Stepbrother Obsessed

by Devon Hartford

  “Like what?” Now my chest is starting to tighten.

  “Take chicks places on my bike just for fun. I usually fuck them for the weekend, and that’s that.”

  “You’re hurting me, Dante.”

  “What can I say?” He shrugs. “Did you not figure out that I don’t like to stay in one place too long? It was pretty obvious from the beginning. The only reason I went to Blazing Waters with you and Rox in the first place was because I wanted to fuck both of you,” he snorts.

  I can’t believe he’s saying this. My mouth quivers. I’m trying not to sob. I shake my head, “You don’t mean that.”

  Dante narrows his eyes. “I would’ve fucked you both, but I changed my mind when I found out Rox was only 17. Not worth the hassle. But you were an easy target.”

  “Target?” I’m about to fall to pieces. This is turning ugly way too quick. “What about ‘mi Amor’ and ‘mi Cielo’?”

  “What about it?”

  “I thought it meant something.”

  He smirks, “Don’t you know guys will say anything to get laid? And the shit they say when they’re getting laid never means anything. Don’t you know that?” he chuckles abrasively.

  I gape at him, shocked into silence.

  “You were just one more fuck.”

  “Dante,” I mewl. My heart is getting squeezed so hard right now, I can barely breathe. Tears dribble down my cheeks. “Don’t you love me, Tierra?” Calling him that is one last desperate attempt to hold on to something that I suddenly fear was never there.

  “I never said I did.”

  Technically, he didn’t. He said he “thought he loved me” and it was in Spanish. Creo que Te amo. I guess that doesn’t amount to anything when it comes from Dante.

  His mouth curls into a hateful twist, like he’s enjoying the pain he’s causing me. “You’ll get over it. I gotta go.” He pats my shoulder twice like a consolation prize before strolling past me and walking into the garage and the house.

  I collapse on the driveway and I can’t stop the sobs.

  Five minutes later, Dante walks out of the garage with his pack and helmet.

  I sniffle and wipe my tears off my cheeks with my fingertips.

  “You can sell the helmet and jacket and gloves. Keep the money.”

  “I don’t want the money,” I mumble. I want to be strong and stand up, but I can’t. I want to pretend this isn’t breaking me, but it is. I want to pretend I don’t care, but I do.

  “Go to college, Skye. Forget about me. You’ll be glad you did. Find someone like Luke. He’s a good kid.”

  He climbs on his motorcycle and rides off into the night.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “Did Dante leave?” Catarina asks as she trots out of the garage. “I was helping your father get situated in the living room.” She sounds frightened.

  I can’t answer her. I just stare at her as more tears spill down my cheeks.

  She squats and wraps her arms around me. Her whole body quivers. “What happened?”

  “Dante’s gone,” I sob.

  “Gone?”

  “He left.”

  “No! Why?”

  “I told him Dad wanted him gone.”

  “And he just left?”

  I can only nod my head.

  “Damn that Gordon!” she hisses and hugs me hard. “Did Dante say when he was coming back.”

  “No.”

  “No he didn’t say, or no he’s not coming back?”

  I start sobbing again. It’s all I can do.

  Catarina comforts me, but she’s shaking. I’m sure she’s mad and sad and everything else. After several minutes, she says, “Let’s go inside. We can’t sit on the driveway all night.” She helps me to my feet.

  My legs are wobbly and I’m ready to sit down after two steps, but we make it into the house and she helps me up to my room and guides me onto the bed.

  I sit on the edge, hunched over, my arms in my lap, nearly catatonic. She pulls my shoes off and I manage to swing my legs onto the mattress and lie down.

  She plants an arm on the bed and leans over me, smoothing my hair, “We’ll find Dante.”

  My face knots and I start to cry again when I hear his name.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll find him. I promise. He’s my son.” She looks at me thoughtfully. “You love him, don’t you?”

  I stare at her, afraid of what she might say next. Is she going to lecture me about how I’m standing in the way of her marriage and her son?

