“What would you do differently?” I ask him, knowing he’ll bite. He loves giving me his thoughts, and I love seeing him so excited. I sit on the barstool and drink from my glass of wine. Pop-Tarts and wine. Quite the combination. But it feels good. Familiar. Homey.
“Well, I wouldn’t do a shit job like he fucking did, that's for sure,” Parker grins at me, and I laugh, shaking my head.
He takes the Pop-Tarts out of the microwave and sits down next to me, digging in. We haven’t gotten round to cooking actual food yet, and we’re trying to sate ourselves while we wait for another batch of takeout—Indian this time around. We chitchat about the office, and I’m surprised by how fast Parker’s managed to blend in. But then again, I really shouldn’t be as he’s always been a people person. So unlike me… so unlike his twin.
My chest is hit with a hard pang as I think of my Kade. No matter what I do, it still fucking hurts because he hasn’t called or contacted me. He’s just pretending I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing to him. Like Parker isn’t his blood. I look up, fighting back tears, and my gaze connects with Parker’s. He’s staring at me hard.
“What?” I ask worriedly. He keeps looking at me, but the corners of his mouth curl up. “What is it?”
“Do you mind…?”
“Do I mind what?” I ask after a long pause on his end, but he looks away as though he’s embarrassed. I’m suddenly intrigued. “Tell me,” I beg.
“I want to paint you,” he finally says, looking more animated than I’ve seen him in… well, years.
“Draw me like one of your French girls?” I joke around, but as soon as I see he’s serious, my smile falters. “Oh,” I murmur.
“Do you mind?” he repeats, and I can hear from his tone he’s eager for me to say no, I don’t mind at all, let’s do it right now. But for some reason, I’m hesitating. It’s such an intimate thing to do, and it’s wrong somehow. But why?
Because I’m betraying Kade.
Stop it, brain, I order silently, and I look up at my stepbrother, faking enthusiasm.
“Sure,” I say even though my heart is pounding in my chest, heavy with the weight of deceit. “Let’s do it. Come on.”
And I pretend it’s worth it even though not even Parker’s happiness can make up for the emptiness in my heart.
“How much longer?” I groan tiredly, and Parker shushes me in response. I sigh inwardly and cringe as I reposition my arm, the tingling in it becoming harder and harder to bear. When I agreed to let him paint me, I thought it would only be hard because I felt uncomfortable doing it. But it’s freaking annoying as well, and every part of me is starting to hurt as I sit on the couch in our attic. And that’s another thing—it’s so creepy in here. The light is coming in through the sun window, but it’s dusty and old, and everything’s falling apart. The weight of memories in this place is weighing heavily on me, too.
My stomach rumbles, and I steal a glance at the forgotten takeout on the floor. Parker didn’t let me have any before he finished. I’ve never seen him this concentrated. But there’s a certain slant of his eyes that makes him look… Like a stranger. Like I don’t know him at all.
I shake my head to get the thought out.
“Would you stop moving?” he grunts, his strokes fast and angry on the canvas.
I mouth an apology and sit there for another hour until he finally puts down his palette and paintbrush.
“You’re done?” I ask excitedly. I get up from the couch in a rush, my robe spilling open in front of me. Embarrassed, I pull it back together, but when I look up, Parker’s looking at me like I’m… prey. There’s that look again. Madness. I rush toward the easel, but he steps in front of it protectively.
“It needs to dry,” his stern voice explains.
“So?” I squirm, trying to look over his shoulder, but he won’t let me. “Let me see,” I beg.
“No.”
His answer is final, and I just look at him in confusion as he puts away his things, always blocking me from seeing the painting. This is so freaking weird. I look into his eyes, and that strange gaze he had when he painted me is gone. He’s just Parker again—my sweet, overprotective brother.
“Let’s eat!” he exclaims, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the stairs that lead down, his other hand holding the bags of our food. I guess it was just a slant of light, I tell myself to calm my worried nerves.
We proceed to get drunk.
