Teen Drama: A Forbidden Romance with My Stepbrother

10

Dane turns around, sharpish. He stares at me as though I have two heads, his expression sobering at my show of tears because, honestly, I never cry. Ever. He seems momentarily at a loss, dropping the cloth, and that attitude he just had, seems to turn to ash and blow away. His whole posture softens.

I have not once, ever, not even as a small child, cried in front of Dane, never in front of anyone, not even Elisa. I learned long ago that crying upset my mom and made her sit me down for a therapy chat, which was torture, so I ensured I didn’t. She had enough going on, and tears seemed only to exasperate our situation when she was going through the divorce.

Dane seems as shocked as I am.

“Kayla?” Dane's tone drops, his face pales, and he steps toward me, reaching for my face with an outstretched hand.

“Just go….. go to your room .. and live….. live … in your little self-centered cocoon of ignorance… whe…. where you don’t have to give a s**t about me or anyone else, certainly not our problems. And not me.” I spin away from him, stuttering and spluttering through my wretched sobs and breath, gasping like a pathetic fool. I march back into my room to escape him seeing me this way, wiping my face, but it’s futile. I broke the damn, turned on the tap, and the stupid things keep pouring down my face. Soaking my cheeks, making me ugly cry, and my nose starts to run.

“Hey… hey.” Dane follows me, catching me by the upper arm, and tugs me so I am hauled into his arms, and he latches on tight. Wrapping me in his embrace, pushing my face into his chest with one hand on the back of my head, he hugs me, so I can’t move. Immobilized by his size and strength, I gasp in surprise at whatever this is. His other arm slides around my back, keeping my arms tucked in, and I stop and inhale heavily rather than fight him off. “Don’t cry, Kales… come on. This isn’t you. I don’t like this.”

I think I am stunned into instant calm by how my bully stepbrother is comforting me. And I don’t know how to react except stand here and let him. Quietened by something I never expected. Embarrassed that I broke my ten-year streak and crumbled into tears in front of him, of all people.

I forgot what this felt like… having someone hold you and try to make it better. A feeling of safety, like they might take it away for a little while to let you breathe. The last time I was cuddled like this was my dad, the day my mother packed up my things and took me from my childhood home.

He starts swaying us from side to side in a subtle movement that helps calm me down further, and the irony of this is not lost on me. That Dane, of all people, is trying to comfort me when he’s the asshole who made me break. It’s weird that he even seems to know how to do this, but I guess his mom was always very affectionate and hands-on when it came to cuddling. She did raise him.

“You’re a jerk…. you really have no concept of how much you are f*****g up my life,” I mumble against his jacket, curling my fingers into the zip and turning my head to one side, so my cheek rests against the lapel. Finding comfort in his heartbeat. Slowing my breathing and sniffing back the waterworks as I get a better handle on them.

I’m a little embarrassed that I did break into full-blown sobbing in front of him, but for some reason, I don’t feel awkward with him this way. I feel still and rapidly calming.

Who knew Dane would have a wide, comfy chest just right for leaning on?

“The fights between our parents are over you….. how shitty this house has become to live in is down to you too.” I let it tumble out, hating him yet clinging on because I don’t know how long I have needed someone to hug me this way, and I can’t seem to let go.

My mom isn’t a hugger. She’s more of a sit down and talk-through-your-tears type. Bryan feels like it’s not his place to touch me, and my dad …. well, he doesn’t see me enough to feel like he can hug me anymore. I’m always to be the smart and sensible one my mom raised me to not give into hysterical breakdowns. A girl who is independent and self-reliant and can get through life no matter what. There are no hugs in my mother's parenting.

“Kayla, I’m not trying to screw your life up… I’m just…” he sighs and squeezes me tighter. “Don’t cry. I don’t know how to react to this.” He rocks me a little harder. “Girl’s crying, I mean.”

His words bring me back to my senses, a reminder of the dumb ass hickey on his neck and the fight last week over Renee…. the b***h Charmaine in class all up in Elisa’s face, and a million other times he has subjected me to feel like women are just objects he discards.

