Deceit of the Stepbrothers (2 Wicked Stepbrothers, 1 Innocent Girl)

by Brother, Stephanie

  “Sure,” he shrugs. “I could give it a go.”

  I wait for him to get ready and that day, we finally leave the house. Together.

  Because we’re two now, and we have to take care of each other.

  A few days later

  “I mean, he’s such a prick!” Aiden exclaims, shaking his head as he laughs, opening a cabinet in the kitchen. He tosses me some Pop Tarts and I place them in the microwave, laughing at his office gossip.

  “What would you do differently?” I ask him, knowing he’ll bite. He loves talking about this stuff, and I love seeing him so excited. I sit on the bar stool and drink from my glass of wine.

  “Well, I wouldn’t do a shit job,” Aiden grins at me and I laugh loudly, 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 chit chat about the office, and I’m surprised how fast Aiden’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 Blane.

  My chest is hit with a hard pang as I think of my stepbrother.

  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 Aiden isn’t his blood.

  I look up, fighting back tears, and my gaze connects with Aiden’s. He’s staring at me hard.

  “What?” I ask worriedly.

  He keeps looking at me, but the corners of his mouth curl up. “Do you mind …”

  “Do I mind what?” I wonder out loud after a long pause on his end, but he looks away, like he’s embarrassed. I’m suddenly intrigued. “Tell me,” I beg.

  He complies.

  “I want to paint you,” he 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. I feel like it’s such an intimate thing to do, and that it’s wrong somehow. But why?

  Because I’m betraying Blane.

  Stop it, brain, I order silently and I look up at my stepbrother, faking enthusiasm. “Sure,” I say carelessly, even though my heart is pounding in my chest, heavy with the weight of deceit. “Let’s do it.”

  And I pretend it’s worth it, even though not even Aiden’s happiness can make up for the emptiness in my heart.

  ***

  “How much longer,” I groan tiredly, but Aiden shushes me immediately. I sigh inwardly and cringe as I reposition my arm, the tingling in it becoming harder and harder to bear.

  When I agreed to him painting 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 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.

  My stomach rumbles and I steal a glance at the forgotten takeout on the floor. Aiden didn’t let me have any, and I’ve never seen him this concentrated. But there’s a certain slant of his eyes that makes him look …

  Mad.

  I shake my head to get the thought out.

  “Would you stop moving?” he asks hurriedly, his strokes fast and angry on the canvas.

  I mouth an apology and sit there for another hour or forty-eight 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, Aiden’s looking at me like I’m … Prey. There’s that look again.

  I rush towards the easel, but he steps in front of it protectively.

  “It needs to dry,” he says sternly.

  “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 weird.

  He shoves me out of the way and I stumble backward, shocked at how violent his push was. But when I want to complain, I look into his eyes, and that strange gaze he had when he painted me is gone. He’s just Aiden again, my sweet, overprotective brother.

  “Let’s eat!” he says happily, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the stairs that lead downstairs, his other hand holding the bags of our food.

  I guess it was just a slant of light, I tell myself to calm down my worried nerves …

  ***

  We proceed to get drunk.

  I’m not an experienced drinker and the wine hits my head pretty quickly, so in about an hour, I’m rolling on the floor in the living room, laughing my head off.

  And Aiden’s with me, and though he’s had much more to drink than me, he’s still okay, laughing his head off laughing 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 Aiden 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 to look for the missing piece. The other twin. My stepbrother, my lover …

  Blane …

  My lips pout and I look at Aiden sadly. He looks into my eyes, but his gaze quickly falls down to my lips. They tremble with the moment which will be forever lost on our brother. But before I can say how I feel, Aiden’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 just kisses me as I lie on the floor, his mouth 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 Aiden 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 kiss Aiden. I may let him touch me. I may take care of him.

  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.

  Blane …

  Chapter 8

  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 towards the building in my too high heels.

  “Emme.”

  One word.

  One name.

  It stops me in my tracks and I turn around, wobbling on my suddenly shaky feet.

  He comes out of a side alley, his hands deep in the pockets of that coat 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 Blane.

  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. Literally, and figuratively.

  I whimper, because he’s everything and I am nothing and I can’t form coherent sentences in his presence.

 
“Can we talk?” he 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 nothing.

  Because the ugly truth is …

  I would do anything, give everything, for another minute of time with my stepbrother. My lover.

  ***

  We settle in a booth at a coffee place not far away from my building – our building – and we order breakfast. I just go for 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.

  Blane 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, and yet I can’t make it better. Only he can do that.

  He finally looks at me. “I came to tell 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 paper.

  There’s money in there.

  A lot of it.

  “What is this?” I ask, feeling genuinely confused.

  Blane refuses to meet my eye again. “I know you’re taking care of Aiden,” he says roughly. “That’s … that’s all I have.”

  He must feel my confusion, because he clears up what he meant with his next words. “Money for him,” he says. “To take care of my brother.”

  And in that moment, rage boils inside me. I look at Blane, 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, Emme,” Blane shrugs, the corners of his lips curling upwards. “It’s Aiden. Sure, he paints but … he’s never going to make a living.”

