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Chapter One
Abel
Mybrotherneverlistensto me, though I wish he would. Instead of him doing as I ask andnotgoing out in this horrible storm tostealfrom someone’s house, he spouts some shit about him having to work to take care of me. I’m twenty-two, so I shouldn’t be a burden to him anymore. I’ve told him plenty of times I would get a job to help with bills, but he keeps telling me to focus on school so I can get a well-paying job as a software developer and pay him back for all he’s done for me. A sentiment I don’t like, but I understand.
I know he blames me for our parents’ death. Why wouldn’t he? They were bringing me home from soccer practice when the accident happened. I heard him say once to one of his friends had I not been playing soccer, they wouldn’t have been out during one of the worst flash floods in our county and he wouldn’t have been stuck with me. It hurts because I know he’s right.
He was already grown and had a small apartment across town when they died. He was selling coke as his primary source of income, breaking and entering on the side just for shits and gigs. But he had to give up selling drugs when he got saddled with me. He had to get a nine-to-five job that could be verified and social workers had to check his place randomly to make sure it was a safe living environment. Something else he blames me for because, according to him, “selling coke brought in the big bucks.”
Cris is smart. Like our mother and father were. He can do whatever he wants to do. I know he had it hard having to take care of an eight-year-old when he was barely an adult himself. That’s a full-time job on its own. I wish he could have found time to go to a community college or something while I was in school, so he would have more options for work, something less dangerous. Any option would be better than the life of crime he’s rocking now. Anything to keep him out of prison, or worse, the grave. The thought of something happening to him scares me more than I can say.
Pulling my mind from those thoughts, I look up at him, watching him pack his bag while I sit on the couch with my philosophy book open. I’m in my last semester of college and I saved philosophy for last because philosophy sucks.
Sighing, I shut the book and pull my legs closer to me. Cris glances at me in disgust, lips curled up when he sees my pajamas. How I dress has been a point of contention. The purple camisole pajama set is one hundred percent me, but Cris hates when I wear stuff like this, especially when his friends are over. Apparently it’s not manly. Whatever.
“Cris, it’s storming out. Can’t you wait until the weather clears?” Although I don’t think my brother likes me, I love him. I would hate for him to go like our parents.
Scoffing, he zips his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I can’t wait. I have to get this money now. Maybe if you got a job, I wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
Pulling myself off the couch, I put my robe on and walk over to him. I stand in front of him and look up into his eyes. I’m not sure where I got my height from. Both my mother and father were over six feet. Cris is six two. I come in at a whopping five three. We also look nothing alike. The only thing we have in common is our light brown skin. Cris’s long, straight brown hair is pulled into a bun, some of it escaping his hair tie. His dark brown eyes are intent on what he’s doing—getting a bag together so he can break into an unsuspecting person’s home. “Cris, please. Just stay until the rain lets up. You know I hate being alone when it storms.”
This really makes him scoff and turn his lips up at me. “Stop being such a bitch. Buck the fuck up and chill out. The rain isn’t going to come in here and get you.” He pushes past me and heads for the door. No bye, see you later, fuck you—nothing. Just lets the door slam behind him.
Sinking back on the couch, I pull my legs back to my chest. Thunder rumbles and I jump, the noise loud in our small apartment. The tears start almost immediately. The panic attack can’t be held at bay and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I ran out of my sleeping meds a few weeks ago, so I’m going to have to ride this storm out. It wouldn’t be so bad if Cris was here. He wouldn’t hug me, talk me through it, or do anything nice, but seeing and hearing him around the apartment would let me know that I’m not eight and my parents aren’t drowning in their car after some stranger saved me from the rough waters.
The storm lasts all that night until early in the morning with me glued to the couch, only getting up to dash to the bathroom once and getting stuck in there for an hour when the thunder cracked like it was in the bathroom with me.
I survive, but barely. After waking from a restless sleep and walking around the apartment in search of my brother, I reach for my phone only to discover no missed calls from Cris. Calling to see if the job is finished, I frown when his phone goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and try again. Voicemail.
That’s not like him. He usually has his phone on silent, but never turned off. He also never lets his battery die in case someone calls him about a job.
As much as I bitch about what he does for money, Cris is the best. He is always in and out before the homeowner knows he’s there, he only takes what he can sell quickly and doesn’t hurt anyone. That last part is important to me, even though I would rather he not steal from people at all. At least I know he’s not hurting anyone.
My moral compass is really fucked.
I sit on the couch and drag my laptop closer to me and open Find my Phone. Cris doesn’t know I activated it on his phone, but when your only family is involved in illegal activity, you want to know where they are just in case. If something happens to Cris, I’ll truly be alone in the world, regardless of if he has any genuine affection for me like I do for him.
After checking the app, I see his phone last pinged in a ritzy area about an hour from where we live. Fucking really? Those people have security tighter than Fort Knox. What was he thinking? Probably following some advice from one of his friends that would never risk going there themselves.
Sighing, I take a shower and get dressed. Looks like I have to make a drive to see if I can find my brother.
After my shower, I think about skipping my makeup, then figure nah, I’ll put it on. I don’t feel right if I don’t at least have eye makeup on.
I apply it expertly, watching how it makes my blue-green eyes pop, making them look bigger and me a bit innocent. The mascara makes my lashes look deceptively long and I love how doe-like my eyes look.
Even with no contouring or lip gloss, I look good. I really don’tneedto add lip gloss, with my lips being pink and pouty all on their own. My high cheeks could do with a bit of highlighter, but this will have to do. My light brown skin would look amazing with that little extra. I fuss a bit with my shiny dark brown curls, trying to get them to lie down and cooperate, but that’s always a losing battle if I’m not using product.
As it stands now, my curls are flopping in my face and as much as I move them back, they flop more. Whatever. I smooth them down as much as possible, and call it a day.
Finding something comfortable to wear while I sneak around someone’s house isn’t easy, but I make do. I find a pair of tight black jeans that are easy to move around in… and they make my plump ass look good. You never know when you’ll need to use your assets. Not that I’ve ever usedthatasset. Hello, twenty-two-year-old virgin.Ugh.
I pair the jeans with a ripped tee and a light jean jacket, and some cute boots I found on sale complete my outfit. Grabbing my keys and my wallet, I head out in search of my wayward brother.
Lucky for me, Cris got me a car when I started college. He got tired of having to wake up early to take me to my first class at seven in the morning. Buses didn’t run that early and taxis were getting expensive. My car wasn’t anything fancy, but it ran, and it was mine, so I was grateful to have it. It gave me anxiety that Cris had to do extra jobs to afford it, but walking to school wasn’t an option. Guess I’m more complicit in his activities than I’d like to think.
I punch in the address that his phone pinged last into my GPS and start my drive, listening to a true crime podcast on the way. The irony is not lost on me that I could be driving to a true crime as we speak.
The drive is peaceful, and it gives me time to think. I wish I could have left home and enjoyed the college life—stayed in the dorms and lived like a regular college student. Parties, meeting new people,fuckingpeople. But no, Cris wanted me to stay home and focus on my studies. Not because he cared about my education, but so I could graduate faster and get a full-time job. I do occasional freelance jobs from home, but freelance work only pays the bills sometimes. After paying Cris, the rest goes to my habits—make up and clothes.
