body snatchers—but Toby Canter sticks his hand down her knickers once and she’s suddenly turned into a carbon copy of every other girl in my school.

Erin goes along with it all because she likes an easy life, but I'm here, in the fake, floral scented cosmetics department, with something called 'shimmer highlighter' in my hand, and no idea how or why I got here.

I’d rather be in bed or exploring the countryside.

Or anywhere with Galen.

I thank every God I don't believe in when I'm finally deemed dance ready by Emma, and I head home with bags full of stuff that I'll never use.

It’s the day of the dance, and Mum once more invites the girls over to get ready at her house.

I know she's arranged it out of excitement for me, but if I could've faked some kind of contagious illness, I would have. I even Googled symptoms and had my back-story ready to go, but the look on my mother's face when I tried my dress on for her was enough to have me chickening out of faking the measles. Besides, I think I've had the vaccinations so it might have been difficult to pull off.

Mum helps us all get ready, pinning my long hair into a messy but pretty up do, and giving Erin perfectly feline-lined eyes that make her usually shy amber gaze, confident and enchanting. She even gives us each a small glass of wine and lemonade, elevating her to ‘cool mother’ status with Emma.

By the time we get to the school hall, where crowds of our peers mingle excitedly waiting for the band to start, even I'm feeling a little more enthusiastic about the evening ahead.

That is until Galen and his band are announced as the opening act. He didn't tell me they were playing tonight. Then again, I didn't ask.

The crowd cheers, although it's mostly girls with a few catcalls from Galen's gang of friends, and Galen and his other two band mates saunter onto the stage.

As I always suspected he would, he owns the performance; his band mates are merely accessories.

They only play two songs, but like most of the females in the audience, I’m transfixed.

I don't blink, I don't dance, and I swear until the moment he walks off the stage to rapturous applause, I barely even breathe.

Galen will be a star one day. And I will forever be condemned to become one of his many admirers.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"Look at her. She's practically drooling. It's pathetic and beyond perverted. I mean he's her brother."

"Em, please don't make a scene. Not tonight."

The lights have gone up for the stage change, and as Emma's snide words register, I not only feel the cut of her hate, but also the harsh stare of dozens of eyes.

Everyone around us is quiet. Too quiet.

"I'm not making a scene, she is." Emma stands in my personal space; hip cocked, both hands on her waist, and her contoured face twisted into a hateful and ugly mask. "She's sick. Didn't you see the way she watched Galen? The way she always watches Galen."

My eyes flick from Emma to Erin, and even underneath the quieter girl’s makeup, I can see the pallid tone to her skin.

She's not joining in, but she's not stopping this either.

"What? Got nothing to say?" Emma looks around at the crowd she's drawn, and her face takes on a manic glee. "Oh, that's right. You can't say anything because it's true. You want to fuck your brother. Admit it."

I'm mute.

"I bet your mother is so proud of you both. Fucking freaks."

I don’t think, I act, as I turn on shaking legs to run away, and my eyes catch the amused stares of my schoolmates.

Panic swells in my gut like a tsunami; a wave of shame crashing through me as my heels clatter down the empty hallway towards the bathrooms.

They can’t know.

They can’t understand what I feel for him.

I need a flower. I need one desperately.

A sharp pain stabs and gouges at the centre of my chest. My lungs burn and my throat clogs with humiliation, embarrassment, and fear. My fingers hit the hard surface of the door, and I use the last of my strength to push into the empty room. In seconds, I'm at the sinks throwing cold water in my face, uncaring about the make up my mother so carefully helped me apply. Her smile while completing the task was filled with a joy that I hadn't seen on her face for quite some time. She wanted us to bond over these typical mother-daughter rituals, and tonight was her opportunity.

For some reason, remembering her smile—her pride for me shining brightly in her eyes—only makes this hurt so much more.

Why did I make it so obvious?

Why didn't he tell me he was playing? I could have prepared myself.

The door squeaks open, and I feel someone enter the bathroom.

It's him. He's found me.

I wish he hadn't, and yet I hoped he would; my heart and head demanding of me two very different responses.

"Don't," I warn with shaky, uneven breaths. "Don't come in here."

"Fflur, it's okay."

"It's not. It's not okay."

With my head bowed and my hands braced on the sink, I see him move slowly in my peripheral vision. Between one slow blink and the next, a small, almost closed daisy is placed on the porcelain in front of me.

"I had this in my pocket all night. It's not doing so well, but I thought you might need it."

My eyes threaten to overflow, my heart desperately clawing at my chest. If it breaks free, it will land with a heavy splat at his feet, and I fear it will never again beat without him near.

I'm hyperventilating. My breaths harsh, staccato and frenzied and my fingers tremble as they pick up the wilted little flower.

"Look at me, Fflur," he demands, his voice calm and clear. And I do.

