Dirty Stepbrother

by Alycia Taylor

  By the time I got back to the apartment, it was late. I parked the bike and took the papers Elly gave me out of the saddlebag. I rolled it up in my hand and took the stairwell up. I was shocked when I saw Brooke sitting next to my front door. Damn! I figured she would have given up and left by. What the hell was up with these persistent bitches?

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked her, and not nicely.

  “Seriously, Tristan? You invited me over, and then I take a cab all the way out here and you’re not home. What is up with you? Are you always this rude to people you invite to hang out?”

  My fucking head was pounding again. A few days ago, I couldn’t wait to get my dick in this girl. Now, all I wanted was for her to go away.

  “I had things to do. You should go, Brooke. I’m not in the mood for company tonight.”

  “Too bad. Do you know how much the cab cost me? You can at least offer me a beer.”

  “I’m all out.”

  “I doubt that ever happens. Then let’s smoke some weed.”

  “Damn it, Brooke! Can you hear me talking? I don’t want to hang out with you. I want to be alone, which means I want you to go the fuck away. Is that clear enough? I’m seriously not in the mood for this shit.”

  “Screw you, Tristan! You came on to me just to make that bitch Elly jealous, didn’t you? You know they have rules against screwing around with staff—and she knows it, too. You’ll get disqualified and she’ll get fired. Don’t make me tell somebody what’s going on. You’re not above following the rules, and neither is she.”

  I couldn’t believe she was actually threatening to tattle on me and Elly. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so pissed. She had the nerve to call Elly a bitch? These fucking women were giving me a headache.

  “Do what you want to, Brooke, I honestly don’t give a fuck,” I told her as I went into the apartment and closed the door in her face.

  Before I’d gone into the studio earlier, I had done a few lines. I couldn’t wake up that morning. I’d smoked too much weed and had a few too many beers. The mirror, still coated in dust, was on the table. There was a straw lying next to it. The bong I’d used to get high was on the counter next to the box I kept my weed in. There was at least a half a case of empty beer bottles on the counter; as well as half a bottle of Fireball, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a vodka bottle that had less than a shot left in it.

  I sat down in one of the dining room chairs and, as much as I hated to admit it, Elly was right. I definitely had a problem. I still preferred that no one refer to me as an addict. I hated that fucking word. But a problem, I had to admit, that I had. Not a day had gone by for years that I wasn’t drunk or high. I hated it, but I did it anyways. The reason I did it anyways was because I felt like I needed it in order to cope….to function…to block things out. The point was I needed it. The difference between wanting it and needing it was the difference between partying and being an….having a problem.

  I dug through the pile of junk on the table until I found an ink pen. I opened the paperwork that Elly had given me and smoothed it out. The header said, “When you stop chasing the wrong things, you give the right things a chance to catch you.”

  I laughed. I really was trying to take this seriously, but did they have to use the clichés? As I filled out the paperwork, I hoped that this place wasn’t like the ones they’d sent me to when I was a kid: more clichés than action. I wondered, if I took this step, would Elly prove she meant what she said about being supportive? To her that might mean one thing, but to me it meant her naked and in my bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Elly

  The night of round six, I went into work nervous. I hadn’t seen Tristan since our fight a couple days before. I was sure that Tony bought my explanation of why we were fighting, but then I got home and got myself all worked up thinking about what would happen if Tony decided to say something to Tristan about it. Tristan was such a loose cannon, I never knew what he was going to say. He was liable to tell Tony to go fuck himself and let it go at that. Everyone around here knew how moody he was, so that might not be too much of a shock. What worried me most was that he was also liable to tell Tony that the only person around here that he’d fucked was me.

  I didn’t know if anything happened between him and Brooke or not, but judging from the fact that they couldn’t even stand to look at each other, I doubted it. I also liked to tell myself that. The point was that I didn’t trust Tristan to keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t because he was some kind of narc, or that he felt guilty about breaking the rules; if he gave us up, it would be because he was pissed off at me, and because he truly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about anything. He might regret walking away from a million dollars and a chance at a new career, but he was just impulsive enough to do it.

  I did my best to concentrate on my job and try not to worry about whether or not he slept with Brooke or whether or not he was going to fill out the rehab papers or whether or not he was going to screw up and tell someone about us. I had to shake it off before people started noticing. Molly already mentioned that I looked uptight. I didn’t think I was going to be able to stop feeling like I was going to explode until it was all resolved, but I at least had to get better at covering.

  When it was Brooke’s turn, I watched Tristan watch her perform. She did a bad job. That’s not my jealousy speaking; honestly, she sucked. Tristan flinched and winced a few times. Diva had her hands on her head and the record producer covered his ears at one point. When they finished telling her how bad it was, Brooke left the stage in tears. I felt bad for her. She was talented, but obviously having a bad night. I had to wonder if her problems stemmed from the same place mine did: Tristan Rogers.

