"Sure." I shake my head. "So, what do you need me for? Got an IT problem for me?"
"No, Kade." She paces the room. I want to make fun of her, tell her not to get her pretty clothes dirty on our dusty furniture. I do my best to keep this place, but God knows Parker fucking doesn't. "I want to talk to you. I want to be your friend again."
"First of all, it’s the middle of the night. Second of all, I don't want to be your fucking friend." For once, I'm being honest with my stepsister, and it feels fucking good. "So, just please, go home."
"I told my driver to go back, and that I'd be spending the night," she says resolutely.
"You fucking crazy?" I hiss at her. "You can't stay here."
"Why not? I'll sleep on the couch if I have to."
"Parker sleeps on the couch."
"Oh," she whispers. "I thought you had two bedrooms."
"No, June. Not all of us can afford luxuries like a second bedroom." I step in front of her, towering over her, and realize she can't quite meet my eye. "Now come on. I'm calling you a cab."
"But I don't want to go," she insists. "I want to stay with you."
"June, Parker's gonna be back any minute, and he'll lose his shit if he sees you here." Only white lies this time. Anything to get her the fuck out of my apartment. She doesn't belong here. I don't want her here. "Please, we already had an argument today. Don't make it worse."
"Are you two fighting?" she whispers.
"None of your fucking business."
She seems so hurt by my reply that I almost regret it. But I don't say sorry. I never do. Opening the front door, I guide her into the hallway. After we’ve walked down the stairs to the cold, wet street, I hail her a cab and force her to get inside. Giving the driver our old address fucking hurts.
"Kade, please." June stares at me through the open window. "Come with me. At least make sure I get home safely."
The little bitch knows exactly how to play me, and she fucking knows it. All I can think about is the taxi fare, which is pretty much all the money I made today. But I can't say no to my little sister. I never could.
With a groan, I get in the cab, too. June's smile is so warm I have to fight every instinct in my body to ignore it. The need to hurt her cuts me deep. I don't want her this happy. I want her fucking miserable like I am. She starts blabbering on, and I stop her by holding up my palm. "Just shut up, June. I'm seriously not in the mood."
She does as she's told, but the bright radiance surrounding her is still just as un-fucking-bearable as it was before. Her hand is resting on the car seat, inches away from mine. The desire to grab her and intertwine our fingers is almost too strong to ignore. Almost.
But then June shocks me by making the first move. She places her palm on mine, and I stare through the window stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge her. But the hairs on the back of my arm are standing on end. I don't want June to stop, and she doesn't. She keeps her hand there, and then moments later, when I'm convinced it's just a coincidence, she begins to stroke me with her thumb.
No one has touched me like that in years. I don't do affection. I fuck hard, and I drop my conquests harder. There's no time in my schedule for gentleness. Yet it feels so fucking good that goose bumps erupt all over my skin.
I try to force the moment to stop, but somehow, I'm frozen, unable to pull my hand away from June's. And then it all becomes too much. My mind scrambles as heat and ice take turns wreaking havoc on my body. I force myself to bang on the plastic separating us from the driver. "I need to get out, please."
"What?" June asks, staring me down with accusing eyes. "Aren't you going to make sure I get home okay?"
"You know what, June?" I hiss. "You got yourself into this mess, why don't you get yourself out of it, too."
The cab pulls over, and crazy honking ensues while I get the fuck out of the car, slamming the door. The driver pulls away, and I do my fucking best to eradicate June from my mind as I walk the few blocks back home.
By the time I finally get in, Parker's slumped in front of the TV. He doesn't say a word, just pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and pretends I'm not there. Well, at least he's alive, I guess.
"Night night," I mutter sarcastically. This time, I slam my bedroom door. Fuck them all. If they all want to be brats with a motherfucking attitude, I'll be one too.
5
Kade
When I come home from the co-working office that evening, Parker hasn’t moved an inch from his spot in front of the TV. He's still slumped over just like he was when I came home last fucking night, still pissed at me. I wonder if he’s even done something or if he spent the entire goddamn day playing video games.
“Did you bring food?” he asks without looking at me, too busy hunting down some alien bad guy on the TV screen. “I’m hungry,” he adds, in case I didn’t know.
I don’t bother to respond because I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. Instead, I put my paper bag on the counter and produce two bottles of tequila.
A peace offering.
Finally, Parker turns his game off and comes into the kitchen, curiously picking up a bottle.
“It’s not even the good stuff,” he complains right away.
“Yeah, we can’t afford the good stuff, unless you want to chip in,” I snap.
He looks taken aback. Fucking good. I'm not going to be the only one trying to make amends again. “What’s with you?” he wonders out loud.
"You really need to ask?" I sigh. “That fight fucked me up. And on top of everything... June dropped by last night.” I can see his eyes dim with the mere mention of her name.
It’s always been Parker and June. They were so close. I know this is the hardest for him.
looks suspicious and jealous for a split second, but then the look is gone. “So?” he asks, pretending not to care, opening that tequila, and taking a swig straight from the bottle.
I shrug. “She misses us… well, you more so than me, I’m sure.”
“Don’t care,” he says, though we both know he does. She’s his best friend, and it’s killing him that they’re not in contact anymore. And it hurts more because she wants to be, and he thinks he’d be betraying me if he did something about it.
“I need to get drunk tonight,” I say and uncap my own bottle of tequila. I guess we're choosing not to talk about our fight last night. It might be for the best. I really don't want to relive the moment I saw my twin's cum all over my ex-hookup's face.
“I share your sentiment,” Parker murmurs in my general direction while he looks in the paper bag. “No lemons? Or salt?”
“I think today is a day for straight-up tequila.”
"At least we agree on something."
We settle on the couch, each with our own bottle, and watch some nineties movie. It almost feels like everything’s okay if I ignore the shitty atmosphere. Things left unspoken always end up rotting you from the inside, and this fight of ours is just another one to add fuel to the fire. A fire that was already blazing and doesn't seem to go out as time goes on.