Perfect Storm

by Erica Marselas

  “Let me lay her down,” Dean whispers. Faith is now fast asleep with a full belly in my arms.

  Dean lifts our sleeping newborn from my arms and places her in the bassinet next to my bed. Georgia has gone home with my parents for the night. They’ll keep her spoiled rotten, for sure, with movies and candy.

  Dean sits down on the bed beside me and places a kiss on my forehead. I lean into his body, my eyes and head are heavy. I’m dead tired; birthing a child is fucking hard work. All mothers should get a medal for this. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m exhausted, but I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

  “You should close your eyes and get some sleep while she's sleeping.”

  “Yes, Daddy. Whatever you say,” I say cheekily. It took some time for me to be able to call him that again after finding the truth. But one time it slipped out of me a few months later, and he could no longer deny how it affected him.

  “Don't start something you can't finish young lady,” he growls, putting his hand behind my neck and pulls me in for a hungry kiss, that leaves my head spinning.

  As I get lost in his kiss, I can't help but think of how lucky I am. I have a family, something I always thought had been missing when I was young, even though it was right in front of me the whole time. Peyton giving me up had been the best thing for me, but so was finding her. Both ways gave me a new family filled with people who can love and support me and best of all the man I was supposed to be with. I guess in a way I should thank her because she led me to my future—my true destiny.

  From now on there are only clear skies ahead because the storm that loomed over us has disappeared.

  THE END

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  Family. They’re the people you expect to always be there for you. The people that will protect and love you through anything, but the thing is, that isn't always true.

  I used to believe I had the perfect, cookie-cutter family growing up. Something you see in those old TV shows from the fifties: always wearing big toothy smiles, a home with a white picket fence, and always so damn chipper.

  Then, when I was twelve, that image was pulled from the reels and disintegrated around me when my parents divorced. It was like overnight, the two people I loved the most had changed. Their love and warmth turned into a bitter cold hatred. They no longer kissed and, instead, spent their time jumping down each other’s throats. Soon, my dad moved away for a new job, and my mother got custody of me.

  I had then spent years watching my mother date asshole after asshole, trying to find love again. If it weren’t for my dad, I would say she had the worst taste in men. Though, I would’ve taken the revolving door of men over the one she decided to marry.

  One of my mother’s happiest days ended up being the beginning of my worst of days.

  Enter Victor Wagner, my step-father, my living nightmare.

  Victor is a creation of the devil—making the last year and a half hell on earth.

  When I first met Victor, I swear his beady eyes leered over me like a piece of meat. He always makes me feel uncomfortable. He’s never tried anything, but I think he’s like a snake ready to strike. Especially these recent months, where he’s spending more of his time drunk than sober. My mom is hopelessly in love with him and seems blind to what he’s truly like.

  The only thing that has made my new home feel less like Satan’s lair is my step-brother, Colin.

  He’s nineteen, built, with dark blue eyes that look into your soul, wild, untamed brown hair, and a face that reminds me of a younger Scott Eastwood. He also happens to speak French, which never fails to make me a trembling wet mess.

  Yeah, I might have a little, well, big crush on my step-brother. I've been making goo-goo eyes and daydreaming about all the dirty things he could do to me since the second I met him. How could anyone blame me? First, I'm a teenage girl; my hormones are raging and, second, the man is fine.

  He used to come around every weekend to visit his dad because he was blessed to be able to live with his mother instead of the devil himself. So every weekend, I found myself turning into Cher from Clueless; whipping my hair around, dressing in the tiniest clothes I own, and then end up doing something stupid like falling on my face.

  Though, two months ago, he moved in after his mom took a job back in her hometown of Paris. The boy is crazy; I would’ve moved to Paris in a heartbeat if I had the choice. I mean, it’s the city of lights and love, and best of all, it’s far away from this crappy small town in Delaware.

  Or I would have at least moved in with a friend instead of this house.

  But who am I to complain?

  He's here and tends to always walk around the house with his shirt off.

  Case in point, right now, he’s watching sports highlights, wearing only a pair of basketball shorts. His bare feet are propped on the coffee table, as he occasionally takes a handful of popcorn from the bowl next to him to munch on. I watch as one of the kernels drop on his firm tanned chest, and my mouth waters as I envision eating it off him. Among all the other things that would happen afterward.

  Knowing it will never be more than a pleasant dream, I shake it off and skip over to the couch. I plop down next to him, our shoulders bumping together.

  He turns to look at me, and a delightful shiver runs down my spine when his eyes narrow in on my chest for a second, then back at me.

  “What's up, brat?” He gives me a cocky smirk and throws a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

  I have a love-hate with his nickname for me. Sometimes it’s playful, like now, and other times it’s because he thinks I’m actually acting like a spoiled brat.

  “Nothing. What's up with you?” I say cheekily and lean over his lap to grab a handful of popcorn, making sure my breasts graze his chest.

