Stepbrother Rules

by Chloe Hawk

  “The way he was looking at me?” I repeated, frowning. “He wasn’t looking at me any way.”

  “Yeah, he was. He was checking out your tits like he couldn’t wait to cop a feel.”

  “Cole, that’s ridiculous. Besides, it’s hard not to notice them. I’m wearing a bikini top.” I hunched down, trying to make my boobs a little less conspicuous. But it was impossible. I was a D cup, and I was wearing a white bikini that was designed to show off as much cleavage as possible.

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “I know.” His eyes raked up my body, lingering over my breasts. And not in the way of a brother wanting his sister to cover up because he felt protective, either. It was the way a man looked at a woman’s body when he found her attractive, when he was getting turned on. That’s the way Cole was looking at me.

  He was my stepbrother.

  I knew it was wrong for him to be looking at me that way.

  But I liked it.

  ***

  They took X-rays, deemed my wrist to be badly sprained but not broken, and put me in a splint. They told me to take ibuprofen if I had any pain, and sent me home.

  “Thanks,” I said grudgingly when we were back in Cole’s car.

  He shrugged, like it didn’t mean anything.

  A few minutes later, we were pulling up in front of my house.

  Cole turned off the car and went to open his door, but I stopped him. “Are you crazy?” I said. “You can’t come inside. Your dad will freak out.”

  “Like I give a shit,” Cole said. He went to open the door, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. “No.” I shook my head. “It’ll be worse if you come in, trust me.”

  He hesitated, so I used my good hand to open the door and jump out onto the driveway. Now that I had a splint on my bad wrist, I was able to hold onto the door frame and get myself out.

  “Thanks again,” I said shortly. I thought maybe I should say something else, like see you soon, but that wasn’t true. I wasn’t going to see him soon.

  I slammed the door and headed toward the house.

  When I got inside, everything was quiet.

  They must have been sleeping.

  My mom and my stepfather, Gordon, were prone to taking long naps during the day. My mom slept mostly out of depression. Gordon was usually passed out from whatever alcohol bender he’d been on that day.

  I made my way to the refrigerator.

  It was, as usual, pretty bare -- old Chinese food, a carton of milk, half a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. My stomach was rumbling. I hadn’t eaten all day, because I’d been so nervous about taking my clothes off in front of strangers. I found some grapes in the bottom drawer, and I pulled out the bag and popped a couple into my mouth. My wrist was starting to throb, and I leaned down and opened one of the lower cabinets in the kitchen where we kept the medicine, wondering if we had any ibuprofen. I found a bottle, but it was expired. I sighed, trying to decide if a walk to the drugstore was worth getting rid of the pain in my wrist.

  “Where have you been?” a voice demanded.

  Gordon was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His years of hard-living should have made him grotesque – he should have had a paunch, or missing teeth, or a pockmarked face. But Gordon was actually considered good-looking. He was only forty-three, with short dark hair and blue eyes. Despite the fact that he was always wasted and never seemed to be able to hold down a job, he worked out obsessively, never missing his daily trip to the gym. And he had the body to prove it.

  “I was at work.” I pulled Cole’s sweatshirt tighter around me. It wasn’t a lie. Gordon didn’t need to know exactly where I’d been working. I’d just let him assume that I was working a shift down at CVS. Of course, I’d have to come up with some reason why my paycheck was short this week. Gordon tracked my wages and hours meticulously, making me fork over a percentage of my money to him every week.

  “I thought you had the day off.”

  I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about it. “One of the girls called in sick, so they asked me to cover.”

  My hands were shaking, and I turned back to the fridge and opened the door, pretending to look for food even though I knew there was nothing in there.

  “Why are you dressed like a little slut?” he asked.

  I swallowed. I should have known better than to walk around the house in a bikini. I should have made sure to put some clothes on as soon as I walked in. Cole had put his sweatshirt back on me when we’d gotten into his car, but I was still wearing those damn bikini bottoms.

  “I just… I was just trying on some clothes when I got home,” I lied. It was a stupid lie. And out of everything Gordon was, he wasn’t stupid. I knew he would see right through it, and I was right.

  “Don’t lie to me, girl,” he said. He reached over and grabbed the zipper on my sweatshirt, pulled it down and reached in and grabbed my breast, squeezing it roughly and twisting my nipple. “You gotta keep these titties covered up. Otherwise you’re gonna get yourself in some trouble. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. I tried to keep my voice even. If I fought him back, if I even showed any kind of resistance or disobedience to what he was saying, it would just be worse.

  “You don’t listen to me,” he said. He shook his head at me in disgust. “Can’t expect anything more, though, considering where you came from.” He reached out and grabbed the bag of grapes I was holding, and they went skittering onto the floor. “You dumb bitch,” he said. “You’re going to have to replace those, you know.”

  Something inside of me snapped. I looked him right in the eye.

  “You’re the one who dropped them,” I said.

  Gordon reached out and backhanded me across my cheek.