  And 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’m loaded – at his and Aiden’s expense, no less.

  It drives me crazier that he sought me out for this. Not for saying sorry. Not to try and win me back.

  To give me this blood money and pretend we’re done now, he’s done his job.

  Because that’s what Blane 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, Blane,” 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 little babydoll.

  Hello, ruthless vixen.

  “Goodbye, Blane,” 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. “Aiden’s not so much like you.”

  My eyes sweep his body. “He’s a better fuck than you ever will be,” I seal the deal. 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.

  Chapter 9

  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 up.

  I crumple on the bar stool in the kitchen, and I think of Aiden. He had fun at work for a few days, but the excuses are already starting to roll off his tongue. He’s tired, hungover, inspired – anything to get him out of doing this.

  And it fucking hurts to know there’s some truth in Blane’s words. Maybe he really can’t take care of himself.

  For some reason or another, Aiden doesn’t come to look at me, and I feel more alone than ever.

  But then I have a fleeting thought. I could go in the attic right now. I could look at his painting.

  And somehow, that simple thought makes me feel better. Like seeing what Aiden seems 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 playing 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 Aiden 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 yesterday. 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 Aiden’s painting, which is 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 watercolour, my hair like liquid gold, my blue eyes glowing like sapphires. But my mouth is twisted in a strange way, 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.

  Aiden’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 is a gaping, bloody hole exposing my chest. A leash is leading from my neck to an arm which is tugging me along, and I know it’s his arm.

  Aiden thinks of himself like some kind of deranged puppet master.

  I stare and I stare and I stare.

  And then I hear his footsteps coming up to get me.

  And I’m scared.

  ***

  I refuse to look at Aiden when he comes in, all the while hoping he’ll comfort me. We went to bed separately last night, contrary to what Aiden wanted and not what I told Blane at all.

  And despite what I’ve just seen, I want him to pretend like it’s all okay.

  It’s the first time we’re seeing each other since our kiss, and for once, I long for the touch of my other stepbrother. I want Aiden to comfort me. Make it better.

  “Had a nice day?” he asks viciously and I look at him in confusion.

  “I’ve been at work-” I start to say, but he doesn’t let me finish.

  “Sure!” he interrupts immediately. “I’m sure work was great fun. Just like the drink with my brother.”

  I want to argue immediately when I’m hit with the shock – how does he know? – but instead I keep my mouth shut and my head down. Which probably makes me look even more guilty, even though I have no reason to be.

  It’s then that his eyes see his painting, the sheet lying on the ground, the fact my eyes are still glued to the scene on the canvas.

  “Fuck, Emme!” Aiden yells, slamming his fist into the wall. I look up in shock to see a hole in it, and his hand bleeding. But he doesn’t even seem to notice the pain as he strides closer to me.

  Before I have time to get up, Aiden scoops me up in his arms and places me on the couch. He forces my hands apart and I cry out in pain when he twists them behind my back, hurting me.

  “Stop it!” I whimper, tears already making their wa
y down my face. “What is wrong with you, Aiden?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asks angrily, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “What’s wrong?”

  With a single movement of his arm, Aiden flicks my legs apart as I gasp when the cold air hits my bare skin. He reaches between my legs and rips my panties in two.

  “No,” I whimper. “Please, don’t!” I cry out.

  “You’ll always choose him,” he snarls at me. “I take care of you. I protect you. I make it all better, don’t I, Emme?” he taunts me, his hand positioned before my pussy like a warning.

  I whimper through my tears and nod, feeling more scared than ever.

  But that doesn’t stop him.

  With a roar, he forces three fingers inside of me as I cry out in pain. He holds my wrists with one hand while he ravages me with the other, and I cry. I cry so much.

  “There we go,” he says triumphantly. “You like that better, don’t you? Is that better than my brother?”

  I nod, because it’s all I can do.

  When he’s done, he licks his fingers and lets go of me like I’m a piece of trash. I’m shocked and I can’t even cry anymore. I just stare off into the distance.

  He tips my chin up and forces me to look at him.

  “You know what I’m going to do now, sweet little Emme?” he asks me.

  I don’t respond, but he keeps going.

  “I’m going to find that bastard, and I’m going to kill him,” he promises me, sealing the deal with a sloppy kiss on my swollen lips.

  And then he leaves me on the couch, storming downstairs as I whimper in pain and shock. All the while, the painted image of me mocks me with its disturbing cry for help.

  Chapter 10

  2 years ago

  Only weeks after my birthday, the doorbell rings when we’re sitting down for Sunday lunch. Aiden and I look at each other in confusion, while my stepfather clears his throat and goes to answer the door. The rest of us chatter absentmindedly, while I’m sure all of our thoughts are still on my disastrous birthday party.

  I can’t get my mother’s face out of my head, the slap that followed stinging Blane’s cheek. I cringe at the mere thought of my stepfather throwing his own son out, me crying, Aiden comforting me. It was a nightmare.