  She smiles, “You do. I can tell. I suspected something was going on between you two, but I didn’t say anything. When you’re young, it’s normal to develop feelings for someone very quickly. Believe me, I know. I was 18 once too. There were times when I liked a different boy every day of the week,” she smiles, reminiscing for a moment. Then her face slowly returns to thoughtful and comforting. “But those feelings are often fleeting, Skye. Teenage crushes usually are…”

  Dread tightens my throat. Is she saying that my feelings for Dante didn’t mean anything? Is she going to try to convince me not to love Dante, just so she can have him back?

  She sighs, “But I could tell there was something special between you and him after a few weeks. You were always watching him whenever you were in the same room, always asking if I knew where he was or what he was doing when he was gone. And when he brought that Phoebe girl over?” She rolls her eyes. “Hmph, I can’t believe you didn’t attack her at the dinner table.” She smoothes back a lock of my hair. “But you’ve never been the confrontational type. Your father handles that for the rest of us.”

  I nod minutely, but I completely agree. “Is—” I stop myself.

  “What, sweetheart?” she asks softly.

  “Is it weird that I fell in love with your son?” Yes, I said it. I love him. Maybe I’m stupid to feel that way, especially after how he treated me on the driveway just now. But the pain in my heart is born out of lost love, not lost like or even lost ‘live’. Live, as in, halfway between Like and Love. This is the real deal, and it hurts worse than dying.

  “No, of course not, sweetheart. It’s completely natural to fall in love with someone.”

  Why is Catarina so cool and my dad such an ass?

  “But it’s what you do with your feelings that counts,” she finishes.

  I’m about to say something when the pain slams into me again. How could Dante be so callous? So hateful? I didn’t think he was like that. And the things he said about Rox? I shudder at the thought. Maybe there was a dark side to Dante I never wanted to see. Maybe Dad saw it from the beginning and I ignored it like a foolish girl.

  I’m so confused right now. I’m not ready to share any of this with Catarina yet. I’m not even sure how I feel about the whole situation myself.

  “Don’t worry, Skye, we’ll find Dante and bring him home.”

  I’m not sure if I want that to happen.

  “No matter what your father says…”

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “No!” Dad shouts from downstairs. “Absolutely not!”

  I’m still in my bedroom and Dad is in the living room, but he’s loud enough to be heard anywhere in the house.

  “Damn you, Gordon!” Catarina barks. A few minutes later, the garage door hums and a car drives off. It sounds like Catarina’s.

  Where is she going? When is she coming back? Is she coming back? Or is it going to just be me and my mad dad from here on out?

  I half consider getting up to go down and yell at Dad, but I don’t think I could move right now even if I wanted to.

  Surrounded by the womblike cocoon of my softly glowing pink room, I stare at the ceiling and sink deeper into my bed. My next thought is to call Rox and pour my heart out to her, but she probably wouldn’t answer even if I did.

  This is awful.

  I need to talk to someone, but there isn’t anyone.

  How am I going to face school on Monday?

  I close my eyes and try to die.<
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  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  Sunday morning, Catarina knocks on my bedroom door. “I made breakfast. You should come have some.”

  Thank goodness she came back.

  It takes me forever to drag my butt downstairs, but I make it to the kitchen and sit on a bar stool.

  Catarina is pouring pancakes on the cast iron skillet. Bacon sizzles in another pan.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “In the living room. Resting.”

  “Skye?” Dad calls.

  I sag and sigh.

  “Go see what he wants,” Catarina says.

  I roll my eyes and slide off the stool and trudge into the living room. “What?”

  Dad’s in an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt and fancy sweats. They almost look like slacks. Leather loafer style slippers cover his feet. He never dresses down. “Something is bothering me.”

  “You too?” I quip.

  “I’m serious, Skye.”

  “What?” I don’t look him in the eyes.

  “I’ve been looking over this ChatBrat site and it has me worried.” His phone is in his lap.