Used and abused.

He goes through them like toilet paper.

I push him off with a little fire ignited inside.

“Don’t even… I have seen you make plenty of girls cry, and you don’t seem to care either way. So don’t get all…. crying makes me uncomfy, Kales…. because I think you're an asshole that gets off on girls crying.” I slap him in the chest with a weak hand separating us and then burst into a second bout of tears that makes no sense to me, but I have zero control over them.

“Ummmm…. yeah, totally different scenario. I don’t, but… go on and for the record…. those girls aren’t you.” He lifts his hand defensively and backs off further when I scoop to pick up a cushion and sway it at his face.

“You never cry. You’re always so…. mad … sometimes scary… sometimes a little psycho, but not a crier. This is weird.”

I don’t know if it’s an attempt at humor or another jab at me, like always, but either way, Dane is sobering back up and being his usual irritating self.

“You did this….. so feel bad, awkward, or whatever. I don’t care. I am so tired of giving a s**t about you, and for what?” I accuse him, holding the pillow and aiming it like a pointer at his face. “I don’t know why I give you the time of day…or why I cover for you. …. You make me insane, and for what?? You’re a massive man w***e asshole who isn’t man enough to see me cry! Even though you are the cause.”

Dane frowns at me, lowers his hands, and exhales heavily.

“I am way too drunk for this shit.”

“You’re such a typical man. I don’t even know why I thought you would do anything about this… or care. You probably want them to divorce, right? Another excuse to celebrate?” I turn on my heel and storm to my bed before throwing myself on it and hitting the third breakdown of my evening. Just the thought of it and the word divorce has me sobbing into my comforter and breaking my heart as past memories overwhelm me. I’m suddenly a fragile mess who cannot control tears because they have been bottled up for so long.

My parent's divorce completely broke me. It’s taken years of internalizing and working through it to find happiness in this house and with Bryan as a stepdad. Years to see him as some sort of father figure, even though there is a feeling of formality between us. Now it might all crumble to dust, too, and then what? I have two dads who make excuses never to see me. I don’t think I could take that twice.

I start wailing into my bed, unleashing fear and worry. Full on pity party. Hurting and overwhelmed and knowing this had to come to a head at some point, I just didn’t expect it to be over Dane being a shitty person and racing his bike on the streets of Florida.

“Kayla, don’t. I’m sorry, okay… hey.” Dane’s warm hands are on my hips and waist as he tries to shift me, and the bed sinks around me with his weight as he climbs over me. Getting on and pulling me around to maneuver me. He slides up to my side and tugs me against him to try and uncover my face. Spooning me at one side and trying his hardest to get me to uncurl for him.

“Go away.” I fight him on it, covering my face with my hands and going rigid so he can't fully flip me over, hating on him. I am so done and wish he would leave now. He might have comforted me for a second, but he is the one who also made me worse.

Dane gets frustrated with my vice-like immobile posture, so instead, he decides to get on top of me. He cages me with his body, hands, and knees, the bed sinking at points around me as he positions himself. He lowers down, so his face is as close to mine as he can get while smoothing back my hair and trying to prise my fingers loose.

Kayla… I do care. As much as I dislike your mom, I wouldn’t want them to break up and hurt you like that. Don’t cry… come on.”

“Stop telling me to stop crying. I want you to fix it, not make me quiet. I’m allowed to cry if I want to… you’re not the boss of me.” I sound like a petulant three-year-old the way I spit words at him, twisting my body to dodge his touches, and he reacts by chuckling under his breath at me, which only incenses me. Enraged that he finds this humourous while I am literally pouring out my heart.

I flip over in a hostile manner, almost head-butting him. Enraged and ready to beat him about the skull, the jerk would find my tears over this amusing.

“My crying is funny to you?” I accuse, aware he's now hovering over me face to face, and I can’t do much about it. He’s a lot closer than I thought, and I have a view right down his carved, tanned abdomen with the way his jacket and shirt hang down at the neckline in my line of vision. It does distract me for a split second. I had no idea he had such a sculpted six-pack.

