Chapter 29 Xade, 16 Years Old
Chestnut-colored hair spills over my lap as the girl from chemistry fumbles with my belt buckle. It's really too easy, and I'm already bored, but I bought dinner and wasted the whole night, so what's another half hour?
She purrs my name and looks up at me, showing all her teeth. I wish she wouldn't. It's disturbing.
I reach over to the cupholder between us and grab the bottle of whiskey. I take a long swig. Much more of this, and she's going to have to drive us home, but I'll do anything to numb the pain at this point.
It's too easy, slipping from one addiction to the next.
Pot.
Pills.
Pussy.
Whatever helps me forget, whatever helps numb the pain.
The bitter liquid scalds on the way down, kindling a fire in my belly. I wish I could say I enjoy the taste, at least, but I don't. Everything tastes like shit nowadays.
The girl giggles as she fumbles with my belt again, finally managing to slide the leather out of the loop and undo the top button of my pants. If I gave a shit, I would've changed. But I don't care.
Not about her.
Not about myself.
Not about anything.
I have no one to impress. All I want to do is forget.
My car smells like her perfume, floral and flirty, like if summer had a baby with spring.
I don't like it. It's overpowering and so strong, I briefly wonder if she doused herself in it before our date.
At least, that's what she's calling whatever tonight is.
She was talking in the hallway between classes, and I guess I said yes or nodded or something. I don't know, and I don't care.
She can believe whatever she wants to.
Shit can't get any worse.
The girl giggles obnoxiously again as her hands find my zipper before my phone, lying on the center console, rings. My brother's name flashes on the screen. Well, my half-brother. Not that it matters. Only it does, though, doesn't it? Especially to my goddamn father.
He never understood why my mother cheated on him—his words, not mine.
I'm pretty sure it's not cheating if you're in the middle of a legal separation, but regardless, I understand why she tried to leave.
He's a domineering, overbearing asshole who likes to take his work home, his interns included.
They tried to work it out, I guess, but then she died, and he threw my brother away with her.
He probably would've killed him if he had the balls.
The bastard.
I hit the button on my steering wheel to answer the call and push my oblivious date away from me. She stops giggling as Jonathan's voice cuts through the other end of the line.
"Xade," he mumbles. He sounds sleepy today.
I hate it.
"Where are you?" I ask immediately.
It's the first time he's called in weeks—nine, to be precise—and I don't care where I have to go or how far I have to drive. I'm getting him out this time.
He's my little brother. He's supposed to grow up with me, not halfway across the country in some shithole.
"It doesn't matter," he tells me. "Steven will never allow you to come here, not after last time."
He calls my father by his first name. Other people would think it's weird, but I get it. I call him by his first name, too, because he's not a dad. At best, he's a sperm donor.
"Just tell me where," I push, "and I'll be there."
Jonathan sighs through the line, and I don't know what ends of the earth my brother has been sent to, but I know he never deserved it—the son being punished for the mother's supposed sins and all that.
How many reformatory schools has it been this time?
Ten or eleven at least, and all across the world, just so my father doesn't have to deal with him. The only reason my brother even has a phone is because I use my allowance to pay for it.
"Steven managed it this time," he says, the words slightly slurred. "I'm officially a ward of the state, an orphan."
It's a kick to the ribs. I always knew the asshole didn't want anything to do with Jonathan, but I never expected him to go this far.
I feel sick, and my date gasps audibly.
She shouldn't be here.
I want her the fuck out.
No one at the academy ever hears about my personal life.
Still, I know she won't say a word for fear of me.
I can't believe my father actually did it.
All these years, he's been trying to, and he finally managed it through lawyers and backroom dealings.
He made sure that my brother had no one.
Not my mother, not the partner she had during their separation, not himself, and definitely not me.
He's isolated him just for the crime of being born.
The whiskey bites my esophagus, trying to claw its way back up. I'm going to be sick.
"We can break you out," I tell him with a hard swallow. "We can make sure that he doesn't know. I'll come there tonight."
I'm already straightening in my seat, my hand poised on the gearshift.
"No," my brother murmurs. "Maybe another time, okay? But not right now. Not yet. You gotta finish school. I mean, coming to get me was always the plan, right?"
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. He sounds like he's one leg deep in the grave already.
"Jonathan …" I begin.
"Listen," he interrupts as a commotion sounds through the line, "if something … if … just talk to Ezra if he reaches out, alright?"
"What?" I bite the word. "Who the fuck is Ezra?"
He sighs into the phone. "He's here at the home with me; been at this shithole for years. He's my friend. He … he helped me with shit."
A pang of jealousy drills through my sternum. A stranger can help him but not me, not his own blood.
"What kind of shit?" I push.
There's a commotion in the background, and someone starts shouting.
"Fuck," Jonathan curses away from the receiver. "I have to go. Xade, Ezra has your number. If he calls, you answer, ‘kay?"
"Why the fuck would he call me?!" I shout, but there's no answer.
"Love you, bro," he mumbles before the line disconnects.
No matter how many times I call back, he doesn't answer the phone.
For a long time, I sit in silence, the weight of the world pressing on my chest. The girl beside me shifts uncomfortably, reminding me that she's still here.
I can't bring myself to care about whatever she must be thinking.
My mind races, trying to piece together a plan, a way to save him, to save us both from this nightmare.
The car feels like a cage, the smell of shitty perfume and alcohol mingling in the air, suffocating me. I slam my fist against the steering wheel, the sharp pain shooting into my knuckles a welcome distraction from the chaos inside my head.
I've failed him.
I've failed my brother.
Goddammit!!!
"Are you okay?" the girl asks, her voice small.
I glance over at her, my eyes hard.
"Just go," I tell her. "Get out."
"W … what?"
"Get out!" I yell, and it jumpstarts her ass into gear.
She scrambles to gather her things, her movements quick and jerky. The door slams shut behind her, leaving me alone in the dark.
I take another swig of whiskey, the burn barely registering. The night stretches on, and I lean back in the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. I try Jonathan again, but once more, the call goes unanswered.
The leather of the seat chills my back, and the silence around me is almost deafening, broken only by the occasional chirp of a cricket or the distant hum of a car passing by.
Bottle in hand, my mind drifts to memories of better times when Jonathan and I played in the backyard, our mother watching us with a smile. Those days feel like a lifetime ago.
I close my eyes, trying to hold on to the memories, but they slip away like sand lost to the tide. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles blanching to white.
I can't let this be the end.
I have to fight.
For Jonathan. For myself. For Mom.
The first light of dawn breaks on the horizon, casting a pale glow of orange hues that filters through the windshield, illuminating the car's interior.
My thoughts return to my brother. The last time I saw him, he was just a little kid trying to understand why the world was so cruel. In my nightmares, his innocent eyes, wide with confusion and pain as my father dragged him away, haunt me.
If it wasn't for my mother's parents before their deaths, I wouldn't even have known if he was alive or dead today.
The girl's perfume still lingers in the car, and I roll down the window, letting in the cool morning air. I start the engine, the car roaring to life, and drive away.