Chapter 36
Lucian
Sebastian Castillo, the boy genius who graduated high school at age nine.
Sebastian Castillo, the kid who didn’t stutter like a dumb ass during the cruel and unusual punishment known as popcorn reading.
Sebastian Castillo, the man who never once had to use drugs just to feel adequate in day-to-day life.
Why the fuck was my little brother so much better than me? Why had he always been so much better than me?
The thought ricocheted in my skull like a bullet, slurring together what little remained of my brain as I white knuckle gripped the dining chair he carried into the bathroom so I could sit down while he cut my hair.
“Quit moving your legs or I’m going to shave your head,” Sebastian mumbled around the cigarette hanging from his lips.
I bounced my knee harder out of spite. Sebastian sighed, tapped some ash out of the open window, and turned to root around the cabinet under his sink.
After a moment, he returned with an electric razor. I watched in the mirror as he examined it before flipping it on. A dull buzzing filled the room as he turned the shaver over.
“That should do,” he said, almost as if to himself, before stoking a cigarette out in the sink and coming towards me.
“No!” I yelped, putting my hands over my head.
“Quit crying, drama queen.” He turned the razor off and grabbed the scissors. “I just wanted you to stop bouncing your leg.”
“I wasn’t crying, I just—I worked hard to grow my hair out, and it sucks that I have to chop it off.”
“Mm.” Sebastian yanked a comb through my hair.
I winced as it caught in a knot, and he grabbed scissors and lobbed it off. A larger-than-expected chunk of matted curls fell into my lap.
I picked up the hair between two fingers and grimaced. The matted clump looked like something pulled from a shower drain, and it didn’t smell much better.
Thank God Mason wasn’t helping me. I’d already dug a hole for myself. It would have taken a dumbass to not realize that. But I had no idea how to quit digging. It’s like my fucked up head wanted me to get to rock bottom, especially after all of this.
Losing my kids for two weeks.
Potentially losing my marriage.
Being so dope sick I spent nights praying I would die because it would be easier that way.
I still wanted to use. It got to the point that I’d spent hours scrolling through my contacts, seeing if I had my old dealers from when I lived in Portland saved.
Thank fuck I didn’t. But still, there wasn’t a moment my skin didn't crawl, begging for something to take away the ache in my joints and the shrill voice in the back of my head. The one that rightfully screamed You’re not good enough.
“Why the fuck did you even relapse?” Sebastian asked, now trying to even out what remained of my hair.
I tried to shake my head, but Seb put an end to that shit by holding me in place.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled as more hair fell onto the towel draped over my shoulders. “I guess it was something to do with Sophia–”
“Nope, I don’t want to hear another name other than yours fall from your lips. No one held a gun to your head; you chose to relapse.”
I exhaled through my nose and rolled my eyes.
But it wasn’t my fault I relapsed. Sophia was the one who reintroduced me to alcohol, and it spiraled from there.
Fuck, something about Halloween had me so on edge I felt high, and the next day it felt like I was withdrawing. All I wanted was to be better.
“I relapsed because I wanted to be better,” I said.
The words came out stupid and small. Seb’s scissors paused. For a beat, I convinced myself he’d stopped because he knew, for once in our lives, I was right.
“You think getting high makes you better?” he asked slowly.
“I know it does,” I scoffed, fully prepared to double down. “You’ve always been perfect. You don’t–”
“You think I’m perfect?” He pointed the scissors at himself.
“I know you are. You’re smart, and you’ve had a good job, and you have the perfect life.” I sounded triumphant, and saying all that out loud felt fantastic.
I had a reason to be fucked up because my life was fucked up. That’s all there was to it. Then, Sebastian started laughing.
At first, it was just a slight chuckle. I’d shot him a look, wondering what the fuck was so funny, and that only made it worse.
His laugh turned into something sharp and ugly, and frankly, I didn’t feel safe with him holding scissors to my head.
“Dude, stop,” I warned.
Seb wiped a few tears from his eyes and stood a little straighter as he caught his breath.
“Sorry, it’s just—I knew you were fucking dense, I just assumed you weren’t blind too.”
I stared at him in the mirror. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Wait—you know Mason’s pregnant, right?”
A weird seed of pride blossomed in my chest. “Uh, yeah, why?”
