2. Ryan
Ryan
“Move. We’re gaming in here.”
Max could’ve gone for one of many greetings. Hi, Ryan, how was your day? Alright, mate, been up to anything lately? Hey, Dominic and I are gonna game in here, you want in?
Instead, he simply went with ‘move.’
Classic Max.
I didn’t respond, just turned the page on my book.
“Oi.” A whack hit my foot, sending jarring pain up my body. Several hours later and the bruises were darkening into ones I knew would linger for days. Weeks, if I were especially unlucky. “Stop ignoring me like a baby.”
“I’m not the one making demands like a petulant toddler who doesn’t know any better,” I muttered darkly, turning another page. I wasn’t even reading at this point, but there was no fucking way I was giving in to Max.
Not after what I’d gone through for him today.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
I looked up at that. My brother was glowering down at me, his nostrils flared. We might have been identical twins, but I didn’t think I’d ever had that expression on my face. “Why can’t I just sit here while you game?”
“Because I said so,” Max said stubbornly. A key turned in the front door and his expression shifted into a twisted smirk. “Isn’t that your call to go running to Mummy?”
“Fuck off,” I mumbled, getting to my feet and taking my book with me.
His cruel laughter followed me out of the living room and into the hallway. I pretended not to hear it as I pasted on a smile. “Hi, Mum. Need a hand?”
Mum blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.
Each shoulder held a heavy satchel, while in her hands were several overloaded bags for life.
Mum was a teacher at a secondary school in the city centre.
She often returned like this—exhausted and carrying far more work than she could accomplish overnight.
“Oh, thank you, sweetie. You’re the best.”
I took the bags of marking from her and hid my wince at the sight of her hands. Deep white and red lines cut into her palms and fingers from where the material of the handles had dug into them. “You should’ve called me from the bus stop. I would’ve met you and carried them back for you.”
“You do enough for me, Ryan.” She patted my shoulder and smiled. I screamed internally as pain rippled from my shoulder downwards. “Now, why don’t we go put the kettle on and you can tell me about your day?”
“Sounds great.” I smiled back automatically, already knowing she’d be getting a heavily censored version. This was our routine though. It had been since the night a couple of years ago when I’d crept downstairs for some water, only to hear Mum sobbing to Dad.
“I just don’t understand what more everyone wants from me.
I work, and I work, and I work. None of it is ever enough.
I could work every hour under the goddamned sun and still be behind.
Then, I come home, and you all expect me to keep going.
To keep the house spotless. To have a healthy, homemade dinner on the table.
To supervise the boys’ homework and get Ryan to his art classes.
It’s all on me, Ray. Can’t you see that? ”
The silence that had followed her question suggested that Dad in fact, couldn’t see that.
Nothing had changed after that night. It was almost as though he listened to his wife’s frustrations and figured that was enough.
That all she needed was to get it off her chest, then she could carry on as normal.
But it wasn’t. Even as a fourteen-year-old, I could see that. Why couldn’t Dad?
From that moment on, I vowed to do whatever I could to make her life a little easier.
Whether it was carrying her books in, running the hoover around, or even persuading her I was old enough to get the bus to the art classes I took in the community centre on my own. Whatever was needed to make her smile.
Max didn’t know about that night. By that point, Dominic had already taken over.
Given my brother barely spoke to me other than to give me shit, I’d kept it to myself.
He hadn’t failed to notice how I’d stepped up around the house though.
Instead of doing the same, he used it as another stick to beat me with.
“I’ve made dinner,” I said quietly as we passed the lounge. “It’s in the slow cooker. Chicken casserole. Peeled some potatoes too, and they’re on the stove.”
Apparently I wasn’t quiet enough, and my brother’s irritated drawl followed me down the hall. “There’s no need to suck up, Ryan. You’re already the favourite. Goody-fucking-two-shoes.”
I winced when Mum froze in place. Shit. She’d heard. She didn’t often pick up on Max’s snide comments, but when she did…
“Maximillian Theodore Davis,” she hissed, going to the living room doorway. “How dare you speak to your brother like that?”
I went into the kitchen, trying to block out the bollocking Max was now getting. He deserved it, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. He was still my twin, at the end of the day, and hearing Mum tell him off had me wanting to leap to his defence.
But he didn’t need me. He had Dominic.
Right on cue, the back door opened, the devil himself stepping inside. Dominic sniffed the air as he kicked off his trainers and groaned. “Oh my god, what smells so good?”
