Chapter 3
3
Torrin
“I ’m going out with my friends, so I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as Lukas’ voice trickles down the hall. That means I won’t be tortured with another family dinner. Last night was so incredibly awkward. Mom even commented on how I was being awfully quiet. Usually, I’m a jabber monkey, talking everyone’s ear off. But I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Or share a normal thought. I couldn’t get past the shameful feeling that rooted itself in my gut.
The sound of the front door closing is music to my ears. I’m finally in the clear. I get a few hours reprieve before I become a prisoner in my room again.
“Torrin, sweetie! Would you mind running these up to Luke’s room?” My mom hands me a stack of clean towels as soon as my feet hit the bottom step. I turn, heading right back up the stairs. His room smells like him. The woodsy cologne that smells like a pine tree growing up next to a waterfall. But then there’s that underlying scent that is all Lukas. Virile and masculine. Heady.
I place the towels down on his dresser, noticing that our family picture is turned down. I’d fix it, but I don’t want him thinking I was in here meddling through his things. Which reminds me… There’s a certain blue box hidden in his closet.
As soon as I enter the small space, it’s like walking down memory lane. All of his old football jerseys from when he was in high school are hanging in a row, along with his old letterman jacket. His trophies are all still lined up on the top shelf on proud display. God, he was so good. Is so good. It’s like he was made for the sport. Every professional team is talking about him. It’s all over the news about how he’s probably going to be first pick in the draft. Teams are already positioning themselves for a trade. It’s incredible to hear. Surreal to know it’s my stepbrother they’re talking about.
I bury my nose in one of his old sweatshirts and breathe in the scent. It smells just like him, even after all these years. I start to tug it from its hanger, then stop. It’s probably a bad idea to feed my sickness. It’s already gotten way out of hand. Every thought is of him. All day I was haunted by his eyes. And if I sleep in his clothes, surrounded by his scent, it will only grow worse.
I let the sweatshirt go and start my search for the little blue box. There’s an old baseball card box sitting on his shelf which looks like it could be the perfect hiding place, but it turns out to be filled with baseball cards. Go figure. I peek inside an old shoebox sitting in the corner, but it’s filled with old photos. All his sports photos from way back when, pictures of him in high school, of him going to prom. He was so cute. Easily the most gorgeous guy at his school. But I never would’ve thought that when I was younger. There was a benign feeling when I looked at him. He was just Luke. I never understood why all my friends would get all pink-faced and silly around him. I thought it was weird when they would tell me how cute he is. But now, I can’t unsee their truth. He’s gorgeous. A rugged and raw specimen of the perfect male.
My stomach fills with those troubling feelings again. I wish I didn’t long for him. I wish I didn’t feel the jealousy as I stare at the picture of him and his high school girlfriend kissing. She was his first love and the one who owns his virginity.
I shut the box and start my search again. Looking high and low for the little blue box. Searching under stacks of sweaters. Inside the feet of his huge sneakers. It’s not like the closet is that big, but the blue box is nowhere to be found. For good measure, I check inside his duffle bag, even though I know it was on his bed when he went in to hide the gift. It’s not in there either. But there is a brown leather journal tucked into the inner pocket that’s drawing my curiosity.
I look back over my shoulder at the open door. Lukas is out with his friends, and my mom is downstairs making dinner. I know I’m crossing a line, but my curiosity overrides my decency. I take it out and flip to the first page.
September 15
Dear Journal or Diary or whatever I’m supposed to write,
My physical therapist told me I have too much tension in my shoulders and it’s affecting my throw. I told him I wasn’t going to talk to a shrink if that’s what he was implying. Instead, he suggested I get a journal and write out everything that stresses me out so I can get it off my chest. Once the book is filled, I can burn it. So here it goes.
For starters, Coach was an asshole today. He has no fucking clue how hard we’re all working. All he does is drill our asses. Doesn’t he see us leaving our blood and sweat on the field? If he doesn’t let up, he’s going to drive everyone to a loss. He needs to figure out how to boost the players up. Give them some confidence so they don’t go out on the field and second-guess everything.
I’ve been trying to make notable mention of the players, recognizing them when they do something good, but my praise only goes so far. Coach is the one they truly want to please. He’s the one with the authority to bench them or not. Me, I have no need in pleasing the fucker anymore. I’ve proven my worth every single game. So he can call me any name in the book and I can just brush it off. But I remember the days when I craved his reassurance, and I know that’s what they’re feeling.
When I retire one day, I think I’ll become a coach. I understand the mindset us players need to be in when we’re about to hit the field. Brantford never went pro so he’s still trying to prove his worth. It’s obvious he’s bitter as hell. I’d confront him on it, but I don’t want him messing up my shot next year. He’ll bench me just for the fuck of it, and that’s not how I’m ending my college football career. I want the teams fighting over me in the draft. And I want every sports brand that exists to come knocking on my door for a sponsorship. Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for today. Coach is an ass, and we all just have to nod and smile.
Signing out,
Lukas
I never realized he was struggling. He seems so calm and collected every time we speak about the team and his life. He always says everything’s great at school. He never mentioned his coach being a jerk. But that explains why he only ever talks about the players.
