Since I can't cook for shit, unless people were clamoring for burned rice, I dumped the ingredients for a protein shake in my fancy blender and hit start. It whirred for about thirty-seconds, then made a strange gurgling sound. Oh shit. I didn't move fast enough. The top flew off the blender and its contents shot upward in a swirling funnel of brown. It blasted me right in the face and I ended up with chocolate in my ears, eyes, nose and mouth, and all over the ceiling and floors, as well as my clothes.
Maudit bâtard!
I wiped my face and glanced at the clock. One hour. I hurried through a second shower, mopped up the mess in the kitchen with the damp towel wound around my waist, then stalked into my closet. As I pulled out a fresh set of clothes, my still-empty stomach twisted into a knot. I froze, afraid I might have that panic attack I worried about. I stood perfectly still and waited. My pulse remained steady and my hands didn't shake. I frowned as I tried to suss out the reason for the churning sensation in my gut.
Not panic. Nerves.
I laughed, but it sounded off. Too high-pitched. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Sebastien St. Clair, The Sinner, total player and ladies’ man, was nervous for a date. I shook my head and shoved one leg into a pair of pants, then the other, and pulled a clean shirt over my head. I stopped and checked again. Nerves still going strong, though I would be the first to admit it had been a weird day.
Between giving Calloway an actual complement—not that the dickhead said thanks or anything, Amanda cornering me, and the words "I’m seeing someone" coming out of my mouth. Oh, not to mention the blender fiasco, which, truthfully, wasn't all that out of the ordinary. If anything, I should have been surprised it didn’t fly apart sooner. Most shocking of all was that I was sincerely nervous to see Kylie, like a teenager about to get his dick wet for the first time.
I figured if I did anything else out of character before the clock struck midnight, the world would spin off its axis and fly right into the sun.
Better to play it safe than sorry and remember to be a selfish jackass.
You know, for the safety of the planet.
I’m considerate like that.
I checked the time as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror to check my hair for the umpteenth time as I tried to rationalize away my nerves. Countdown: five minutes to date time. The phone rang while I was checking my teeth for stray food particles. I hoped it wasn't Kylie calling to cancel, because in some way, shape, or form, I was going to see her. One glance at the screen and I let out the breath I was holding.
“Rémy. Ça roule ma poule?”
Phone to my ear, I leaned over the sink and used my free hand to pick at random strands of hair and ensure each one lay just so. Ironically, it takes a hell of a lot of time to fix your hair so it looks like you didn’t spend a lot of time fixing your hair.
“Seb?”
My hand froze over my head when I heard his voice waver. It was a sound I recognized immediately, and it gutted me. Despite trying to shield him from the worst of our childhood, something in my brother’s world had gone sideways, and whatever it was sent Rémy into a spiral.
Fuck the hair. I turned from the mirror and leaned a hip against the sink, as I ignored the sick feeling in my gut and the overwhelming urge to crush my phone to bits, while punching the mirror until my knuckles were torn and bloody. After several deep breaths, I pinched the bridge of my nose and did my best to keep it together. For Rémy. Not that long ago, he asked me to back off. I had to trust that if he needed my help, he would ask for it.
“Rém, what's going on? Est-ce que ça va, mon frère?”
“Yeah. I'm okay, bro. Just wanted to, uh, talk to you.”
That did nothing to assuage my worry. In fact, it freaked me out. I seamlessly slid into rapid fire French. “Talk to me? About what?”
Oh shit, oh fuck, please no. Don't let it be another episode. Don’t let it be the one and only thing I can’t save him from. If it was, there was literally nothing I could do. Knowing that Rémy was suffering felt like a kick to the junk. For years he kept his issues hidden. Became adept at avoiding me and concealing the evidence of his anguish. When he slipped up and I found out what was going on, I was devastated. It should be me who hurt, not Rémy. I was the one who ended up in juvie and therefore, couldn’t stop my brother's gentle soul from fracturing. In my absence, Rémy found a way to soothe his demons, a way that made me irrationally, blindingly outraged, yet sick to my stomach.
His prolonged silence sliced a gash across my abdomen and my insides spilled out onto the floor. The only way I knew Rémy hadn’t hung up was the sound of his soft inhales and exhales.
For years, I accepted, even courted the physical abuse doled out by our father. The hatred and violence, the hitting, slapping, punching, kicking, burning with cigarettes… I’ve had so many sprains and hairline fractures, to this day I still can’t believe the DYP (Department of Youth Protection) didn't take us away from the old bastard. Not to mention the myriad of scars that crisscrossed my body as a reminder of my past. I shivered.
I have scars, but Rémy has plenty of his own.
The echo of silence sent chills down my arms. Rémy is the gentlest person I know. Well, gentle toward others. Toward himself? My hands shook and my mouth went dry. Unfortunately, like me, my brother was destined to forever be tormented by the past.
Twitch, twitch, twitch…
“Rém?” I gripped the edge of the sink and gnashed my teeth. The helplessness in the face of my brother’s pain was pure torture.
Twitch…
“I’m okay.” Rémy’s deception sent another agonizing slash through my soft tissue and organs. I struggled to breathe and stuffed my knuckles in my mouth to hold back a sob.
“Don't do it. Please,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn't, Rém.”
After a beat, Rémy sighed. “I didn't. I won't. I told you, I don't… I don’t do that anymore.” Another lie, not that I could prove it. “Anyway. I gotta go, Seb. I just wanted to see what you were up to and say hi.”