Smirk: A Stepbrother Romance

by Wilde, Ora

  “I’m on it,” I told him. “I told you, I just got delayed by a semester.”

  “No. You’re delayed by a year and a half. At least!”

  How did he know that?

  Oh, right... Emmy. He probably asked her to check up on my records.

  “Big deal,” I nonchalantly replied. “I learn more things outside my classes, anyway.”

  “Like what? Getting into fisticuffs and getting your ass handed down to you?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t in a fight,” I refuted his statement with a lie, my tone filled with exasperation.

  “Regardless,” he said. “This summer, you will be working. I have arranged everything. You will intern as a marketing associate for Benson Hodges.”

  “A marketing associate? Like a fucking salesman? And with Hodges? That guy’s heartless! Do you know how many of his employees want to poison him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He owes me, and I have asked him to do this for me as a way of paying me back.”

  I was seething with rage at that moment. He was trying to control my life... again... just like how he did when my mother died... when he sent me to a boarding school in Massachusetts... when he arranged those sessions with the shrink... when he bribed my way to UCLA....

  “Didn’t you even consider asking me about my plans for this summer?”

  “What good will that do? You’ll just come up with a reason that is as meaningless as your course.”

  His blasé demeanor was fanning my anger.

  “You can’t force me into doing something that I don’t want to do. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Then prove it.”

  “Fuck this!” I yelled as I turned my back on him. I proceeded towards the door... away from his room... away from his sight... away from him...

  “By the way,” he said with the same level of calmness that irritated me the entirety of our conversation. “The LAPD gave me a call. They have a lead on your missing Hummer.”

  What?!

  Shit! He reported it as missing? I hated myself for failing to anticipate that.

  Donnie.

  I had to find Donnie before the police could reach him.

  I slammed the door as soon as I got out. I pressed the elevator button, but both compartments were still on the ground floor. I darted towards the emergency staircase, running down the flights, and dialing his goddamn number while I was doing so.

  He wasn’t answering.

  As soon as I got out of the building, I rode my Ducati and started my way towards school. I knew where he was... where he would be... I could warn him personally.

  I violated like a thousand traffic laws on the way to the campus. I didn’t care. I had to get there fast. I had to warn him.

  I parked right outside the Arts and Science building. As I ran past the cafeteria, I saw Phoebe. She was smiling at me, as if she wanted to tell me something.

  “Oh... the Hayden Summermith is in a hurry,” she said. “I’m sure it’s not for class. What’s the matter? Cops on your tail?”

  “Phoebe... not now... please,” I begged her as I tried to catch my breath.

  But she wouldn’t move out of my way. She reached for something in her bag. An envelope.

  “You’ve got mail,” she told me. “Came this morning.”

  “From who?”

  “The clinic of Dr. Linda S. Scott.”

  Bullshit!

  I grabbed the letter from his hand and tore it up. I crumpled the pieces and threw it on the trashcan beside us.

  “What did you do that for?” she asked, flabbergasted.

  “Phoebe... I told you... not now, please...”

  I gently pushed her aside and started to run, as fast as I could, towards the Proprietor’s Office, towards the table that served as our hangout. It was 10:18 in the morning. He didn’t have class. He should be there.

  As soon as I reached our spot, however, I immediately saw a couple of blues surrounding a guy who was sitting down on our table. His hands were covering his face, as if he was in shame. A group of students were gathering around them.

  “Donnie!” I called out, and he immediately looked at me.

  “Hayden... I’m so sorry...”

  “Sorry for what?” I asked, as the police officers looked towards my direction.

  “I... I had to tell them everything...” he answered.

  Chapter 36

  PHOEBE

  “Do you have an appointment?” the lady at the reception desk courteously asked.

  “Uhm... not really, no,” I replied. “I’m not really here for a session. I just wanted to ask Dr. Scott some questions about a patient of hers.”

  Her eyebrows rose as if she heard something suspicious. Then, she checked her notes for a few seconds before turning to face me once again.

  “Your name please?”

  “Phoebe. Phoebe Ellison.”

  “And you’re here to ask about?”

  “Hayden Summersmith.”

  Her expression suddenly changed from skeptical to alarmed. She wriggled on her chair a bit before clearing her throat.

  “If... If you can just take a seat over there, Ms. Ellison?” she offered. “I’ll go consult with Dr. Scott to see if... if she would be amenable to discuss such a matter.”

  I nodded.