“Chicken casserole,” I muttered, pulling out a chopping board.
There was plenty of veg in it, but I might as well prep some extra broccoli.
Not because Dominic had showed—there was plenty for him too.
I couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t turned up unannounced for dinner.
It was easier to just assume we were feeding him too.
Preparing the broccoli would keep me busy for a few more minutes. Anything to distract me from the fact that Max and Mum were now shouting at each other. My hands shook slightly as I picked up the knife.
“What’s going on with them?” Dominic said, frowning in the direction of the yelling. “Is Max in trouble again?”
I snorted. He might have been getting shouted at, but that was the worst he could expect. Mum would’ve forgotten all about it by the time she got back to the kitchen. “Are you surprised?”
“No.” He leaned over me to snag a piece of raw broccoli. I scowled but didn’t move to stop him. “Max is always getting shouted at in here. I reckon you’ve got something to do with it.”
I gripped the knife tighter, an uncharacteristic wave of anger washing over me.
I had no idea why. Maybe it was because of how my body was aching.
Or because I hated being around people who were yelling.
Whatever it was, I latched on to it. It was better than the hopelessness that usually dogged me.
Technically, Dominic was right, but like fuck was I admitting that. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged, swallowing the broccoli and reaching for more. “You usually do.”
I stared at him. He was joking, right? Since when was I the troublemaker in this house?
Before I could think up a response, Mum was bustling into the kitchen. Spots of colour sat high on her cheekbones, but all her ire dissipated at the sight of Dominic. “Oh, Dominic. I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can talk some sense into Max. Lord knows the boy doesn’t listen to me.”
If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I might’ve missed it. There was a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tightness in his smile. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs.Davies.”
I watched him stroll from the kitchen as though he had not a care in the world. But his hands were in fists at his sides, his back rigid.
What the fuck is his problem?
“You’re such a good boy,” Mum said as she came up beside me and rubbed my arm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I ducked my head, uncomfortable with her praise. “It’s nothing.”
She kissed my temple. “It’s not nothing when you’re making my life easier. Thank you, Ryan. Now, why don’t you leave that for now and we can have that cup of tea?”
Hours later, I let myself into a quiet house. Mum was probably in bed reading, while Dad would be in his shed, tinkering with his model planes.
I didn’t know where Max and Dominic were and I didn’t particularly care.
I hung my satchel bag up on its hook and toed off my trainers with a wince.
Honestly, going to class tonight hadn’t been a great idea, I’d barely managed the journey, let alone sitting on an uncomfortable stool for an hour.
But something would need to be broken before I skipped a class.
It was the one place where I could truly be myself.
Where I could relax and know no one was judging me. It brought me peace.
Given how much I kept bottling up, it was a necessary outlet.
As I got to the top of the stairs, Dominic stepped out of Max’s room, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Hello, Shadow,” he said, leaning back against Max’s door with his hands in his pocket. “Have fun drawing the night away?”
I ignored him. Nothing good ever came from engaging with Dominic. I’d learned that the hard way.
My face burned when I thought about how desperately I’d wanted him to be my friend all those years ago. To be included in the special bond he shared with Max. Something he reminded me of every time he called me by that fucking nickname.
Unfortunately, Dominic didn’t leave it there. “You know, art isn’t going to help you get girls.”
I gritted my teeth, hand on the doorknob. “Oh yeah, well maybe you should tell that to Matisse. He and Klimt did okay for themselves.”
“I’ve literally never heard of them.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I muttered under my breath.
“Sure you’re not gay?”
I froze, blinking at him in confusion. “What? No. I’m not gay.”
Dominic shrugged. “Nothing wrong with it if you are.”
“Didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” I said in bewilderment. “But I’m not gay. I like girls.”
“Maybe I’d believe that if I ever saw you with one.”
The anger from earlier returned, leaving an unfamiliar taste in my mouth. “So what, because I like to draw and I don’t fuck every girl that moves, I must be gay?”
“No.” He smirked. “But you don’t fuck any girls, Ryan. That’s my point.”
“Well I’m not.” My face was burning, but I didn’t look away from him. I refused. He was trying to make me uncomfortable and I was so done with letting him. “Why are you so interested? Are you gay?”
“Fuck no,” he snorted. “I like pussy, man. As much of it as I can possibly get.”
I let my gaze rove over him, letting my disgust show. “You’re gross, Dominic.”
He winked at me before pushing off Max’s door and heading for the stairs. “At least I’m honest, Ryan.”