PIERCED - A Stepbrother Romance (8 page)

11 years ago – senior year, Christmas break

I ring the doorbell of Sandra’s house – correction, Sandra and my dad’s house. It feels weird ringing it. I used to be able to just walk right in. It was a second home to me for as long as I could remember.

And then Sandra and dad married. Locks and key codes changed. Harsh words were spewed, and warm welcomes became awkward exchanges. It never felt right walking in after that.

“She’s here!” I hear my dad yell behind the door before it bursts open. He’s excited to see me. With a warm glass of buttered rum in his hand and Christmas music playing over the intercom system, it’s full-swing Christmas-mode at Sut’s house.

“Hey…dad.” I try to make myself smile, but my face is paralyzed into a permanent scowl. I fought tooth and nail not to come over for Christmas, but given the fact that I was only seventeen and my parents had a custody schedule, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was only a day. Less than that. It was only a dinner and a few hours. Then I could go back to hating my dad, hating Sut and Sandra, and resenting the rest of the world.

“Come on in,” my dad says, grabbing my arm and leading me across the marble foyer and between two spiral staircases.

The scent of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie wafts through the kitchen, and just as I suspected, a team of white-coated personal chefs are whipping up a feast all for us. Sandra never could be bothered to cook.

“Sut’s playing video games in the family room,” my dad says, nodding his head in that direction. “You should go say hi to your stepbrother.”

I want to puke at the notion that Sut is my stepbrother. He doesn’t deserve the title, and it confuses the hell out of my teenage hormones, especially since we fucked all summer before all hell broke loose.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Sandra purrs with a smile on her face. Nothing about her has changed. I searched for a hint of remorse on her face but came up empty handed. To the rest of the world she comes across as lighthearted, giddy, and carefree. Ever since learning of the affair, I only know her as entitled, spoiled, and ruthless. “Go say hello to your brother. We’ll call you both when it’s time for dinner.”

Her words are a command rather than a suggestion, and they leave me feeling as though I’m not welcomed to hang out with them in the kitchen. She spins around to instruct the chef’s staff as to how to set the dining table, and my father shuffles back to the mini bar to refill his drink.

Fuck my life.

I take baby steps toward the family room, trying to prolong seeing Sutton as if every second matters. When I arrive, I linger in the arched doorway, folding my arms and leaning against the wall behind him so he can’t see me.

“Gonna say anything?” he says, his eyes transfixed on the T.V. screen where he shoots at zombies like his life depends on it. “Or you just gonna stand there burning holes in the back of my head?”

I step in, taking a seat on the sofa furthest away from him. I cross my legs and my arms, taking a guarded stance. Rolling my eyes and exhaling loudly, I want him to be well aware that I’m not there by choice.

Nothing fills the space between us besides the clicking of his controller keys and the faint sound wafting from the surround sound. Bullets. Shooting. Thuds. Boy stuff. I think about my mom and how she must feel being alone on Christmas day while her only child hangs out with her asshole ex and the woman who stole him from her. We had breakfast together that morning, and my mother put on a good face, but she’s also an award-winning actress. She could’ve been in character for all I knew.

“You’re stewing,” Sut says, monotone. “Don’t you ever get tired of stewing about things you can’t change?”

“I beg your pardon?” It isn’t the way a normal seventeen year old speaks, but it feels appropriate for that moment. If we were in an old movie, I’d be splashing my drink in his face with my jaw hanging on the floor and adding a, “Well, I never!”

Sutton pauses his game and turns to look at me for the first time since I’ve arrived. I freeze under his stare, trying to read his expression. And then my eyes well up. I’m fifty thousand forms of emotion, and I haven’t the slightest clue as to how to deal with any of it.

“Stop caring so much,” he says. “People do shitty things. That’s life. You just have to move on.”

“Don’t you have at least a little bit of compassion?” I sneer at him. “Do you have any idea how horrible this has been on my mother? On me?”

My words grow silent as I think about reminding him that not only did I lose a father but I lost my best friend. I’m not about to give him the privilege of knowing I miss him though. Not now, not as angry as I still am about everything.