I’m not an experienced drinker, and the wine hits my head quickly, so in about an hour, I’m rolling on the floor in the living room, laughing my head off. And Parker’s with me, and though he’s had much more to drink than me, he’s still okay, dying of laughter just like I am.
“And then he said, not on my watch, missy!” I manage to stay before erupting in a fit of giggles while Parker roars with laughter. I never thought we’d be able to do this again. Never thought we’d laugh together, share family stories like we’re doing right now. But as funny as it all is, I can’t help but look for the missing piece. The other twin. My stepbrother, my forbidden love…
Kade.
I pout, and I look at Parker with sadness. He stares back into my eyes, but his gaze quickly falls to my lips. I’m trembling.
But before I can say how I feel, Parker’s lips crush against mine, his body pinning mine to the floor. He’s on top of me, and he’s kissing me hard, the stiffness between his legs demanding more, right now. I lay there in shock, my mouth partially open, my eyes boring into his. But he doesn’t even notice. He’s too caught up in the moment, groaning against my lips as he steals more kisses from my lips.
I lie on the floor. Parker’s lips are hot, his tongue exploring my mouth.
And I feel …
Nothing.
It’s just as crazy. Just as forbidden. Just as wrong.
They’re both my brothers. But I only love one of them.
I let Parker kiss me until he’s had enough, and he rolls on his back next to me, his hand finding mine. I let him murmur sweet nothings into my ear, and I nod and smile in all the right places. But on the inside, I’m more broken than ever before. I may have let Parker kiss me… I may have let him touch me… But there wasn’t one second, one moment while we kissed, that I didn’t wish those hands he touched me with were his brother’s.
I’m rushing to work the next day. My driver stopped a few blocks away because the traffic was insane, and at this exact moment, I’m cursing every driver in the city as I stumble toward the building in my too-high heels. Damn appearances and having to look perfect every damn second of the day.
“June.”
One word. One name. It stops me in my tracks, and I turn around, wobbling on my shaky feet. He comes out of a side alley, his hands deep in the pockets of that navy peacoat he always wears. His head is down, his eyes hooded with tiredness, sadness, and God knows what else. But I see right past all of that. I see my Kade.
The man who loved me like a sister, and like a woman as well. The man who made love to me. The man who fucked me over. I whimper and cover it up with a cough because he’s everything, and I am nothing, and I can’t form coherent sentences in his presence.
“Can we talk?” Kade asks in a husky voice. And even though all my senses yell at me to say no, even though I know it’s a bad idea, I find myself nodding.
We settle in a booth at a coffee place not far away from my workplace, and we order some drinks. I'm missing work, but I find it hard to care about anything except the man sitting at the table with me. I order a chai latte because I can’t picture eating anything in his presence. Even opening my mouth to order the drink seems to be giving me trouble. Kade is silent as he drinks his tea, and my glass just sits steaming in front of me. All I can do is stare at him in wonder. I don’t know why he even wants to talk—he hasn’t said a word since we got here.
“So?” I ask impatiently, my words sounding harsher than I mean them to. He flinches, and it hurts. It hurts so bad, yet I can’t make it better. Only he ca
n do that.
He finally looks at me. “I came to give you something.”
“Yes?” I ask, holding my breath, my hands crossed in my lap. He pulls his own hands out of his pockets and I fully expect him to reach over for me. But instead, he pulls out a thick envelope and places it on the table in front of me.
I look down, feeling confused. “What’s that?” I wonder.
“It’s for you.” He motions for me to take it. I do as he suggests and peek inside the brown paper. There’s money in there. Quite a bit of it.
“What is this?” I ask, feeling confused. Kade refuses to meet my eye again.
“I know you’re taking care of Parker,” he says roughly. “That’s… that’s all I have.” He must feel my uncertainty because he clears up what he meant with his next words. “Money for him,” he says. “To take care of my brother.”
