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“Trashy redheads!” he shouts at the top of his lungs when I refuse to provide an answer, and I slam my fist on the table.
“Can you please?” I beg him, feeling defeated and deflated at the same time. “I’m tired, my head’s throbbing and I really cannot deal with you right now. I’m late to work as it is.”
“An hour and thirty minutes,” Aiden cheerfully reminds me and in that moment, I want to slap him so badly.
Because I’m the only one of us with a real job.
Sure, Aiden gets some money, but it’s not regular payments like mine. He paints and some months he’ll sell a lot, while others, he doesn’t have a dollar to his name.
So it’s on my shoulders to pay for myself, and most of all Aiden who is in school.
And it shouldn’t have been like this. We should be taken care of, yet we got nothing.
He backs off immediately, seeing he’s overstepped the line, and we sit awkwardly for a few minutes, not saying anything at all.
“What are you going to do today? Go to class?” I ask Aiden when I finish off my breakfast.
“No class today, will get some other stuff done,” he responds cheerfully, but I can tell it’s fake. I know him too well. I know when he’s hurting, and since we’re both going through the same stuff right now I know exactly how he feels.
Cheated.
Wronged.
Angry.
I give a brief nod and get up to start getting ready. I know no one will give me a piece of their mind for being late, but I’m still not thrilled about it. I get paid by the hour as a programmer and being late means less money on my paycheck.
“I’ll see you in the
evening,” I say twenty minutes later, showered and ready to head to work.
He’s sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, watching some show or other. He just nods.
And because I’m the big brother – if only by seven minutes – I make him some popcorn. The face he makes when he hears the corn popping makes me feel a little better, and we part on a good note.
But still, as I take the stairs downstairs – elevator has been broken since we moved in – I want a better life for us. We aren’t used to this, and we’re struggling. And I’m going to pull us out of this mess whatever it takes.
I want justice.
Chapter 3
My day passes as days always do – at the office. My job is not something I love, but at least I’m good at it, and it makes some money – not nearly enough though …
Lately, I’ve been too lost in the dark parts of my mind. My brother manages to keep me upbeat most of the time, though I suspect sometimes he feels just as lost as I am right now.
I close my jacket and cross my hands in front of me to stop the cold from getting in. My breath comes out in puffs of smoke and I’m stewing with anger and resentment. My hangover is not helping much.
I’m only a block away when I hear the engine of a car slowing down behind me. It is followed by angry honks and shouts, and I turn around to see what the commotion is about.
There’s a black limo behind me, the lacquer on it shiny and spotless. And the driver is rushing out now, opening the door. A second later, two impossibly long and slim legs poke out and a girl exits the vehicle.
She’s a blonde, tall and willowy. She looks like a princess of some lost forest land, her eyes a burning green and her hair long and wavy, natural, beautiful.
And then she stumbles in her too high heels and almost falls under the wheels of a car.
Thankfully, I catch her before that happens.
“What the hell are you doing?” I murmur as I place her back on her feet and more angry honking ensues. “You need to stop following me.”
She manages to stand up straight, giving me a nervous smile. God, but she really is gorgeous …
She waves at her driver and he gives a short nod before getting in the car and driving away, the traffic jam they’ve both caused slowly dissipating.
“I really don’t have time for this,” I say roughly to the girl, making my way off the road and onto the sidewalk. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my pea coat and start walking away with a purpose.
But of course, I hear the clickety-clack of her heels as she runs after me. “Wait!” she yells softly, if that’s possible. But somehow, all about her is soft – that mass of hair, her porcelain skin, and those full lips …
Shaking my head, I refuse to look at her and keep on walking, but she manages to catch up with me, taking long strides.
“Come on, Blane,” she says with that begging voice that used to work so well on our father. She managed to be the Daddy’s girl, despite the fact that she wasn’t even his blood.
“I’m not dealing with you today,” I tell her and keep walking.
She doesn’t waver. She follows on like a lost puppy.
“You have to talk to me at some point,” she presses on and I shake my head.