  “You know you could just ask if you wanted some.”

  “What’s the fun in that?” I tease. “Plus, I have no problem getting what I want,” I say, hoping he gets the hint.

  He ignores me and goes back to watching TV. I move off him even though he didn't ask me to.

  “You've been very tense lately.” I massage his bare shoulder, but I’m disappointed when he grabs my wrist and pushes it away to land on his lap.

  “I have a lot on my mind,” he grumbles, locking eyes with me.

  My heart flutters at his intense stare, and so do my eyes, trying to lay it on thick, determined to get the guy who used to flirt with me back.

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Stuff…” His gaze drops from mine, back to the reporter barking about Phoenix losing three to eight. I roll my eyes and flop down to the couch in a huff, knowing he’s more interested in last night's scores than he is me.

  He hasn’t been the same with me in the last month after he took me to a concert with his friends where all our favorite bands were playing. I went to hug him and kiss his cheek to thank him at the end of the night. Well, he ended up turning his head, mid-cheek kiss and it landed on his lips. It only took a second for him to realize that our lips were locked when he freaked out and pushed me away. It hasn’t been the same between us since.

  “You know you can talk to me? You used to.” I try to hide the hurt in my voice.

  “This is different, Abbs, and you wouldn’t get it.”

  “Try me. I might surprise you…” I lay my head on him and look at him, pleading.

  Colin and I used to talk about everything: music, crazy p
arents, debate over the best flavors of soda, or last week's episode of American Horror Story. We had something special, dammit, and I considered him someone I could lean on when I needed it.

  His head turns, and he rests his nose in my hair. My insides about turn to mush, thinking he’s about to kiss my head, but then he nudges me away. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Obviously you haven’t looked in a mirror. I’m just trying to be nice,” I snarl and stand, giving up. Why would I think he would tell me anything?

  He grabs my hand and pulls me back down to the couch. “Stop being a little brat, Abbs.”

  “I’m not. You’re just acting like a shithead.” I cross my arms and turn away from him.

  “A shithead?” He chuckles, and I glare back at him for laughing at me. I notice his eyes are trained on my breasts again, my crossed arms lifting them and exposing more of my cleavage.

  “You really want to know?” he asks as his eyes drift from my boobs to the TV.

  “Yeah…but if you're going to need bail, I might be a little short,” I joke, trying to ease the mood.

  “I dropped out of college....” He lets the words hang and I'm taken back by what he said. Victor is going to kill him.

  “Why?” I utter, still gaping at his confession.

  “Because I hate it. I thought I wanted to study accounting, but it's not what I want to do with my life.”

  “What is it that you want?”

  “I don't know.” He pushes his hands through his hair, letting his head fall back to the cushions. “It's just not that, and I don’t want to waste my time studying for something I’ll never use.”

  “I get it. Lots of people wait or don't go at all. It's not the end of the world.” I move to rub his back, to feel the rippling tension in his muscles under my hand, and this time he allows it.

  “It will be when my dad finds out,” he mumbles.

  “Why did you move in here? You can’t tell me you didn't have friends you could've lived with or, hell, went to Paris.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I swear I can see the wheels turning in his head. He places the bowl of popcorn on the table and picks up the remote, flipping to a different channel.

  “Oh, look, your favorite,” he snickers. When my head twists to the television, I scream.

  Clowns.

  Murderous clowns grace the screen with their evil painted smiles. I hate those things. Scratch that; I'm terrified of those things.

  Now I’m going to have nightmares for weeks

  “Ugh, I hate you,” I screech, and smack his chest, tempted to wrap my hands around his neck.

  Colin is cracking up, trying to catch my flying hands. “What’s wrong? They’re just clowns. They just want to make you laugh,” he teases, and I growl louder. I spot the remote next to him and dive over him to grab it. He snatches it away before I can take it. “Did you want this?” He antagonizes, waving it in my face.

  “Yes, stop being a dick and turn this off.” Colin holds the remote over his head and I crawl into his lap, pressing my boobs in his face, as I try to pull his arm down. “Come on give it to me.”

  He groans underneath me, while someone screams on the television—probably being chopped up into little pieces by a clown.

  Colin tosses the remote over his head, landing on the other side of the couch. I make a mad dive for it, but he grabs my hips holding me still, my hands now only inches away from the device. I try to wiggle out of his hold to inch closer to it, but it’s no use.

  “Colin, come on.” I throw a glare over my shoulder, and I notice my ass hanging out of my shorts and his hands are dangerously close to the exposed skin. He’s laughing with a mischievous glint in his eyes, making me want to kick him. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” The roar of my step-father bellows into the room. Colin releases me and practically shoves me to the ground. With a sudden lack of coordination, I sit up and grab the remote to turn off the creepy clowns.

  Who needs clowns to scare me when I have a Victor?