“Look, it bothers me too. I just keep it inside where no one can see it.” He resumes his game and takes his eyes off me, forcing me to realize I’d been holding my breath in response to his stare. Just months earlier, we’d spent the summer making out, screwing like rabbits, breaking into his mother’s liquor cabinet, and not giving a fuck about anything. We were a couple of privileged kids living the good life and navigating the waters of a budding, young love. I never imagined a life without Sutton in it, and now all I wanted was a life without him in it.

“Must be nice,” I huff. “Must be nice never worrying about how other people feel.”

He says nothing, which only infuriates me even more. I take in a long, hard Christmas-scented breath and clutch my bag before fishing for my keys. He whips his head around to face me just in time to see me storm out of the family room.

I stomp down the hallway, past the bullshit dinner Sandra is having made and past the silver and gold place settings and twelve foot Christmas tree. Fresh mistletoe hangs from the doorway leading into the foyer, and I reach up and smack it until it drops to the floor.

“Lauryn,” my dad calls with an extra stern boom in his voice.

But it’s too late. I burst out the front door and run down the circle drive to my car, starting it up as if I’m being chased my some sort of monster, as if I’m trying to escape a nightmare.

As far as I’m concerned, my life has become a living nightmare. How all those people could go on and pretend like nothing happened, like lives hadn’t been destroyed, how they could sit there and celebrate Christmas like we were some happy family, was nothing short of enraging.

I peel out of the driveway, catching a glimpse of my father standing in the front steps of the mansion, scratching his head.

Fucking assholes. All of you.

The second I get back to the house, I find my mother in a pool of vomit and blood in her bathtub, her wrists slit wide open. There are screams. Wild, animal-like shrieks. By the time I realize they’re coming from me, I’m already on the phone with 9-1-1.

She has a pulse, thank God.

The EMTs tell me I’d gotten there just in time.

As I ride in the back of the ambulance toward Cedars-Sinai, I vow never to leave her side ever again, at least in the emotional sense. My dad left her, but I wouldn’t do that to her. Custody-agreement or not, I was never going to have anything to do with my father ever again. Or Sandra. Or Sutton.

They are dead to me.

Present

I leave Sutton’s apartment feeling oddly renewed, but how or why? I don’t know. I walk home, buzzing in the figurative and literal sense, and stop short when I reach my apartment door.

I don’t want to go inside.

Brushing off my gut feeling, I turn the handle, chiding myself for forgetting to lock it on my way out the first time. I guess when you don’t remember leaving the apartment, it’s only natural that you probably forgot to lock it on your way out.

“Hey, babe.” My eyes snap to the sofa, where James is laying sprawled out with a remote in one hand and ESPN blasting on the T.V. He has a key. Maybe I did lock the door on my way out. At least it’s not a crazy murderer making himself at home in my living room.

My eyes burn red like two hot, black coals. The nerve he has, just sitting there like everything is fine, like he didn’t just get done fucking Colette all week.

“I didn’t know you were coming to town this weekend?” I’m determined to beat him at his own game.

“Thought I’d surprise you.” He hops up, plasters a smile on his face, and walks over to me, kissing my forehead. I shudder in response to his touch.

“You’re doing that a lot lately. Surprising me.” I don’t smile. I don’t pretend like everything’s fine because I can’t. I wear my thoughts on my face like I always have.

“You like it, right?” he laughs, brushing past me and heading to the kitchen to grab a beer. I hear the
ch-tiss
of the bottle cap and stand frozen, watching him take a swallow. His body is relaxed, his shoulders slightly hunched.

“So you just flew in on a Saturday? Even though you have to work Monday? In New York?”

James shakes his head, scrunching his brows. “I have Monday off.”

“For no reason?” I’m trying to catch him in a lie. All I can think about is his email from Colette, about the new place. I bet they’re moving in on Monday.

“What’s with all the questions?” he asks, working over to the sofa and plopping down. He flips the channels. “I feel like I should be admitting to a crime or something? Can’t I mix things up a little bit, babe? We’ve been stuck in a routine lately. Trying to make things interesting.”

“By not communicating with me and coming and going as you please?”

He turns away from the T.V., confusion written all over his smug face. “Is that a problem for you?”

