Love so Wrong: Falling for My Stepbrother

JENNIFER The subtle click of the front door lock jarred me awake. Groggily, I groped for my phone on the nightstand. The screen glowed in the darkness of my room, and I saw 10:00 p.m., Mom was home, which was odd. She usually stumbled in when the first rays of morning light peeked through my curtains. Exhausted from a long day at work, I decided to take a brief nap earlier. I could hear her humming a tune to herself in the living room. I sighed, placing my phone back on the nightstand, and pulled the blanket tighter around me, choosing to ignore her presence. But sleep eluded me. She turned on the TV and muffled voices entertained me for a few minutes before I heard a creak on the stairs, indicating Mom was coming up to my room. Stifling a yawn as my stomach rumbled faintly, I recalled the empty pots I had come back to in the kitchen. There was no food at home, and I was yet to receive my paycheck. Mom leaves the house at night and returns early the next morning to sleep all day, while I leave the house early in the morning to go to my shitty job of waiting tables and enduring senseless men. When my bedroom door eased open with a soft squeak, I clamped my eyes shut, hoping she would do whatever she came to do and leave. "Jenny, honey, are you asleep?" her voice cooed softly from the doorway. I remained still, listening intently to her movements. She shuffled around briefly, and the scent of alcohol wafted in, a familiar scent that filled the air all too often. My mother was drunk again. Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity, her footsteps retreated. The stairs creaked under her weight as she descended, and soon enough, the guttural sounds of her snoring filled the house. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen to get some water, my steps careful and quiet. The hallway was shrouded in darkness, but moonlight poured in through the kitchen window, providing enough illumination for me to manage my way around. As I stepped into the kitchen, a sudden unease gripped my chest, causing me to halt in my tracks. I hesitated to switch on the lights because I rarely did when I came downstairs at night. Gathering my courage, I flipped the light switch and saw a man sprawled across the kitchen table, snoring loudly. He wore a faded black leather jacket and chinos. I froze as he stirred, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine. I had told Mom to stop bringing her boyfriends over, but she kept promising that the next one was the last. I chose to ignore the man, whose breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco. The pungent odour reached me even from a distance. I moved toward the refrigerator to fetch a glass of water, my gaze wary of the man, who continued to watch me. "What're ya doin' here?" he slurred, his voice oddly high-pitched. "I should be asking you the question," I retorted, maintaining a polite tone to avoid coming out as rude. He chuckled. "You're Jennifer, right? Your Mama told me all 'bout ya." I had no desire to engage in conversation with this man, so I ignored him, turning my back and reaching for the jug but I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me as I went to the cabinet to retrieve a glass. The water gurgled as it flowed into the glass. "What the f*ck are you staring at?" I demanded, anger simmering beneath my voice. He did not try to remove his eyes from where they were and then a malicious smirk crept up his face. "You are pretty behind; your mama did a good job." "What do you mean?" I asked feigning ignorance, stalling for time to get hold of a weapon to defend myself when it comes to it. "You're going to pretend you don't know what I am talking about?" His eyes raked all over my body, unabashed. "How old are you, cutie?" "Eighteen." "You are legal then. I am fifty and strong." He hoisted himself off the chair and bulked his arms in demonstration. "Your mom is very sweet." "I couldn't care less," I breathed and gulped down the glass of water and it hit me. I had a jug beside me and a glass in hand, they were weapons enough. "But are you as sweet as her?" "F*ck you, horny bastard!" I sneered. I could not control myself again. The man inched closer, and my heart raced. The glass quivered in my hand, but I clutched it firmly, aware that he outweighed me by a considerable pound. But he was intoxicated, and I was clear-headed and quick. "Stay back!" I warned, but his malicious smirk persisted. "Or what, little b*tch?" he taunted, lunging at me, grabbing my arm, and spinning me around to back him, holding my arms to render me powerless. I shrieked as the glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. He slammed me against the refrigerator, pressing my head on the appliance, his weight bearing down on me and his whispered words chilling my ear. "Be a good girl and play nice. Didn't your mama teach you that? I'm the one who funds her lifestyle and feeds you—" The sickening sound of a steel object meeting bone reverberated through the air, and suddenly, the man's weight was lifted from me as he crashed to the floor with a thud, clutching his head and whimpering in pain. I turned to see my mother, saucepan in hand, her eyes blazing with anger. "How dare you?" she demanded. Her voice trembled with a blend of anger and relief. I clung to the refrigerator handle for support, my knees too weak to support me, my head splitting, and my heart threatening to escape my ribcage. My palms turned clammy, and nausea churned in my throat. My mother's words seemed to echo as she ushered the man out. I watched them both in a daze. "Get out of my house!" my mother yelled, swinging the saucepan at him. He stumbled away to avoid being hit again. "I'll ruin you, you broke-ass b*tch!" he yelled back, pushing through the kitchen door. "F*ck you! I don't need anything from you anymore!" My mother chased him until he was outside, slamming the door and locking it behind her. I remained on the kitchen floor as she returned, rushing over to check me out for injuries. "Honey, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" she asked, her concern palpable. "I told you to stop bringing men home," I said, still in shock from the earlier encounter. "I know, honey. I wouldn't if he weren't so drunk. This will be the last time, I prom—" "You keep promising!" I snapped, rising from the floor. "I told you I'm not comfortable around those men, but you wouldn't listen because you only think about yourself." "Don't you dare say I only think about myself," she retorted, her temper flaring. She stood her ground, locking eyes with me. "Everything I do, I do for you." I scoffed. "Really? Tell me, what have you done for me?" I countered, the weight of pent-up frustration boiling over. "I came home exhausted, and there was no food when you were home all day. I'm pretty much saving for college, because I got admitted but can't afford it, and you can't either. All you do is sit home all day and go out clubbing at night, bringing back drunk men. How is that helping my life? How is that doing everything for me?" My mother's eyes were glassy with tears now, and so were mine. I longed to attend college, but the lack of funds frustrated me. "What do you expect me to do? I have no skills or degrees. All I have is a pretty face and a good body. It's not my fault men are drawn to me. I'm sorry if you're not as lucky—" "Who's fault is it? Mine?" I interjected, my anger rising at her remark. She was retaliating because she knew I had been a nerd in high school whom no one spoke to. My mother believed I was envious of her luck with men, not that it was better luck anyway. "You're nothing but a cheap mistress to countless men, and I won't turn out like you." "Get out of my house," she declared. "I will leave; after all, I gain nothing here," I said, heading towards the door. She stopped me. "You know what? I'll leave. I'll leave you alone in this house, and you can pay the bills. Then you can come back and talk to me." Before I could say any more words, she breezed past me, ascending the stairs in twos, and I just stood there watching her. In a few minutes, she was done, with a sizeable bag slung over her shoulder. She said nothing to me as she left the door and banged it so hard that it shook on its hinges. I sighed and sat on the stairs wondering if I overreacted.