Lawn green meets bright blue and the world tilts and sways on its axis.

"Let's go."

"I can't go with you,” I hiccup between shallow gulps of air. “I'm staying with my Dad tonight."

"So what? I'll come with you." He’s steadfast. Resolute.

"You can't." I’m weak. Wavering.

"Yeah, I can. I'm not leaving you alone."

"Huh. It's not how I expected it to be."

Galen walks around my small, box bedroom looking at and cataloguing everything.

My precisely made single bed with the floral duvet.

The white painted shelves overstuffed with books.

The small desk—that likely should be a dressing table—stacked high with neat rows of my scrapbooks.

When he's satisfied that he’s seen it all, he turns to face me from his spot in the middle of the room and looks down at me sitting on the edge of my bed—the bed where I've recently begun to touch myself when I think of him.

I feel my face flame red at the thought.

Awkwardly, I stand and turn on my stereo, fiddling with the volume to keep it low enough not to annoy my dad when he comes home, but still loud enough to disguise our voices when we talk.

My mattress is old and squeaky, and when Galen plops himself on the bed, it squeals in protest at the extra weight.

He stares at the framed photographs I have on my nightstand, his eyes catching on one in particular. I think I was around nine, maybe ten when it was taken. It's a picture of all of us—Dad, Mum, Rhys and me. We look normal, like a happy, average family. Not a hint of the turmoil that was about to come and ruin us.

"I overheard your friends teasing you the other night when they stayed over," he confesses without taking his eyes off the picture.

"Were you snooping?"

His lips twitch into a small grin. "Maybe."

"Well, it makes no difference. I guess you would have found out tonight what they think about me anyway. I'm the perverted girl in love with her brother."

"Stepbrother," he interrupts.

I can feel anger bubble up in my belly as it begins to replace my embarrassment.

"They haven’t married, so you're not technically my stepbrother, and even if we were, it's not a blood relation," I snap.

Galen's gaze lands on mine.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. We're not really related." His eyes flick to my lips and I wonder if he's thinking about our kiss. My lips tingle.

"I left Laurie at the dance. I didn't say goodbye. Maybe I should shoot her a text or something?"

His abrupt subject change is a harsh slap in the face.

"Yeah," I clear my throat and avert my eyes. "Maybe."

Silence descends between us and lands heavy on my chest. I wait for him to pull out his phone to text his girlfriend, but he doesn't. He looks everywhere but at me, before he finally goes to speak again, this time his eyes are focused somewhere in the near distance.

"I—"

We hear keys rattling in the front door before it opens and quickly slams shut. The laughter of Dad and Kate coming home from their date echoes up the stairs.

Galen's eyes widen almost comically.

"Shit. Should I hide? Maybe I can sneak out your window or slide under your bed."

He’s on his feet and estimating the space underneath my bed as I stand and walk towards my bedroom door, opening it wide and yelling, "Dad. I'm home early."

I have no intention of hiding Galen.

What feels like mere seconds later my father appears outside my door, his face a little flushed, his breathing a little laboured. I can see Kate hovering awkwardly on the landing behind him.

"Why are you home so early?"

"The dance was naff. You know I didn't want to go anyway."

"Nothing happened, did it?" His eyes flick from his intense perusal of me—checking me for injuries the way Dad always does if he thinks something has happened—to notice Galen sitting rigidly on my bed.

"No, nothing happened. Galen brought me home so that I wouldn't be on my own."

Galen stands, rubbing his hands down the front of jeans and walks towards my dad.

"Bloody hell, you look just like Max."

Galen smiles almost shyly. "Yeah, everyone says that."

"I can't get over it. You're the image of him at your age."

Kate coughs to gain Dad's attention, and I look over his shoulder towards her to see her awkwardly fiddling with the clasp of her handbag. "I think I'm going to go. Maybe we'll catch up in the week?"

"No, don't. I'm coming." Dad hugs me then shakes Galen's hand and thanks him for getting me home safely. He turns towards Kate but seems torn between heading towards his bedroom—where I know they were heading before they knew we were home—or taking her downstairs for a cup of tea.

Sorry for ruining your night, Dad.

He decides that downstairs is his best option, and I can hear them both snickering once they reach the hallway.

"Your dad seems pretty cool," Galen says as we listen to them making their way through the house towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, he's the best."

"So, uh, maybe I should leave."

I shrug, not wanting to let him see that the thought of him going and likely ending up in Laurie’s arms devastates me. "Dad knows you're here, and I have a tub of mint choc chip in the freezer. Want to share it with me?"

He stares at me for a beat, and I can't decipher the look on his face. I want to fidget, but I hold still and wait. After a moment, he replies, "Yeah, okay, but I want my own spoon. God knows who you've kissed recently."

And the little shit smirks.