  Victor’s evil black eyes flit from Colin to me. When they land on me, they linger a little too long. This isn’t the first time this gorilla has looked at me like that, but over the last months his creep factor has intensified, and his stares make me feel as if I’m naked.

  “Nothing. He just stole the remote.” I look down at the ground, away from his line of sight.

  “And that accounts for you being all over each other?”

  “Dad, it wasn’t—” Colin goes to argue, but he’s quickly silenced.

  “Shut up, Colin. Go to your room, Abigail,” he spits, and the hair on my arms stand on edge. Part of me wants to argue he’s not my father and can’t tell me what to do, but I run off instead.

  “And put some damn clothes on while you’re at it,” he calls out when I’m midway up the stairs.

  “Get your ass off the couch! We need to have a talk.” It’s the last thing I hear before getting to my room and shutting the door.

  I fall on my bed and close my eyes. Victor ruined something that I’ve been waiting for a month to have back. The awkwardness that was around us had disappeared, going back to the way we used to be. Before the concert, we could goof around and have fun. He treated me normal, like a friend, and not like some vile step-sister. He’s the only person who understands the darkness and loneliness I’m going through. It’s the reason I feel close to him. When he's around he makes me feel wanted and special, something I'm desperate to have now that I live in hell.

  God knows my mother is no longer the mother I knew before she became hypnotized by Victor. I know she loves me and still does some things for me, but it’s different. Victor’s needs always come before mine now. Now, I'm pretty much ignored when she comes home, and all her free moments are spent with him. We used to go out shopping and have lunch on the weekends and now it’s nonexistent because it’s like I don’t exist. I don’t feel that same love I used to from her and that’s the thing: at the end of the day, that hurts the most. Colin truly is my only light in the darkness.

  Will what happened today change our relationship, again? I can’t help but wonder what Victor is saying to Colin. Is it about us? About Colin dropping out? I only hope Victor doesn’t know about that yet because when those two really fight, it’s nasty. Victor is always putting him down.

  I don’t know how he puts up with it. I personally can’t wait to get out of here when I turn eighteen and never look back.

  My thoughts drift somewhere nicer, back to what happened on the couch. The way his hands felt on my body, making my skin ignite. The sound he made when my boobs were practically smothering him was enough to give me tingles down there.

  I only wish it meant as much to him as it does me.

  I know the feelings I have for him are wrong, but are they? I didn’t grow up with him, we’re not blood related, so is there a problem if we get together? But I should be honest with myself; it’s not like anything would ever happen between us. He’s a college boy, well he was, and I’m just a junior in high school. No way he would want anything to do with me. I've seen some of the girls he hangs with and there’s no way I could ever compare to any of them.

  But a girl can dream.

  A bedroom door slams, shaking the house. I jump out of bed and race to my door, cracking it open. I notice Colin’s door now shut and I’m tempted to check on him. From downstairs, I hear Victor cussing, so I pass, not sure when he’ll pop up.

  Seconds later, Colin’s door flies back open and he comes out with a backpack slung over his shoulder. I whisper his name and he turns to me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out,” he says and my heart sinks knowing my moment in the sun with Colin is officially over.

  “Are you okay? Are you coming back?” I ask, in fear that he’s leaving. Though it would be the right thing for him to do, I don’t want him to go and leave me alone in this hell.

&
nbsp; “Yes.” He makes his way down the stairs, leaving me unsure which question he answered.

  Over the next several days, Colin avoids me at all cost.

  When I come home, he vanishes to his room or leaves to go out. He barely even utters a hello in my direction.

  The air in the house has shifted. I’m not a hundred percent sure if it's just because of what happened with Victor or if I had gone too far trying to wrestle him for the remote.

  But now it’s Friday afternoon and I'm sitting on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to pretend I’m not watching them fight in the kitchen.

  Victor had gotten home shortly after me. The rage radiating off him caused enough shockwaves to make me quiver in fear as he slammed the front door. He reeked of liquor and demanded to know where Colin was. I lied, saying I didn’t know, and he called me an idiot before he charged up the stairs.

  Not wanting to go in that direction I flopped onto the couch to listen, to avoid the path of Victor’s fury.

  Victor is twice the size of Colin in weight and muscle and stands over him by a couple of inches. He’s fucking intimidating; a nightmare. I’m not sure how Victor found out, but for the last hour, they have been in a screaming match over Colin dropping out of college.

  No place is this house is safe from their argument, which started upstairs, then moved to the garage, and is now in the kitchen. Watching them is like a violent tennis match with all the back and forth. Their angry voices sound as though they're coming through a bullhorn, and I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called the cops. I ache, wishing I could do something to protect Colin from Victor’s anger.

  “I told you if you wanted to live here you had to be going to college. I should kick your fucking ass out for wasting my money on nothing.” Victor is as red as the devil, with a vein popping from the side of his neck. “I only paid, hoping maybe you would fucking wise up and stay the hell out of my hair. If it weren’t for my wife, you would be on the street.”