I look at Kade, and for the first time that day, I realize he looks like shit. His eyes are tired, and there’s the faint mark of a bruise on one, the remains of a lip split broken still swelling his mouth.
“You don’t think he can take care of himself?” I ask calmly even though all I feel is anger.
“Come on, June.” Kade shrugs, the corners of his lips curling upward. “It’s Parker. Sure, he paints, but… he’s never going to make a living doing that, is he? And someone needs to pay for his shit. I don’t want it to be you.”
That makes me fucking angry even though I have no right to be. It drives me insane he’s giving me money when he knows I have more than enough—at his and Parker’s expense, no less.
It drives me crazier that he sought me out for this. Not for saying sorry. Not to try to win me back. To give me this blood money and pretend we’re done now, he’s done his job. Because that’s what Kade does. He clears his conscience, and then he’s gone. Fuck family. Fuck the fact we made love, and I know he felt something, just like I did. Fuck his words telling me he loved me. Fuck it all. I get up abruptly, the bills scattering on the floor.
“Thanks, but no thanks, Kade,” I say coldly, and I look him right in his broken eyes. And there I see the hope, the unasked question, him begging me to forgive him, to make it all better. But I’ve been making it better all my life, and I’ve had enough.
Goodbye, innocent Junebug.
Hello, June fucking Wildfox.
“See you,” I say viciously, turning around to leave. But I change my mind, turn around and place my hands on the table, looking him dead in the eyes. “Just so you know?” I say innocently. “Parker’s not so much like you after all.”
My eyes sweep his body.
“He’s a better fuck than you ever will be,” I lie. Seal his fate. And I don’t wait around to see him break, because I’m broken enough for the both of us. I leave with my head held high, and my heart in tatters at my feet.
I spend all day at work, and by the time it gets dark outside, I wonder how I even managed to do that. I’m shaking on the ride home, and when I get in the house, I can barely stand. I crumple on the barstool in the kitchen, and I think of Parker. He had fun at work for a few weeks, but the excuses are already starting to roll off his tongue. He’s tired, hungover, inspired to paint all of a sudden—anything to get him out of doing this. And it fucking hurts to know there’s some truth in Kade’s words. Maybe Parker really can’t take care of himself.
For some reason or another, Parker doesn’t come to look for me, and I feel more alone than ever. But then I have a fleeting thought. I could go to the attic right now. I could look at his painting. And somehow, that simple thought makes me feel better. Like seeing what Parker sees me as might negate the fact that I’m a coldhearted bitch. So I do exactly that.
I tiptoe to the attic, knowing exactly where to step from years of spending time in here with my stepbrothers. The stairs don’t creak, and I make my way up, carefully opening the latch door when I get to it. It lets off a tiny sound, and I cringe, waiting for Parker to come storming from his room. But nothing happens. I smile a little and finally climb up until I’m in the room.
The ceiling is slanted, and it’s so different than the day he painted me in here. It’s dark, and gloomy, and kind of scary. It gives me the chills, but I’m not about to back out now. My eyes find Parker’s painting covered with a white sheet, and I make my way over to it. I only hesitate for a moment, knowing he would not want me looking at it. But then I tear the sheet off. And I stare.
There I am, painted in beautiful watercolor, my hair dark as the night, an inky black, my blue eyes glowing like sapphires. But my mouth is twisted strangely, and so are my hands. And I’m not lying on the couch, I’m on my knees. And I’m on a leash. I stare at the painting in horror.
Parker’s painted me with an expression of such profound sorrow and hurt, it pains me to just look at it. My robe is split down the middle, but instead of revealing my breasts, all there is a gaping, bloody hole exposing my chest. A leash leads from my neck to an arm tugging me along, and I know it’s his arm.
Parker thinks of himself as a deranged puppet master. And I’m the toy with strings that he’s controlling now.
Coming up here was a mistake.
I rush down the stairs so fast I nearly trip over my own feet. My heart is pounding, my thoughts scattered. And for the first time in years, I remember the night-light I always had to have on at night so the nightmares wouldn’t come.