“Just making sure.” He stated calmly before clearing his throat. “As for your comment about my perfect life—I have a Ph.D collecting dust in my office, I got your wife pregnant, and, most days, I fucking hate myself.”
Sebastian continued to ramble on, probably something about his self-loathing coming from the fact he hit his emo phase at twenty-three, approximately a decade late.
But, I zoned out because what the fuck did he mean he got Mason pregnant?
“Uh, did she have a paternity test done?” I asked, scratching my chin as Sebastian finally went back to cutting my hair.
“Uh, not as far as I know, but…” Pink crept into his cheeks. “I thought pulling out was a good way to prevent pregnancy, even though Cam told me it wasn’t.”
How could someone so smart be so fucking stupid?
“Well, I mean… condoms can fail, and I have sex with her too,” I said, sounding far more jealous than I would have liked.
“How often?” he asked.
I squirmed under the weight of my brother, knowingly fucking my wife.
“Like, a few times a week.”
One corner of his lips turned up into a condescending smirk. “So, I’m not one to kiss and tell, but excluding the fact that you love condoms, statistically, it's still in my favor.”
… Did this mother fucker just tell me he has sex with my wife more often than I do?
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, but nothing came out because my brain was stuck doing the dial-up screech.
“Are you—” I jabbed a finger at him through the mirror. “—bragging right now?”
Seb shrugged. “Just stating facts.”
My jaw clenched as Sebastian finished working the scissors through my hair. He stepped back, double-checking to make sure everything was even. Once he deemed I was good, I stood up and examined myself in the mirror, and then him in the mirror.
And, since he was just stating facts, it was my turn to do the same. Seb was a few inches taller than me, but I was still able to wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him down.
His startled gasp rocketed through the silence as I held his chin in place and forced him to look at us. Same cheekbones. Same lips. Same eyebrows. Same eye shape, albeit his were sky blue while mine were soil brown.
And while Seb and I usually didn’t have a lot in common. We both shared one thing, the man who jump-started our nosedive into never feeling like we were enough.
I cleared my throat, wanting to make sure what I said came across loud and clear. “We look like our dad.”
My comment caused Sebastian to all but fuck off. He didn’t talk to me again, not even to tell me to fuck off. Instead, he and Cameron went on a date while Sophia and I wrangled the kids. That left my lovely wife nowhere to be found.
According to Sophia, Mason passed out while lying down breastfeeding Rosie, and Sophia didn’t bother waking her up.
Mason was a mess when she was tired, so this was for the best. At least, that’s what Sophia said. What she didn’t understand was that I wanted the mess. I wanted Mason to be weepy, and clingy, and able to be won over by me just ordering takeout and being there.
I needed her to see I was sorry. I needed her to forgive me, and I needed the easy way out to do that.
But I could still do that.
So, I waited.
And then I made Mac and Cheese for the kids.
And I waited some more.
And I put all the children, including Rosie, to bed.
And then I—well, I dozed off on the couch watching Thirty of the Dumbest Ways to Die. Eventually, my joints protested the impromptu slumber enough to wake me up.
My eyes begrudgingly opened to the far-off clanging of a pot hitting the stove
My ears perked up as I rubbed the rest of the sleep out of my eyes and stood. The floor was cold under my feet, and the house felt too quiet for how awake I suddenly was.
The kitchen light bled into the hallway, and I followed the sound of Mason muttering every curse in the book.
She was standing at the stove when I walked in, hair damp from a shower and sticking to her neck, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a black sports bra. Her phone was pinned between her cheek and shoulder.
“Hi Mattie, it’s me, your girlfriend.” I could tell she was trying to sound sweet despite her frustration. “You promised you’d be back, and you didn’t come home, and I’m worried.” The slightest crack infested her voice. “Please call me back.”
Mason ended the call, thumb trembling as she shoved her phone onto the counter a little too hard. For a second, she just stood there, hand flat against the granite, head bowed like she was trying to will herself not to cry.
Then, she broke it to root through the cabinets, and I took that as my time to shine.
“Go sit, Mi vida. If you’re hungry, let me cook,” I offered, resting a hand on her shoulder.
The goal was to glide her away so I could look for something quick and easy to feed her, but Mason jumped out of her skin as if I’d hit her. Her back hit the counter, and if it weren’t for Seb's cabinets being so high up, she would have smacked her head.
“Calm down,” I soothed before trying to guide her to sit down at the unused kitchen island.