OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance

by Wilde, Ora

  I know him.

  It was Billy Bob, our next-door neighbor, the father of the young man who witnessed the vandalism at our house!

  Shit!

  Linda, the old lady, paused to chat with him, holding the pregnancy kit with one hand and the paper bag with the other.

  Then Billy Bob saw me, and he instantly recognized who I was.

  “Hey!” he greeted me. “Aren’t you Jimmy’s kid?”

  “Uhm... uhm...” I wasn’t able to reply immediately.

  Damn it!, Andrea! Just open your mouth and say something!

  “Yes, yes, I am,” I finally uttered.

  “I knew it!” he screamed. Though Billy Bob just lived next door, I didn’t see him that much. Whenever I was home, I rarely went out to socialize with the residents in our street. “What’re you doing this far from Sunbeam?”

  “What am I doing?” I repeated his words, stupefied by his question.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Martha Jacobson operates a convenience store just down our street. Why’d you have to go this far?”

  I wasn’t able to answer as I felt my sweat trickle down from the base of my ear to my collarbone.

  “Oh Billy,” Linda interrupted, “the kid’s a regular here. She gets her tank filled up at the station outside.” I looked at her and I saw that she has already placed the pregnancy test inside the paper bag.

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  “The gas station?” Billy Bob asked. “You mean for a car? You got a car, princess?”

  “Y-Yes,” I nervously answered as anxiety threatened to consume me once again.

  “I never noticed a car parked outside your house,” he continued, scratching his head.

  “Oh, it’s just there,” I answered as nonchalantly as I could. “It’s a beat-down Ford Focus. No one would give it a second look. I guess that’s why you never noticed.

  “I guess,” he remarked. “Either that, or...”

  Or?

  “Or your dad’s right,” he continued. “I am getting old.”

  I giggled at his answer.

  I grabbed the paper bag and mouthed my thanks to Linda. She gave me a wink and a warm beam. That was enough to tell me that my secret was safe with her.

  As soon as I went out the door, however, I saw two guys who looked like they were in their early twenties. Both were wearing really baggy pairs of pants and high-cut sneakers. One of them, who was white, was dressed in a checkered long-sleeved shirt over a plain white top, as well as a baseball cap which he wore backwards. The other, who looked like he was of Latin descent, was garbed in a black tank top which allowed him to display his muscles - bulging though in a freakishly scary way. He had a bandana tied over his shaven head.

  It took me a second or two before I realized that how they looked matched Billy Junior’s description of the people who violated our home.

  I started to panic. I entertained the thought of going back inside the store. Billy Bob was there and so was Linda. Surely they would protect me... or at the very least, there would be strength in numbers.

  Call it a misguided sense of priorities, but somehow, I was more afraid about Billy Bob discovering what I bought than the two strangers outside who were smoking while they were intently eyeing my every move.

  I clutched the paper bag near my chest, gripping my purse really tight as I started to walk briskly towards my car.

  I tried to convince myself that they wouldn’t dare rob me... that they wouldn’t dare mug me. Not in broad daylight. Not with people around us. Not with the volume of vehicles passing by Mosquito Road.

  “Yo!” one of them yelled towards my direction. It was the bandana guy.

  Shit!

  I could’ve walked straight to my car, but I was afraid that such an act would infuriate them. So I stopped and turned my head to face the two men.

  “Aren’t you Nash’s crab?” he asked with a smirk.

  Crab? What does that even mean?

  “I’m his sister,” I answered carelessly, regretting later on why I had to identify myself to those untrustworthy goons.

  “Oooohhhh,” the white guy interjected. “She be bangin’, bro! She be bangin’!”

  “Yeah,” the Latino seemingly agreed. “Not a dime, but I love to get some of that smokin’ onion.”

  I didn’t understand what they were talking about.

  “Excuse me,” I told them. “I have to go.”

  I turned around and continued to walk hurriedly towards my vehicle. I kept reminding myself not to stop, not to look back... no matter what they say... no matter what they do. I had to get out of there fast.

  “If you be whippin’ our boy Nash,” the bandana guy said, loud enough for me to hear despite the distance I have made between us, “deliver a message for him, ‘ya hear?”

  I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I walked straight to the car.

  “Hey crab bitch!” he called out, but even that didn’t make me pause. “Tell your B... five is high, six must die! ‘Ya hear that, crab bitch?”