  The pain was excruciating, much worse than it had been with my wrist. I stumbled backwards, my ears ringing, my breath catching in my chest. He came at me, grabbing my breast again, his breath rank against my ear.

  I tried to scream, but he put his hand around my throat, squeezing hard. My eyes watered and he grinned at me. “Don’t talk back to me, bitch,” he said. “Or you’ll learn real quick.”

  The room began to blur around the edges and my legs began to buckle under me. There was a strong throbbing in my head, my wrist was on fire, and I could tell I was going to lose consciousness.

  I struggled against it, fighting against the blackness, knowing that if I went under, if I surrendered to it, I would be at Gordon’s mercy, not able to defend myself from anything he wanted to do to me.

  I tried to scream again, but my mouth opened and no sound came out.

  And then, suddenly, a shadowy figure appeared over Gordon’s shoulder. The figure reached out and grabbed Gordon, yanking him back by the shoulder, forcing him to loosen his grip on my throat.

  I fell to the kitchen floor, gasping for air. My throat was raw and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I braced myself on my hands and knees, trying to catch my breath. I could hear a scuffle going on, could hear someone fighting with Gordon.

  Cole.

  “Don’t you fucking touch her,” he was saying. “Or I will kill you with my bare hands, so help me God.”

  “Jesus, Cole, get the fuck out of here,” Gordon said. “Or I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Fuck you,” Cole said.

  He started to walk toward me, but Gordon stepped in front of him, pushed his finger angrily into Cole’s chest. “Get out of here, boy,” he said. “You might have taken off like a little rich boy bitch, but I’m still your father. I’ll still kick your ass just like I used to.”

  “Cole,” I said, finally staggering to my feet. “Cole, please, don’t.”

  His eyes met mine, and it was that same familiar look we used to give each other when Gordon would go out drinking and come home looking to start something with one of us. Cole’s eyes burned like a raging inferno, his anger practically visible in the room. He wanted to kick Gordon’s ass, wanted to knock him out onto the kitche
n floor. He looked crazed, and it scared me a little.

  Who knew what Cole would do? There were times in my darkest moments, when I’d imagine what it would be like if Gordon were dead, if I could just have the opportunity to put a bullet through his head or stab him with a knife. If I could have gotten away with it, I might have killed him.

  And Cole, who was big and strong and filled with testosterone, could do some serious damage. If he ever did, his career would be over, he’d be arrested, he’d go to jail. But beyond that, it would end up being worse for me.

  Even now, as soon as Cole left, Gordon would take it out on me.

  “Come on,” Cole said to me. “We’re leaving.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Gordon said, stepping in front of me. I went to step around him, but he reached out and pushed me down to the ground. I fell, landing on the same place on my spine as I had when I’d slipped on the stage earlier.

  Cole stepped right up to Gordon so that his chest was right against his. “Get. Out. Of. Her. Way,” he said.

  His voice was strong, steady. He didn’t sound afraid, or anxious, or worried about what might happen. In fact, he sounded like he was just waiting for Gordon to mess with him, like he’d relish the idea of being able to pound him into the ground.

  “Avery,” Cole said, his eyes never leaving Gordon’s. “Go get in my car.”

  I stood up on shaky legs, moving past Gordon and out the door. Cole’s car was parked in the driveway.

  He came back for you.

  It was a thought I hated myself for wanting to believe. I opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat, bracing myself with my good wrist and using the splint on the other for balance.

  A few minutes later, Cole came storming out of the house.

  “What happened in there?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He shoved the key into the lock and started the car. “Put on your seatbelt.”

  I did as he said.

  He pulled out of the driveway, the tires skidding over the pavement as he peeled out of our cul de sac and headed for the highway.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To my apartment.”

  “In the city?”

  He nodded, his eyes not leaving the road.

  “I don’t… I mean, I don’t have any stuff.”

  “We’ll get you new stuff.”

  His tone was short, clipped, and I wanted to ask him if he was mad at me, and if so, why. I hadn’t asked him to come back to the house, hadn’t asked him if I could come and stay with him. He was the one who’d decided to come back, to come walking into the house like he’d never left, to get between me and Gordon.

  I was thankful to him for stopping whatever was going to happen. But if he was going to be upset about it, and blame me for it happening, then it wasn’t fair.

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as he drove, his hand gripping the top of the steering wheel loosely. His profile was beautiful, his jaw strong and defined. Looking at him filled me with the need to be close to him, and I hated myself for feeling that way. First, he was my stepbrother. And second, I could never trust him. He’d left me. And even though he was taking me back to his apartment now, eventually he would just leave me again, the way he had before.

  Be careful with him, Avery, I told myself. Whatever you do, don’t ever trust him again.

  ***

  His apartment was in the middle of the city, elegant and luxurious. It filled a whole entire floor of a high-rise, with a breath-taking view of the skyline. The moon was high in the sky, shining through the windows and giving the apartment an ethereal glow before Cole turned the lights on.

  Cole hung up his coat and then pulled out his cell.

