I walk into the kitchen expecting to grab water.

Instead, I see them leaning against the counter while one of their brother’s friends stands way too close, telling some stupid joke that makes them laugh.

Their laugh. His mouth that close to their ear.

Something in me goes dark.

I stop in the doorway, voice low and sharp.

“Back up.”

Both of them look over.

I keep my eyes locked on him, not them — because if I look at them, I’ll lose every ounce of control I have left.

Their brother calls from upstairs. I school my face into something flat, bored, harmless.

But as I step past, brushing between them and that guy, I lean close enough for only them to hear.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I’m trembling. With restraint.