I think I’ll leave it on tonight, too… And lock my bedroom door. Twice.
21
Parker
2 years ago
I led my parents, June, and Kade into the family room. My gift for my father and stepmother had been hung above the fireplace while we were having dinner, an arrangement I'd made with the housekeeper. Now it hung on the wall, majestic, huge, and impressive. Even I was stunned by what I'd created.
"There it is," I announced proudly, eyes glittering with mischief as I turned to face them. "I painted a family portrait of the five of us as a gift for your anniversary. I hope you like it."
I watched all their expressions. Rachel, delighted and elated. Kade, a little amused, but impressed by what I'd done. June, in awe. And my father, who stared right back, gritting his teeth together. But there was nothing he could do to change what I'd done. The proof was right fucking there, on the canvas.
Our parents stood in the background, proudly looking down at the three of us. Beneath Dad, there was Kade, sitting down, grinning in that dark way of his. And beneath Rachel, I sat with a smirk, my eyes turned to June, who was positioned on my lap, sitting down on it like she used to.
"What do you think?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat when I realized almost a minute had passed, and none of them had said a word yet. "I really hope you like it. It took me ages."
"It's amazing!" Rachel enveloped me in a hug. "Absolutely beautiful. Perfection!"
"Great work, man. "My twin clapped me on the back, and June nodded and joined in with her praise, embracing me as well. The only person left was Dad, and I could tell by his expression alone that he was pissed off with me. Perfect—it was exactly what I'd wanted.
"Parker," he barked. "My office. Let's go."
The rest of them watched with wide eyes as he marched me up the stairs and into his office on the first floor. Dad locked the door behind us, and I sat in front of his desk, comfortably stretching my body while he paced the room, his expression one of pure rage.
"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, painting June like that," he told me in furious tones. "Sitting on your knee... She's nineteen, for chrissakes. Much too old to be sitting there. You're putting ideas in her head. You're going to make her think you like her."
"Maybe I do like her." I smiled. "Maybe I like her a whole lot."
"Are you serious?" He stood in front of me, his breaths heavy as we faced off. "We spent years going over this, Parker. I thought I got that idea out of your head once and for all."
"You mean, you thought you beat that idea out of me?" I repeated innocently, correcting
him. "Because that's what you did, isn't it, Dad? You beat me until you thought I was fucking cured. Well, news-fucking-flash. You can't cure an obsession. You can only make it worse."
"You're a monster," he told me plainly, and I laughed in his face.
"Took you long enough," I snarled. "You should've known all those years ago there's no changing the bad seed. I've always been the bad apple, the black sheep of this family, haven't I? Kade is the prodigal son—you accept him with open arms no matter how badly he fucks up. But not me. You've always pushed me away."
"Haven't you ever asked yourself why?" He rubbed his temples, his breath coming in even heavier. "I'm scared of you, Parker. We're all scared of you. Of what you've become."
I picked myself up from the chair, advancing on the man until his back was pressed firmly against the wall as I snarled in his face, "I am what you fucking made me, Dad."
"Don't blame this on me." He leaned back, coughing. "Don't blame any of this on me."
"What then?" I laughed. "The fact that I didn't have a mother? That Kade always got the attention? That I want to fuck June's brains out? Blame whoever and whatever you want, Dad. It's not going to change the facts."
"What facts?"
"That I'm finally stronger than you." I peeled back the sleeve of his shirt, smirking when I saw the bruises. "See? Stronger. Better. Meaner."
He started coughing again, trying to catch his breath, and I groaned. I left him doubled over by the wall, pulling open a drawer in his desk.
"Which drawer?"
"Third," he wheezed.
I pulled out his medicine. Dad was a heavy man, and he'd been on several medications for the past few years. I looked down at what was in my hands. An asthma inhaler, and two bottles of pills. One combination of the pills would relieve his pain. The other would kill him.
Tyrant Twins: A Dark Twin Romance Page 15