  “Kalia,” he said into the phone. “I need clothes. For a girl. All kinds. Anything you would think she would need, for any situation.” He put his hand over the phone and looked at me. “What size are you?”

  “Ten.” My cheeks flushed. I knew I wasn’t fat by any means, but I pictured this Kalia girl as small and blonde, the kind of girl who was a size two and judged anyone who wasn’t. I thought about that man in the strip club, the one who’d yelled at me and told me to show him my fat pussy.

  Cole repeated the information and then hung up the phone. “That was my assistant,” he said. “She’s going to get you the things you need.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He nodded. He wasn’t looking at me, instead looking down at his phone, scrolling through his emails.

  “But I can’t... I mean, I won’t be staying here that long.”

  “You’ll stay until I decide it’s safe for you to go home.”

  I’d been trying to be nice because he’d come back for me, he’d saved me from whatever horrible thing Gordon had been about to do to me. But he couldn’t just come waltzing in and take over my life. “No,” I said. “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t leave my mom.”

  He looked at me like I was completely out of my mind. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding you, Cole. I can’t leave her. You know that.”

  “Your mom is not a victim, Avery. She chooses to be with my dad, she chooses to stay with him even though she knows all the horrible shit he did to us, all the horrible shit he’s still doing to you.”

  “She’s –“

  “Don’t start with all the battered woman syndrome bullshit either, Avery. That’s her problem. You can’t live your life based on what your mom’s doing.”

  “Sorry I’m not like you, Cole,” I shot back. “Sorry I can’t just take off and leave my whole family and be okay with it. Some of us actually have a conscience.”

  “Is that what you think I did?” he demanded, crossing the room over to me so that he was close enough that I could see the scar on his chin. “You think I left because I wanted to?”

  “That’s exactly what you did!” I said. “You packed up your shit in the middle of the night and left like some kind of coward.” I remembered the day he left, remembered waking up in the morning, waiting for him to come downstairs. I’d made him brunch – scrambled eggs and bacon, raisin bread with cream cheese on top, just like he liked. When he didn’t show up, I’d gone upstairs to get him out of bed. But his room was empty. All his stuff – his computer, his clothes, everything… was gone.

  “Jesus, Avery,” he said, his eyes blazing with emotion, his face finally losing that cocky, controlled look. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I had to.”

  “Whatever,” I said. I didn’t want to hear his dumb excuses. Not because I didn’t believe them, but because I was afraid I would believe them. And I couldn’t get sucked into his BS again. I would never, ever trust him again, no matter what he said. “Can I take a shower or what?”

  “The guest bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the right,” he said. “I’ll get you a t-shirt and sweatpants until Kalia gets here with your stuff.”

  He left and returned a moment later with a crisply folded t-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants.

  “Thank you,” I said, accepting them.

  But when I got into the bathroom, I was faced with a problem. I wasn’t supposed to get my splint wet. I also was having a little trouble moving my arm up over my head, and I needed to wash my hair.

  I returned to the living room.

  Cole was sitting one of his huge leather couches, his laptop open on the table in front of him.

  He was lazily surfing through the channels on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall, going back and forth between different football games.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw me.

  “Nothing, I’m just going to have to skip the shower.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too hard with my wrist.”

  He turned the TV off and looked at me. “I’ll help you.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I s
aid. “That’s okay, I’ll just… I mean, I can wait.”

  “Until when? A week from now when your splint comes off?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.” I didn’t want to tell him that there was no way I was going to be staying here for a week, that I was probably going to go home tomorrow after giving Gordon a little time to cool off, and that once I got back there, my mom could help me shower.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Cole stood up and tossed the remote onto the couch. “Come on.”

  I followed him into the bathroom, my heart pounding as he reached into the mosaic-tiled shower and turned the water on.

  “Just take off your sweatshirt,” he said. “You can shower in your bikini.” He reached up and pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, and I almost gasped out loud. One, because it was so unexpected. And two, because his body was beautiful. Cole had always been gorgeous, had always had a cut body and flat stomach, but he’d filled out a lot since I’d last seen him.

  His shoulders were broad and strong, the muscles so defined they looked like they could cut glass. The planes of his chest were smooth and gorgeous, his ab muscles a chiseled six-pack that disappeared into the perfect V of his hips. A line of hair ran from his belly button and disappeared into his pants.

  “You can’t get in wearing those pants,” I said. “You’ll wreck them.”

  He shrugged and pulled them off, so that he was in just his boxers.

  I blushed and looked away.

  “Don’t look so bashful, Avery,” he said, grinning at my discomfort. “You’ve seen me this way millions of times.”

  It was true. Growing up in the same house with someone, it was inevitable. Especially when your house was the kind of house where something could be going down at any moment, the kind of house where you might have to wake up in the middle of the night and rush out into the hallway to deal with whatever it was that was happening.

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I said, rolling my eyes. But my legs felt wobbly as I climbed into the shower. The hot water hit my shoulders and I put my head under the spray, letting it flow over me, washing away the nightmare that had been the day.