E D I T E D : J U L Y 3 0 , 2 0 1 7
•°•°•
"Hey kid. Long time no see."
I freeze in my tracks, looking strait ahead at my older half brother. My mom stands to the side, fiddling with her hands. Emery just looks confused.
"Mom, what the fuck is he doing here?" I hiss, shoving Emery behind me. She makes a noise of disapproval, but I ignore it. I didn't want him messing with her.
"Well, honey, he needed a place to stay so I-"
"You let John's other son come into our house? What the hell?" I ask.
"Honey, John is your father. And your brother is family, and we don't leave family to fend for themselves," Mom says.
"Damon is not my family. John is not my family. You are my family. You didn't abandon me," I say hotly. "Get out of our house, Damon."
Emery shifts on her feet behind me, and I feel her peek out around me. Damon suddenly smirks and shoves me over.
I groan as I hit the coat rack. Mom gasps, but I get back up.
"And who's this pretty little thing?" Damon asks, eyeing Emery. That makes me lose it.
I shove Damon back. "Get out of her fucking face, asshole! Better yet, get out of my god damn house!" I yell.
"What, is this little slut your girlfriend or something?" Damon asks loudly. Emery narrows her eyes. I would've knocked him out right then and there, if it wasn't for Emery's hand on my arm.
"You know, if you go down the street a little ways, you can find another slut that would be very willing to put out for you. Or, you know, what little you do have," Emery says, nodding down at his pants.
I could've kissed her for that, honestly. I mean, I could kiss her for just being her, but still.
"You don't know what your talking about-"
"Damon, get out. I told you you could stay here if you were civil with your brother, but you've crossed that line. Goodbye," Mom says. She opens the door and gestures towards it.
Damon narrows his eyes, then his expression goes blank. "Okay. Sure. I'll go now." With that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.
And deep down, I he won't be gone for long.
Suddenly, Emery stills. I frown and look at her as she states past me, like she did in the hospital. "What's wrong?" I ask. When she doesn't answer, I shake her shoulder gently. "Emery?"
"He called me a slut," she whispers, almost to herself. "I'm a slut."
"You're not a slut, okay?" I say. I furrow my eyebrows as I look at her. She doesn't look at me or my mom. She just stares into space.
Mom frowns too. "Come on honey, let's go sit down." She guides Emery to the couch, where they take a seat.
I sit next to Emery, but look at mom. "What's going on? What's wrong with her?"
"Seems like a wave of depression or something. Something probably reminded her of something bad that happened to her," Mom informs me. "There's not much we can do right now. She just has to get past it."
•°•°•
"Seth, who exactly was that? Earlier?" Emery asks. It took her almost thirty minutes to get past the depression. Even after she was quiet.
It's almost ten o'clock, and we lay in my bed, attempting to sleep. I sigh. "My half brother," I answer.
"Why do you have such a strong dislike for him?" She asks. "Wait, you don't have to answer that. That was a bit personal."
"It's okay. I'll tell you," I say, tucking some of her brown hair back.
"Before my mom and I, my dad had a wife, Vivienne. She when him had a son, Damon. The guy you saw. Apparently Vivienne and Dad didn't get along well after, so they divorced. A couple years later, Dad found my mom and they married. They had me when Damon was five. Damon always tormented me, in any ways he could. When I was twelve, Damon seventeen, my dad and him just up and left one night. My mom and I were sleeping, and they packed their clothes and left. They were gone the next morning," I say.
Emery sets a hand on my chest, urging me to go on. So I do. "I was heartbroken. About my dad, you know? Until I found out that he was seeing another woman couple states over. He left me behind with my mom, but took Damon with him. I will never know why, but I don't really care. I don't know or care where my father is now. I call him by his name, John, because he's not my father. He may be related to me by blood, but he doesn't have a place in my heart."
"I'm sorry, Seth," Emery says, frowning. I shrug.
"It's okay. It doesn't bother me," I tell her. It isn't a complete lie because it only bothers me sometimes, when I'm alone. It's silent for a minute.
"My dad is dead."
My eyes snap up to Emery's. "What?"
"Well, you already know that. You heard my mom and I's conversation at the hospital. But yeah. I'll tell you the story, if you want."
I shake my head immediately. "It's okay, Em. You don't have to tell me just because I told you my sob story."
"I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't tell you," she says rolling her pretty eyes.
"You don't have to."
"I want to. Really. It might help to tell somebody," Emery says, trying to smile. "So, the beginning, right?"
I nod, eager to hear the story.
"So, my parents were high school sweethearts, and married young, right after high school ended. They took a gap year before they were supposed to go to college and traveled around Europe. Mom got pregnant with me and my brother in Paris, France. The city of love, they told us. They were only nineteen, but they were ecstatic. Then they had my brother, Everest Blake Clarke, at seven thirty three on December first. Then they had me, Emery Blaire Clarke, at seven thirty five on the same day.
"We were the picture perfect family. We had a puppy named Max, a cosy house, and everything we ever needed or wanted. My brother was my best friend, and I his. We had matching brown hair and green eyes, each of us basically replicas of our father. We were never apart, and if we were it wasn't for long. I loved my brother. I still do. He was always there for me. He knew when I was upset, what I needed. Some nights, after our parents we asleep, we would sneak into each other's rooms and lay down next to each other. We would talk for hours, whispering in the dark. We would fall asleep, and our parents would always find us in the mornings," she says, smiling softly at the memory. I find myself smiling at her happiness.
"When I broke my arm when we were five, he wrapped his in a t-shirt and pretended that he broke his too. Just for my sake. Everest was left handed, like me, and his favorite color was blue. He loved it when my dad read us stories right before bed. He always had a grin on his face, and an eye on me.
"And then, when we were six, almost seven, him and my dad went out to the grocery store. It was November thirtieth, the day before our birthday. It was cold and snowy, but perfectly safe. Unless your were drunk," Emery says, swallowing harshly. She bites her tongue and takes a breath. I rub her arm soothingly.
"So my brother and my dad were driving back down our street, a couple houses away. I was standing on the porch, waiting for them. They were about to pull up to our house when suddenly a car from the other direction came speeding up. They didn't stop, and just rammed into the front of the car. Dad died on impact, but Everest stayed alive long enough for me to scream and run over.
"I was banging on the windows, sobbing. One of the windows was cracked, and it broke easily. I was screaming for my brother, who I knew was still alive. His head was rolling around, and it had been hit against the window. Want to know what he said to me?" Emery asks, tears on her cheeks. I nod.
"He said, "I love you, Emmy. Happy early birthday, twin." We said that to each other on every November thirtieth. But that was the last time I heard it."
•°•°•