  I grimace. “And?”

  “And I can’t figure out where all these comments are coming from.”

  “From kids at school. Duh.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because high school kids are evil?”

  Catarina walks in with a tray covered with a plateful of pancakes and bacon. A butter pat is centered on the pancake stack and syrup drizzles over the side. A tall glass of orange juice sits next to the plate. She sets the tray down on the coffee table near Dad.

  “Yes,” Dad says, “but all those comments have a specific… tone.”

  “You mean hateful?”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad,” I groan.

  He scrolls through his phone. “The town pump?” He’s talking about Ashley Master’s first post. “Why would anyone call you that?”

  “I don’t know,” I groan.

  “And all these other comments calling you a slut? Care to explain all that?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Skye.”

  “I didn’t make the comments!”

  “But there’s dozens of them calling you a slut. How did that happen? Is there something you’re not telling me, Skye?”

  My mouth gapes open. “I’m not a slut, Dad!”

  “Then why is everyone calling you one?”

  A jagged memory cuts through me.

  Dad yelling at Mom: “Is there anyone in town you HAVEN’T slept with, Crystal? Because I’d really like to know.”

  “Maybe if you knew how to use that useless dick of yours, I wouldn’t have to, Gordon!”

  “You’re a slut, Crystal! Nothing but a lowlife slut!”

  Rage burns up my throat and I scream, “Because I’m just like Mom?!” I’m referring to my real mom, not Catarina. “Is that what you want me to say?”

  Dad’s mouth clenches. His lips shake as they peel over clenched teeth. “Watch your mouth,” he snarls.

  “Do you want me to say I have sex with every guy who comes along?!” I scream.

  “Shut up, Skye!”

  Catarina halts in the doorway, holding another tray of pancakes and bacon. Her eyes bulge in surprise.

  I’m assuming she doesn’t know anything about my real mom Crystal, because Dad never mentioned her name again after the divorce. Mom is Dad’s dark little secret, the biggest skeleton he has in his closet, an embarrassment. A mistake, well, except for me, but he hates Mom. She cuckolded him for almost their entire marriage. When I was little, like 3 or 4, I started noticing Mom had a lot of male friends. It was normal to me. Guys came over to the house when Dad was at work. I didn’t think anything of it. We lived in a different house then. It was smaller and out west in Reseda. Mom would spend a lot of time in the guest bedroom with her male friends. She always turned the living room TV on really loud and told me I could watch whatever I wanted. I didn’t exactly know what was going on at the time, but I knew something wasn’t right. After the man would leave, Mom always said to me, “Don’t tell your father about this. Okay? He wouldn’t understand.” So I never did. When I got older, the men stopped coming over. But she didn’t stop having affairs. She just hooked up with them outside of the house.

  I grunt, “I’m not Mom, Dad.”

  “Don’t say another word,” he warns, glancing over at Catarina.

  All of my anger toward Dad for pushing Dante away comes rushing up like a geyser. Dad ruined everything. This is all his fault, and he needs to pay for being such a jerk. “Why not?” I tease. “Aren’t you supposed to talk about your feelings?” I cut. “Maybe Catarina would like to know all about what mom did when you weren’t around.”

  “Shut your mouth, young lady.”

  I smile at Catarina, who still holds the tray of food at her waist, looking completely stunned. I grin, “Mom used to have guys over all the time when Dad was at work. Right under his nose. He didn’t find out for years. That’s why they got divorced.” I smile at Dad.

  “Stop it, Skye,” he grunts.

  “Why? You ruined my life, so why shouldn’t I ruin yours? Maybe Catarina should know about the time you caught mom with that mechanic? The one with the tattoos? The one who gave you a black eye when you caught them at Motel 6?” That happened right before the divorce. I was old enough to know exactly what was going on then. I wasn’t there, but Mom told me all about it afterward. She made it sound like it was all Dad’s fault. My mom wasn’t exactly a model housewife.