  He went next. I found myself holding my breath every time he performed; hoping he’d do well. I couldn’t read the look on his face when he took his place at the microphone on the stage. He looked tired…or high. His eyes were streaked with red and he had dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t slept in a while. He signaled to the band and they started playing. As soon as he hit his first note, I knew that this was not going to be one of those performances he owned. This time, I only had to hold my breath for several seconds before I realized that there was going to be nothing good about it. He was screaming again; it sounded like he was furious. He looked angry and I could tell that the judges hated it, maybe worse than they’d hated Brooke’s performance.

  When Tristan finished, he stood there looking at the judges as if he was daring them to tell him what a crappy job he did. If that was what he’d really wanted, they didn’t disappoint.

  “Wow, Tristan…it’s hard for me to believe you’re the same guy that wowed us last week. You have to be more consistent, man. One performance like that is all it will take to get you voted off the show. In real life, a performance like that could have a stadium full of people requesting a refund. I’m sorry man; I know that’s not what you wanted to hear….” Tristan’s face was neutral. I’m sure it’s not what he wanted to hear, but he either knew how badly he’d done, or he was learning how to react for the cameras—or both. He gave the country singer a barely perceptible nod and turned his attention towards Diva.

  Once again, she looked like she was going to cry. She’d been a pop singer for years, but I really think she missed her calling as an actress. She did know music, though, and it was apparent from the look on her face what she’d thought of the performance. She started to open her mouth, and then she shook her head and closed it. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry baby. That was so bad.”

  She left it at that and the record producer said, “I have nothing at all positive to say about that. A positive person might say, ‘At least he showed up,’ but considering that performance, it may have been better if you’d stayed at home. I won’t be surprised if you’re in the bottom three tomorrow night.”

  The camera had a close-up on Tristan’s face. He was getting good at keeping it neutral. He had to be hurting. I couldn’t ima
gine performing and then having to stand there and be told how awful it was. I was a coward like that. It was the reason I refused to sing solo—I hated the thought of people judging me. Tristan let them finish though and then walked off the stage with his head held high.

  Chapter Ten

  Tristan

  I knew before I’d hit my last note how bad I did during round six. I couldn’t blame the judges for saying how bad it was. The truth was, I would have lost respect for them if they hadn’t. I had so much shit in my head and I couldn’t let it go. I think it all came out in my song…and it wasn’t pretty. I stood there and listened to the judges, knowing that the camera was on my face, and I tried not to give anything away. I was scared to death that if I let my face move, it would betray me to millions of people and the whole world would know how disappointed I was in myself. I wished I really didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. That would have made it easier. I should have gotten high before I came; that would have made me numb.

  I didn’t look at Elly’s face when it was all over. I could see her in my peripheral vision and I knew she was watching. As bad as it was to have to face the judges, it would have been a hundred times worse to see the disappointment in her eyes. She probably would have blamed it on me being high. I blamed the poor performance on sobriety. So far, it sucked. After I filled out the rehab papers, I had dumped everything. I flushed it down the toilet, or I would have been digging it back out first thing in morning, or maybe sometime during the night. I woke up with a pounding head and my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my own dick to pee.

  All day long, I went back and forth, telling myself that I didn’t want to do this shit and Elly could go fuck herself if she didn’t like it; and then telling myself that I should do it if for no other reason than I didn’t want to be my parents someday. I considered calling my guy. I had enough cash to get something to get me through at least for a couple of days.

  I’d get pissed at myself for dumping it all. I should have saved just a taste of it…but I hadn’t, and I didn’t call him. If I was going to commit to this rehab shit, I was committing to it. I was brave about it for a few hours at a time, and then I’d freak out again. Before the show, I’d downed two beers. It was enough to take the edge off, but they lasted about an hour and then I was climbing the walls again.

  I didn’t think I was a junkie. I was not sweating and twitching and hallucinating and shit, but my mind was spinning and it hurt to think. I went out on stage feeling like that, and as soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake.

  I was sitting on the stage during the results show, again trying to keep my face neutral. I hated knowing that fucking camera was pointed at my face. I was in worse shape than I’d been in during my performance. I was pissed at everyone and everything. I’d already snapped at half the crew. I avoided Elly because I was really pissed at her. This was all her fault. I was doing fine until she came along and fucked everything up.

  When it was my turn, I swore the host enjoyed once again replaying my horrible performance and the judge’s reactions to it. I’d never been a violent guy, but for some reason, I firmly believed I could whoop the shit out of this little man without giving it a second thought. I had to actually will myself not to punch him right there on stage and in front of the cameras. The last young teenybopper we had hanging on, the one that looked like daddy’s little princess, was in the bottom three again. She landed there a lot, but she always made her way back. She never looked worried. I wondered if she was a good actress or if she was just that confident. The host finally looked at me and said, “I’m sorry Tristan, but you’ll have to go join Hayley in the bottom three.” He didn’t really look sorry. You think with all the money they paid him to do his job, he’d at least be able to fake it better.

  I got up, went to the death chair, and waited for my fate. Within the next ten minutes, Brooke was sitting next to me in the other chair. She looked pissed; I don’t know if it was because she was in the bottom three, or because she had to sit next to me. Her performance last night was as bad as mine. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fight we’d had the night before. I probably should have felt bad about that, but I didn’t. She was the one throwing around accusations and threats. She should have left it alone.