I flip the page.
September 18
Dear Journal,
I just went on the date from hell. Honestly, I think I’m done with girls for a while. It always ends up the same. Shallow conversation and lackluster sex. Tonight, I couldn’t even convince my dick to go for a spin. Meaningless sex isn’t my thing anymore. I’d rather fuck my own hand. It’s safer and it doesn’t come knocking on my door or stalking my social media pages.
Why is it so hard to find someone who I can laugh with? Someone who I look forward to seeing and can’t get enough of? All I’m finding with these college girls is annoyance. I’m not sure if it’s immaturity due to their age or what, but they’re all the same. Though, I don’t think age is the issue. My sister is younger than all of them and she’s way more mature. She’s about the only normal girl I know, and definitely the only one I enjoy spending time with. The rest of them are dramatic and bitchy and give me a headache. That reminds me, I owe Torrin a call. I’ve been a shitty big brother lately. It’s just hard to keep in touch with my family during football season. Between practice and classes, I’m spent. But I’ll call her this weekend after the game. Find out how everything is going with her college applications. I really hope she gets in here. It would be awesome having her around. She’s about the only one who I enjoy spending time with.
That’s all I’ve got for today. Girls are dramatic bitches, and I’m probably going to have to wait until I graduate to find my special someone.
Signing out,
Lukas
I actually remember that call. It was the first time in ages since I’d heard from him. We talked for hours, getting caught up on life. He helped me with my college essays. It made me feel like he still cared about me. I was the little sister, soaking up my big brother’s attention, giddy that he’d taken the time. Now…I can’t even look him in the eyes or speak to him.
I turn the page, hoping there’s something in this book that will put me back to normal. That there’s something that will make me like him less. So far, I’m only falling deeper into my sickness.
October 27
Dear Journal,
It’s been a good day. I had one of the best games of my life. Every play was smooth and skilled. Even Coach came up to me after the game and told me that I just earned my spot on whatever pro team I wanted. I really hope my sister was watching. She’d be proud of me too. I can’t wait to call her later.
Signing out,
Lukas
I flip to another page and another. Each entry making things worse. His words bleed into my veins, twisting me up further. I scan forward, hoping he wrote something bad about me that would make me hate him. I stop on a date right before my visit with him for the cheerleading clinic. Right before we got into our huge fight over me dropping out.
March 19
I’m so excited my sister is coming this week. It feels like home when she’s around. It’s strange because I used to resent her. Back when my dad told me he was going to marry her mom, I hated the idea. It felt too soon after Mom’s death. And I wasn’t ready for a new mom or a sister. I was just so full of pain, and it felt like a betrayal to Mom’s memory. But looking back now, Torrin helped me through it.
I remember Dad forcing me to babysit her all the time so he could go out on dates with his new wife. I was so angry at the time, but she would just follow me around with those big blue eyes and that toothless smile. And it would lighten my anger. Lessen my resentment toward my father and my hatred toward her mother.
It took me a few years to warm up to Sheryll. It wasn’t like she moved in and tried to replace my mother, but that’s how I felt back then. I know she was just trying to be a loving, supportive force; someone I could turn to if needed. She even kept my mother’s photos up because she knew mom was a part of us, and she wasn’t trying to come in and erase all that we’d built together as a family. Sheryll was so kind, but I was such a little shit towards her those first few years.
Now, I’m grateful for her. She gave me my dad back and has made him happy again. He seems like his old self. Always smiling and full of life. And I’m also thankful she gave me my sister. My mother’s memory can never be replaced, but we’re a family. Me, Torre, Dad, and Sheryll are a unit.
Lately, Torrin’s become someone I can turn to if I’m having a rough day. She always answers the phone when I call and manages to put a smile on my face and erase all the shitty stuff that happened. I’m really looking forward to this week. It’s going to be great having her here. I can’t wait to show her around campus and have some quality time with her. And I can’t wait to see her cheer.
Anyway, I’m going to sign out now. It’s time to get the house cleaned up for her visit.
Until next time,
Lukas
And yet that didn’t happen, did it? We didn’t spend time together. He never showed me around campus or took me anywhere. After the first day he came to tryouts, all his time was spent with Stacey. I got one night with him, the first night I arrived, and then I had to fight for a scrap of his attention the rest of the time. Stacey came to dinner with us after every practice, then came back to his house to hang out…and make out, which I got the pleasure of hearing every night. Her loud moans kept me awake. I could barely drown them out with the television.
The night before tryouts, I was awoken by her screaming his name. I got up to go tell them to keep it down, my patience was at a nil, and I needed sleep for the next day, but when I went to go knock on his door, I found that it wasn’t even closed. I stepped forward to shut it and was locked in place. Unable to look away. Unable to get my feet to move. I couldn’t unsee it. And I couldn’t stop the heat from rushing in. That was the exact moment my feelings toward my stepbrother transformed, turning into a vile perversion.
“Torrin! Dinner!”
My mom’s voice startles me. She sounds close. I slam the book shut before she comes in and catches me snooping through his things. I tuck it back where I found it and rush out. My stomach feeling ragged and raw. Reading his journal was a bad idea. It only made things worse. Much worse.