  “You stupid idiot! You ruined my new dress! How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my closet, you little shit! You really are dumber than a doorknob.”

  But Mom’s parenting is not the issue here.

  Dad stands up suddenly from the couch and takes a step toward me, but instantly stumbles and holds his hand to his head, wincing. He drops back on the couch, looking woozy.

  “Easy, Gordon,” Catarina says, rushing over. She sets the second tray next to the first and sits beside Dad. “The doctor said you need to take it easy for a few days. In case the concussion was worse than they thought.” Her concern is obvious. She turns to me, her brows knit. “Please, Skye. This isn’t the time.”

  “He started it!” I yell, feeling righteously justified.

  “Then be a bigger person and you be the one to stop it. You’re an adult. Act like one.”

  I wince. I thought Catarina was on my side. I feel like an idiot. But that doesn’t mean I’m not mad. “I’m not a slut, Dad,” I hiss as I walk out of the room.

  It hits me when I walk up the stairs to my bedroom.

  Dad thinks Dante is just like the men Mom ran around with. He probably wants to protect me from them since he couldn’t keep Mom away from them. They certainly didn’t help make her life any better. But that’s a whole other story.

  I close my bedroom door behind me and stare at myself in the mirrored closet door.

  You know what, Skye Albright?

  Dad was right about Dante.

  I shake my head and grimace at myself.

  I really am an idiot.

  Chapter 18

  Catarina drops me off in the bus circle at North Valley on Monday morning,

  I practically crawl out of the car. I don’t want to be alive right now. I’m more exhausted than I was when I took the SAT Saturday morning, and I must’ve slept fourteen hours Sunday night.

  I walk through the front entrance and stroll past the main office. Someone opens the office door so I skirt around it.

  “Morning, Slutbright!” Ashley Masters beams behind me.

  I guess she just came out of the office.

  I halt in my tracks, fists clenched.

  “Any new incestuous hookups to report from over the weekend? I can post them on ChatBrat for you, if you want.” She sounds so sweet and helpful. So fake.

  Rage. Black, blind rage clamps down on me like
a falling piano. I spin and take one step toward Ashley and slap her right in the face.

  CRACK!

  “Oh!” she yelps.

  I smile. “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or there’s more where that came from.” I stare her down.

  Her eyes widen. My white hand print glows on her pink cheek. A look of shock is frozen on her face.

  Priceless.

  I whip my phone out of my purse and snap a photo. I turn around and walk away, already opening the ChatBrat app. I post the photo of Ashley with the following caption:

  Ashley Masters just got pwned by Skye Albright

  Entirely satisfied with myself, I walk to my locker. I say good morning to Jason Carpenter, who is sliding his Magic The Gathering binder into his locker, then make my way to Mr. Mendez’s trig class with a bouncy step. Any time someone whispers my name or gives me the stink eye, I flip them off. People are surprised by my reaction. Good.

  I’m not taking any more shit from anybody.

  They’ve already fucked with my life enough.

  During class, Mr. Mendez does some example problems on the board. “…then divide both sides by three X minus one and—”

  The door to the classroom opens and some kid leans inside.

  “Yes?” Mr. Mendez asks.

  The kid holds up a slip.

  Mr. Mendez walks over and takes the slip, reading it. “Skye? You’re wanted in the office.” He holds the slip out for me.

  The class rustles and there’s a few mumbles.

  I ignore them while I pack my notebook and calculator in my handbag. Gee, I wonder why I’m going to the office?

  Grot.

  oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O

  “Would you care to explain your actions, Miss Albright?” Principal Brown asks. He’s a very tall African-American man with a bushy mustache and an easy smile. He wears a tweed sport coat and red button down shirt. Even now, despite his size, he’s not intimidating. He’s very friendly. His fingers are laced together on top of his desk. There’s a window behind him with venetian blinds, but they’re open and early morning sun pours through. Plaques and school photos cover the wall on both sides of the window.