  She proceeded inside, past the glass divider with smoked etchings. I sat on the couch in front of her desk. It took her around five minutes or so before she went back out.

  “Ms. Ellison, Dr. Scott would like to see you now,” she informed me.

  I thanked her as she led me to a room just a few feet away from the glass wall. I was expecting to see the doctor waiting behind her desk with her files ready. What greeted me was the sight of a middle-aged woman, garbed in a white business attire, standing by the door. She was eager to see me.

  “Ms. Ellison,” she called my name. “I’m deeply anxious about the purpose of your visit. Has something happened to Hayden?”

  “Oh no... none at all. He’s perfectly... healthy.”

  The relief she expressed was almost tangible.

  “Come, come... make yourself comfortable, please,” she said.

  I went in and saw another couch hugging the wall perpendicular to the door. I sat down. The cushion was very comfy. It was probably the sofa where patients were asked to rest... to relax themselves before the doctor would start her probing questions.

  She sat beside me.

  “How is Hayden?” she asked with sincere concern.

  “He’s alright, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry, I failed to ask. How are you related to him? Are you his girlfriend?”

  Eek.

  “No, no... I’m actually his... sister,” I corrected her.

  “Sister?” she asked perplexed. “I don’t remember him having a sibling...”

  “I’m a very new sibling,” I quipped with a grin.

  “Ah. Mr. William got married recently, I suppose?”

  “Yes, just this past weekend, actually.”

  “That’s nice to hear. But... I’m sorry if I have to be frank here, Ms. Ellison. I am really curious about why you visited me today.”

  I took a deep breath to compose myself. I knew that there was a big possibility that she wouldn’t answer my questions. But I had to take that risk. I had to know. He killed my mother... his words kept haunting me. They made me worry about my mom. I was hoping that Dr. Scott would at least provide me with some clues as to what really happened.

  “Hayden... he received a letter from your clinic,” I began to say. “But when I gave it to him, he just tore it up and threw the pieces away. I was just wondering why he did that.”

  “Maybe he just hates shrinks,” Dr. Scott answered with a smile, hoping that I’d find humor in her words.

  “Maybe... but the way he reacted when he saw the letter... he got so... so... so mad... as if a great wrong was done to him.”

  She stood up and paced around her room. She took calculated steps and wal
ked at a methodical pace. She was thinking. She was weighing things. Perhaps, she was contemplating on what she can and cannot divulge about her patient.

  “I am bound by a fiduciary relationship with my clients,” she confirmed. “It is against my oath to reveal any details about the things that my clients share in confidence.”

  “I know, Ma’am,” I said pleadingly. “But please... I really have to know. Hayden... he told me that his father killed his mother.”

  Her look changed from pensiveness to puzzled shock.

  “Killed his mother?” she said in disbelief. “No, no, no... Bill didn’t commit such an atrocity.”

  “Then, what happened?” I begged for an answer. “Why would Hayden say that? Please, Ma’am... I really need to know. I fear for my mother.”

  She sat beside me once again.

  “You don’t have to worry about your mother, Ms. Ellison,” she assured me. “Bill... he’s a good man. A very, very good man. One of the kindest people I’ve ever known. He... he did something... something that I don’t think anyone else is capable of doing... that made me respect him so much.”

  “Then, why does Hayden hate him a lot? To the point that he’d accuse him of killing his mother?”

  Dr. Scott looked away for a few seconds, immersed in her thoughts once more.

  “Listen,” she finally spoke. “What I am about to tell you should not - under any circumstances - leave this room, understand?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I promise.”

  “Bill didn’t kill Marlena,” she revealed. I assumed that Marlena was the name of Bill’s first wife, Hayden’s mother. “Marlena... she took her own life.”

  I was taken aback by what she disclosed. No one told me about that. My mom probably knew, but for some reason, she never spoke about it.

  “Oh my God,” was all I could say at that instance.

  “It’s a sad tale,” she continued. “She hung herself with a blanket wrapped around her neck, the other end hooked over the chandelier in the master’s bedroom.”

  “D-Does Hayden know that her mother committed suicide?” I asked, my voice trembling with sorrow.

  “Yes, he does,” the doctor confirmed. “Hayden was the first one who saw her.”

  “What?”

  “He called for help, but it was too late. Marlena was lifeless when they managed to free her. Hayden... he clung to her arm, begging for her to wake up. It was too traumatic an experience... especially for a eight year old child.”