He’s trying to turn it all around, to make me feel like I’m crazy. I’ve read before that that’s what manipulative people do, but I just never thought James would be one of those people.

“Maybe I had something planned? Something special? You know what tomorrow is, right?” he asks. The corner of his mouth lifts. Tomorrow is our anniversary.

Shit. I’d completely forgotten.

“I was going to ask you to marry me, Lauryn, but now? With all the questions? And you know, the last few times I’ve come over, you don’t act like you’re happy to see me. Your mind is somewhere else. Ever since you started working that that, that fucking doctor, what’s his name? Pierce?”

“Sutton Pierce.” I say his name like I’m sticking up for him. I suppose I am. I’m suddenly protective of Sut.

“Yeah, Sutton Pierce.” He’s a terrible actor, pretending like he didn’t remember his name. “You, uh, sneaking around on me, Laur?”

A full-bodied, heavy laugh builds in my belly and escapes through my lips. “No, James. I’m not a cheater. You know how I am about that.”

His face is obviously unsettled. He squints, and I don’t think he knows he’s doing it.

“My dad cheated on my mom,” I said. “Remember? Remember all those stories I told you?”

He nods. “Of course I do, babe.”

“Cheating is unforgiveable,” I say. My eyes fall to the Rolex adorning his left wrist. It’s covered in diamonds and cost a pretty penny. I think about the furniture in his Manhattan apartment, and how I came out to help him decorate one weekend and somehow got conned into buying most of it. “I don’t do second chances. You break my trust one, you lose it for life.”

James is silent, though I’m certain his little pea brain is working overtime to calculate his next move. I’m not sure why he’s still with me if he’s courting the heir to an oil baron’s fortune.

Unless he’s trying to pilfer as much as he can from both of us and move onto the next victim…

“I can trust you, right, James? You’d never hurt me.” I cock my head to the side, waiting for his reaction. He squirms, and I take great pleasure in watching him bake under my hot stare like a snail on a sidewalk.

“Never, babe.” His voice cracks, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

I walk up to him, lowering my face to his and making him think for a split second I might be preparing to kiss him. Stopping short, I say, “Even if a pretty little, dark-haired beauty queen tried to sweep you off your feet? You’d still love me, right?”

His face flushes. The moment he realizes he has no control plays over his face in real time. “What are you talking about, Lauryn?”

“I’m talking about Colette DuBois.” I stand up slowly, placing my hands on the curve of my hips. “I’m talking about the girl you’ve been fucking behind my back. Need me to be more specific?”

He’s trying to speak, but he stammers. He’s lost his cool and collected demeanor. He’s fumbling over his words like a criminal who’s just been cornered. James eyes the door.

“That’s right,” I say, nodding to the door behind me. “Get out while you can. Get out before I call HR and tell them you’ve been charging your romantic dinners, weekend getaways, and luxury hotel rooms to your company credit card. I found the receipts in your email, James.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” He’s too sure of himself, and that only makes me want to turn his world upside down even more.

“Why would I do you any favors? You were about to ask me to marry you while you were fucking Miss USA behind my back. And did I read that one email right? Are you buying a house with her?”

“You’re crazy, Lauryn.” He rolls his eyes, heading to the door.

“Right.
I’m
the crazy one.” I laugh an admittedly maniacal laugh, but it makes me feel lighter. Or maybe it’s the fact that James is leaving. That makes me feel lighter. “I’d be more than happy to show you crazy, James. I really hope you weren’t counting on your fourth quarter bonus, because as soon as HR finds out about your con-artist ways, you’ll be losing that too.”

James says nothing, which is almost disappointing because I want to keep going. I want to take everything out on him, call him every name I can think of, and make him feel tiny and worthless and undesirable. Instead he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

It’s all dissatisfying and anticlimactic. I wanted a brawl. I wanted to spit my words into his face and slam my fist against his chest.

I back away from the door, my breath slowing back to a normal pace.

And then I smile.

I smile because I’m free.

I smile because I never even knew I was a prisoner in the first place.

Thank you, Colette. Thank you universe. You just saved me from the mistake of a lifetime.