  Ten long minutes passed with another commercial break and a promotional trailer we’d shot for a car company. Then the host finally sent Hayley back to her seat. She looked like she hadn’t doubted that she was going back. I was trying like hell to, if not feel confident, at least look it. I knew that fucking camera was on me. I was reminded of the old adage that news people used: If it bleeds, it leads. During the elimination rounds, they kept a camera tight on the faces of those in the bottom three, hoping to spot blood.

  I glanced over at Brooke. She had tears dried on her face and she had her stool swiveled so her back was both to me and the cameras. She apparently hadn’t told anyone what she was threatening to about me and Elly—not that I gave a shit if she did or not. If I win this thing, that’s great. If I get disqualified for having the best sex I’d ever had, it was still worth it. Besides, as long as Elly didn’t confess, as long as she didn’t have pictures or audio tape, we could deny it.

  When the host called us both to the center of the stage, he asked the judges if they thought the voters had gotten it right by putting the two of us in the bottom. The judges agreed that by last night’s performance alone, we should both be going home. Then the host went on to say that the votes had been closer than they’d ever come before. The one of us who was staying had only beaten the other one by less than a hundred votes. Considering that millions voted, that was a slim margin. If I wasn’t going home, I was doing it by the skin of my teeth, as I should be.

  At last, after all the host’s time-filling drama he said, “Brooke, I’m sorry, honey, but you’re going home tonight. Tristan, have a seat.” I suddenly realized that I’d been afraid to breathe all night. I took a big, deep breath and went to take my seat. I hoped that my face didn’t betray how worried I had been.

  Brooke was crying, but silently. I had to give her kudos for taking the microphone and singing her song. She did have a pretty voice, and she was a pretty girl. I didn’t doubt that someday she’d find someone willing to bank on those two things. She’d be okay.

  When the show was over and everyone was scattering for the night, I went to look for Elly. She was standing in the back of one of the conference rooms talking to that other chick that works the contestant room. I walked up to her with the rehab papers in my hand. They were completely filled out and signed. I could hear them talking about going out the following night for someone’s birthday.

  As I approached them, they both stopped talking and looked up. Elly looked like she was going to have a heart attack and the other girl, who sensed something was up, or maybe even knew, said, “I’ll give you guys a minute.” After she walked away, Elly was still looking around the room like a paranoid schizophrenic. I swear she almost looked like she was hearing voices.

  “What the hell are you looking for?” I asked her.

  “I was making sure that no one saw us. Damn it, Tristan, I keep telling you that we can’t be seen together. I can’t afford to lose my job, and I don’t want you to get disqualified.”

  “And I keep telling you that I don’t give a shit,” I told her. “Here!” I shoved the papers against her chest. She took a step backwards; maybe it was from the shove I gave her. Giving me a dirty look, she brought them up and looked at them. She flipped through them and saw that I’d filled them out completely and signed them. She looked surprised, and then happy. She hadn’t expected me to agree to it.

  “This is great, Tristan…I’m so glad….” she started. I wasn’t in the mood for more talk.

  “Yeah, yeah…blah, blah, blah. I did my part. I want my reward.”

  “What?”

  “You said if I cut off the other women and filled out the papers we could have sex. I want my sex.”<
br />
  “Not here, Tristan. Come on, you’re putting us both at risk here. Besides, filling out the paperwork isn’t the same as committing to it.” She backed away from me a bit.

  “I’m committing. I will leave them with you so you can go turn them in. Are you backing out of your part now?”

  She looked around. “No…just not here…we’re going to get caught….”

  I sighed. “For the millionth time, I don’t give a fuck about that,” I told her. There was an empty office next to us. I grabbed her arm and pulled her in after me, closing the door behind us. She looked like she was having an anxiety attack. She really needed to lighten up.

  She looked terrified. “Tristan, someone is going to come in here. This is too risky.”

  I turned back around and locked the door. Before she could protest, I shoved everything that was on the desk off into a chair, picked her up, and sat her on the desk. She was looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elly

  I thought Tristan had lost his mind as I watched him sweep everything off the desk. “Tristan! Someone is going to hear us!”

  He grinned at me, as if it was a game. I started to speak again, but he leaned forward and covered my mouth with his. As he did, he put his hands on my bare knees and started sliding them up my thighs, pushing my skirt up out of his way as he went. His touch sent a jolt surging through my body. I had missed it more than I wanted to admit. He kept moving his hands up until my skirt was flipped up over my hips. Then he moved them to my waist and started pushing up my blouse.

  I’d lost any sense of resistance by then, and when his palms ran across the curve of my breasts, I put my arms up and let him push the shirt up off of me. He continued to kiss me, moving his hands across my collarbone and neck, sliding his fingers into my hair and tugging on it as his tongue explored my mouth. I had been a bundle of nerves when he’d pushed me into the office, but as soon as he’d touched me, the tension had released—almost violently.