  I reached my vehicle and slammed the door. I turned the key and the engine roared. I drove out as fast as I could, the car screeching as I immediately steered towards the main road. All the while, I could hear the white guy laughing so hard with a tone that seemed to mock me.

  A minute later, I felt so relieved that it was over.

  But something bugged me... so much so that a sense of terror invaded my soul.

  Five is high, six must die...

  I didn’t know what it meant... but the words used were horrifying enough that I immediately knew Nash was in trouble.

  Big, big trouble.

  10

  As The World Turns…

  I spent majority of that evening sitting on the side of my bed, fronting the window. I was waiting for him.

  It’s been almost four hours since I sent him a text, the first words I delivered to him since the night we had sex. He never even bothered to meet me since then. He didn’t care. Perhaps, I was just a conquest for him, or a lousy fuck that disappointed him to the point that he chose to stay away rather than be compelled to make love to me again.

  Whatever his reason was, it didn’t matter. Not for that night, at least, when something graver and more pressing needed our attention.

  It was one in the morning and he still wasn’t there, outside my window, balancing himself on the sill, just like before.

  Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A text message was received.

  I hurriedly opened it, only to see that it was another SMS from Finn.

  Andrea, it’s been three weeks and you haven’t replied to

  my texts or emails or PMs or DMs. You avoid me in school.

  You don’t attend cheerleading practice anymore. We need

  to talk. Please give me the chance to explain myself. This

  is all one big misunderstanding. I assure you, it’s not even as

  bad as what you think it is. I love you. Only you. Please call

  me.

  He has always sent me messages since that Saturday when I caught him with Jaynie, the head cheerleader, in his room with her garbed in nothing but a very skimpy towel. She also saw us, of course, me and Finn, with his dick buried deep in my mouth and with him being an unwilling participant. It was a painful ordeal. It was also very humiliating.

  But all of those took a backseat to what happened the night immediately following that incident.

  I made love to Nash. And he most probably got me pregnant. The world I knew has started to change.

  How will I tell my folks? My dad, most especially. He expected big things from me. Every time the opportunity presented itself, he never failed to remind me about how important college was to secure my future. He wanted nothing but the best for me. He has made a lot of sacrifices just to ensure that my path towards a better life would be more convenient.

  The car that he gave me earlier today? It was the very first vehicle that he ever bought. He wanted me to have my own means of transportati
on while he, with aging bones and a weary body, would continue to commute to and from work each and every day. He couldn’t afford a car, yet, he found a way to buy me one.

  Just the thought of his face when he finds out that I’m pregnant was enough to shatter my heart into a million pieces. What more when he discovers that his own stepson knocked me up?

  And school...

  I haven’t returned to cheerleading practice since that day. How could I? Jaynie the Slut headed the sessions. How could I look at her, more so deal with her, when it would only remind me of the pain of Finn’s betrayal.

  I wondered how many people from school knew about what happened. How many of them already know that Finn and I were no longer together? How did they react? Did some of them rejoice as their Campus Hotshot has finally freed himself from the cudgels of the commonest of common mortals?

  And college...

  I passed UCLA. But do I really want to go there, knowing that Finn will be in the same campus under an athletic scholarship? I could wait for the results of my other applications, but UCLA is the only prospect that’s nearest to home. And dad... he always wanted me to go to UCLA. I haven’t told him yet about the letter. He’d be very happy to find out that I was accepted... but that would only complicate matters once I tell him that I don’t want to go to UCLA.

  And what if I was indeed pregnant? The ninth month would fall on December, in the middle of the first semester. That would be very hard for me, not to mention the social repercussions of being a pregnant freshman.

  Thinking about these things always made my head hurt. The pain would subside, and I’d be sad... so sad that I have lost sleep for countless nights since Nash claimed my virginity.

  A tap on the door.

  I looked out and I saw him there with his hood shrouding his face, again. He was like a burglar, waiting to enter a room he thought was abandoned.

  I pulled up the glass panel and he went in.

  “I received your text,” he said with a tone of concern. “What happened?”

  “I encountered some people you know,” I answered.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked as fury began to engulf his face.

  “No, no... they didn’t,” I assured him. “But they were scary, Nash. They were so... aggressive.”

  He formed a fist and punched the open palm of his other hand with so much force that it could’ve fractured a thick wooden plank. He was fuming with anger. He looked around my room, wanting perhaps to find something that he could smash... an outlet for his rage.

  “They asked me to deliver a message for you,” I added, hoping to get his mind off the incident that jeopardized my safety.