  When my dad walked out on us, I felt really, really bad because I knew I wouldn’t be able to see him again... at least not as often as I wanted to. It was the worst day of my life, seeing him drag his luggages out of our house in Chalfant. But he was alive. I knew, deep in my heart, that if ever I’d want to see him, he’d just be a hundred miles away.

  Hayden had it differently. His mother was gone. He wouldn’t be able to see her again... to talk to her... to listen to her stories... to feel her touch... to savor her lips on his forehead...

  Worse, he saw how she died, and he held on to the tiniest of hopes that she would survive that ordeal. She didn’t, and he was there to witness it.

  “Is that the reason why he became your patient?” I asked Dr. Scott, praying to discover more about the events that shaped the Hayden that I know.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “Bill brought him to me. Post-traumatic care. I was supposed to help him deal with the grief, to accept his mother’s loss, and to live his life as normal as possible.”

  “Up to now?”

  “No. He stopped visiting me when he was twelve... which was around ten or eleven years ago.”

  “But the letter?”

  “It’s automated. Letters are sent to the clinic’s patients every three months, to remind them of their scheduled appointments.”

  “I see. But why did he stop visiting you? Was he cured? Were you able to help him?”

  “No. I wasn’t able to help him, Ms. Ellison,” Dr. Scott sullenly said. “He just... stopped attending his sessions.”

  “Why?”

  “I... I really don’t know. Even Bill wasn’t able to convince him to come back. We just hoped... and we still continue to hope... that he will resume his therapy, or at the very least, that he was able to find the peace he needed even without our help.”

  “But his words, Ma’am... he killed my mother... what does he mean by that?”

  “A misguided condemnation.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Hayden blames his father for his mother’s death. You see, before his mother died, Hayden always saw his parents fighting. They’d scream at each other. They’d disagree over the smallest things. There were a couple of times that those quarrels became physical.”

  “Bill was a wife beater?” I asked as terror began to engulf my soul. If Bill has a history of domestic violence, then I would always have to worry about my mom.

  “Oh... no,” Dr. Scott said as she vehemently shook her head. “As I’ve said earlier, Bill is a good, kindhearted man. He would never hit a woman, more so his wife.”

  “But I thought things got physical?”

  “Yes... but it was Marlena who got violent.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I heard. I always pictured Hayden’s mother as a gentle and loving woman, what with the way he was very attached to her.

  “Marlena was suffering from bipolar disorder, Ms. Ellison,” she continued to say. “It got worse as the years went by. Her moods became too unpredictable. Bill... I have nothing but praises on how he handled her. He was very patient, very understanding, very loving... until the very end.”

  “Then why would Hayden pin the blame on him?”

  “Because Hayden only saw the fights they had. Those tumultuous moments were what he remembered the most.”

  “And no one told him the truth?”

  “I could’ve. But Bill asked me not to. He said that it was better that way, so that Hayden would always remember his mom at her best.”

  “Oh my God... that’s so sad...”

  Her assistant went inside the room and brought two cups of coffee. Or maybe tea. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t bother to look. I was too stunned by what I discovered that I even forgot to thank her. Dr. Scott took a sip before continuing.

  “How close are you with Hayden, Ms. Ellison?”

  Her question caught me by surprise, so much so that I felt every nerve in my body tense up almost instantly. How close was I with Hayden?

  “Not really that close,” I told her. “We’ve only had the chance to get to know each other after the wedding, and that was just last weekend.” It wasn’t really a lie. I just didn’t mention some of the immaterial details.

  “Well, you and him are siblings now,” she said. “I’d like to implore you, Ms. Ellison, to watch over your brother. He can be very... volatile... at times, especially during instances when he’s reminded of his mother.”

  “Like what instances?” I asked with concern.

  “As far as I could tell, based on our sessions before, Hayden didn’t like physical contact with women.”

  Really now...

  I guess that would be an understandable assumption, considering that he was just twelve when she last saw him.

  “I don’t think it’s something that hampered his sexual growth, however,” she continued, and I silently agreed. “But I think, in the course of intimate relationships, the other party may inadvertently treat him... well... with motherly affection.”

  “Motherly affection?”

  “Yes. It’s very common in romantic affairs. Gestures of tenderness, labels, baby talks... many of these can be very similar, though not in essence but in execution, to how a mother would care for her child. A mother, after all, is the one who first thought us the real nature of love.”

  “And these... these acts... they make him mad?”

  “They affect him strongly. Anger is just one manifestation.”

  “Could there be other kinds of repercus
sions?”

  “Potentially, isolation.”