INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER X

The living room had a high ceiling and a stone fireplace that felt more like a furnace and was difficult to put out. The almost unmanageable, blood-red velvet curtains had been tugged apart, letting in a slit of fading sunlight and a glimpse of bruised purple and blue clouds. I switched the TV off, picked up my empty bowl of cereal and with my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I ambled towards the kitchen and came to a sudden stop in the doorway. My voice rang out sharp, choleric. "What are you doing?"

"I'm hanging out with dad," his quick-witted, gunmetal grey eyes snapped over to me with a hint of amusement, his lips threatened to break into a wicked grin. "We're bonding."

I set my bowl down, furiously striding over to him where he was spinning the marble black urn on the kitchen island carelessly as if it were a spinning top. He snatched it just as I reached for it, holding it to his chest. "Ah, ah, don't be a selfish cow, Calla. You gotta wait your turn."

"You'll break it," my teeth were clenched, eyes narrowed into a heated glare. "Be careful!"

"Would it matter if I did? I'll scoop up the ashes into a mug or something. I'm sure the old man doesn't mind, he's too busy being dead."

"You're such a fucking cunt," my hands balled into fist, nails digging into my skin. I wanted to whack him but I refrained, mindful of the fragile urn in his slippery hold.

He lazily rolled his eyes skyward, "Shit. My bad. I forgot you're best friends with the old fucker in the sky. I bet you still pray that daddy dearest doesn't burn in hell. Please Jesus, my daddy was a good man. Save him from eternal damnation. Or else I'll get my brother to split open your virgin mother's legs and cream into her magic pussy. Another son of god. Can you imagine it? He'll be more popular than Kim Kardashian's sex tape."

"You're a sick bastard."

"You still love me though, right?" he wrapped an arm around my neck, playful even though it felt like a chokehold. "How come you don't talk to me anymore, Calla? It hurts my feelings when you ignore me. I'm all alone in this shitty house every goddamn day while you go out to the mall and eat ice cream with your friends. It's not fair." His tone was sardonic and disrespectful. "I want to gossip with you, have naked sleepovers with your friends and crush your boyfriend's spine. I want to have fun. I'm bored."

"You're not going anywhere near my friends," I ducked under his arm, taking a few steps away from him. I crossed my arms across my chest, my demeanour unfriendly and eyebrows crossly tugged down. "And my name is Cleo."

He mimicked me, a thick brow furrowed, the urn set down, arms crossed, leaning his hip into the back of a chair. "Calla means the most beautiful, it's a sweet-sounding name, something an artist would draw inspiration from, Cleo is the exact opposite. Mom named you Calla, that's what I'm going to call you."

"I've had a legal name change, I've created a new identity and you're not part of it. Calla is in the past."

He laughed wryly. "I should go from Eton to Ethan, completely disregard my Greek heritage and whiten my complexion. That's what it looks like, Calla, like you're ashamed of your culture and your family."

"Quit the bullshit, Eton. What I'm ashamed of is you, I want to distance myself from your history and cut ties with you."

"So does that mean no sleepover?" he put a hand to his chest. "My heart is breaking. I guess I'll just go make my own friends, we can play Call of Duty and masturbate to midget pórn." He frowned slightly. "That's what boys do, right? Or maybe I'll just break gender stereotypes and slam their fingers in car trunks, cave in their skull with a metal pipe, and write poetry about 3 a.m. thoughts."