  “What message?”

  “Five is high, six must die.”

  “Fuck!” he yelled, not caring whether our folks in the other room heard him or not.

  “What does it mean, Nash?” I asked him worryingly.

  He didn’t answer my question.

  “They’ve gone too far,” he uttered as he paced around my room. He was in deep thought, disturbed and angered by what he heard. “They should’ve left you out of this. You and mom and your dad...”

  “Nash... answer me,” I told him firmly. “What’s going on?”

  He held my arms and forced me to look at him... to look at his face...

  “Andrea,” he started to say, “I want to tell you everything. I really do. But please trust me. At this point... the less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

  “Safe?” I repeated incredulously. “Nash, they waited for me outside a convenience store at Mosquito Road. They knew where I would be. They were following me. Do you call that safe?”

  “It could be so much worse,” he replied. “You don’t know these people.”

  I rested my head on his strong chest and he held me tighter.

  “What should we do?” I asked him in a murmur.

  “I’ll handle it,” he replied with conviction. “I’ll make sure they won’t bother you - any of you - ever again.”

  “I just wish...” I started to say, “I just wish that I know what’s going on so that I don’t have to worry so much.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Andrea,” he answered as he began to stroke my hair. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

  “I’m not worried about me, silly,” I told him. “I’m worried about you.”

  With my ear over his chest, I heard his heart beat faster as soon as I said those words. He didn’t respond, at least not immediately. It was as if he was stunned by what he heard.

  “Don’t... worry about me,” he uttered, finally breaking his silence. “I’ll be alright.”

  “It looks like you’re dealing with really bad people,” I said, hoping that my observation would solicit more information from him.

  “I...” he found it difficult to continue. “I will take care of it.”

  We spent a few minutes in silent embrace, drowning ourselves in the comfort of each other’s company, savoring every second that we shared... seconds which were rare to come by considering how infrequently he visited me.

  “You’ve been gone for three weeks,” I softly stated.

  “I know,” he answered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was beginning to entertain things... bad things...”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you thinking that I was a lousy lay.”

  He chuckled.

  “It was more special than just a lay, Andrea,” he said.

  And that got me thinking. Was it really more than just a simple fuck? That night... I was angry, I was in pain, and I was so confused about my life. Then he snuck in, and one thing led to another. Did I want that to happen? Or was he merely there when I needed the feel of another human the most?

  “Why didn’t you come back sooner?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered sincerely. “Maybe I was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of this.”

  “This?”

  “What we had. What we have right now.”

  “And what is that?” I was fishing for his thoughts.

  Sadly, he retreated to silence once more.

  “I saw blood, Andrea,” he began to say a minute or so later, “your blood. And it scared me. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Expect what?” I was curious to know. “That I was still a virgin?”

  “Yes. And when I made you bleed, I felt like I defiled you in a weird sort of way.”

  I sniggered.

  “You’re being overly melodramatic,” I told him, trying to stifle a laugh.

  “You may find it funny,” he said, “but when you care for someone... when you feel so strongly for someone to the point that you want to worship her because of everything that she’s giving you even if she doesn’t know she has that kind of an effect on you... you’ll start to think of everything about her as sacred.”

  Wow! That was too much for me to process immediately. Did he say that he cared for me? That I had a certain kind of effect on him? That he... that he worshipped me?

  No one has ever felt like that about me before.

  “I have to go,” he continued, imperiling our conversation - the first deep discussion we ever had since I met him - to come to an abrupt end.

  “What?” I startlingly asked. “You just got here. Why do you have to go so soon?”

  “I have to start fixing things,” he calmly - and in a way, coldly - replied.

  He kissed my forehead then he proceeded to the window. He leapt out and grabbed the branch of the oak tree that always served as his balancing support. Then he climbed down using the splinters that have formed on the wall below the sill as makeshift steps.

  Once he was on the ground, he looked back at me... lovingly, longingly, remorsefully...

  I looked at him in the same manner.

  Why did you look at him like that, Andrea?

  Then he ran off, towards the dark alley behind the fence of Mr. Jamison’s garden... his usual route towards God k
nows where.

  I wanted him to stay longer.

  Somehow, his presence gave me a sense of tranquility amidst the maelstrom of fear and uncertainties that has hounded me as of late. I wanted to talk to him... about a lot of stuff... about the secrets he kept... about how he would keep himself safe... about our life together, if ever there was a together to speak of... about our future... about our...