“No…. but sometimes you’re cute at the weirdest moments ….. I’m drunk, and I’m sorry. I didn't mean to laugh, but come on, Kales…..” He’s trying not to smile, but for some insane reason, he can’t seem to help it, and my anger flares up to a boiling point. “You are kinda acting like a toddler.”

He says the absolute wrong thing.

“Asshole.” I slap at him with both hands, pushing at him and closing my fists to soft punch his arms. Dane pulls back, defending himself from my blows with raised palms and dodges, smiling at how feeble this is and frowning at me that maybe he expected I would be a lot tougher than this. He takes it like a big guy being beaten by a small child, pushing my temper through the roof.

“I'm sorry… I’m … Kayla, look… I’m sorry.” He bats my hands down, catches my wrists, and attempts to cool me down. “Stop, okay… I get it. My bad …. this is on me… I’m ruining your life.” He croons it at me, hints of sarcasm veiled in his response, and I pause to scowl and shake my head at him.

“Then stop… it’s not hard. Stop with the bullshit. Stop flunking school….. stop doing s**t like getting drunk and living recklessly. Stop doing things to trigger my mom…….. to make me scared and worried over you…. just STOP!”

The word rings between us for a silent second, almost like it’s filtering around us, and I swear it echoes. Our eyes are locked on each other, and his expression tightens as he sits down on his ass and relaxes a little while holding my wrists. My tears are drying up, and I shake one arm free to wipe away dampness with my sleeve.

“You really think that will fix this?” Dane sinks, letting me go altogether as I calm fully. His arrogance dissipates to a sober expression, blowing out air like he's tired, staring at me intensely. “…. like a magic wand? Just poof, we can make it all better?” He sounds deflated, and for the first time in a long time, I see hints of a boy I used to know. A genuine expression for once.

I don’t know what this mood change is, but a little flicker of light sparks up in me that maybe he is fed up with it all and looking to end it like I am. Perhaps he’s done with his f****d up daddy rebellion. He said he was making money to get out of here, so maybe he wants to stop. Maybe behind that smug persona and don’t care attitude, Dane is tired of this existence too.

“Only you can fix what’s going on in your head, Dane… but yeah…. if you were less of a complete ass, then it would go some way to fixing this mess of a life you have thrown at me.” I implore him, shuffling forward on my knees to get closer. My attempt at a white flag and to get him talking. “Do you want to keep going on like this? Fighting my mom at every turn… having your dad clean up your messes? Living in this atmosphere? Doing nothing with your life?”

Dane slides back from me and crawls off the bed, fully unzipping his jacket and hauling it off before throwing it over his shoulder. My heart sinks watching him. He’s recoiling from this interaction as he does anytime we two have a conflict. It makes it seem like he intends to walk off, bringing back a spike of rage and disappointment. I can almost taste the rebellion building back up and fizzing with renewed energy. Dane is always the one to walk off whenever the fight is with me, and I know that’s what he is doing now. He’ll never back down from anyone else, but with me, he never stays. I’m getting nowhere.

“Why should I? …. for them? For their shitshow marriage? Their cushy life together?... for this? This fake family?” he nods toward the wall of their room, and all hope in me fades and dies. I thought I was getting through to him for a second, but I see that wall rising again and the arrogance returning. I should have kept crying as it seemed to get to him more than anger does.

“For all of us. That includes you.” I try, knowing it’s futile. Losing all fight because I have no more energy. I was tired before breaking my heart, and now I am exhausted.

Dane looks down at his feet and snorts a dry breathy chuckle, sarcasm evident in his expression, and he shakes his head at me. A little glimmer of ‘why are you so naïve?’ in his frown. I have seen it so many times that I recognize it, even when it’s subtle. He always acts like I’m a clueless child.

“Little Miss Innocent … like we can fix our s**t by me being a good boy.……. Just one easy switch up, and it all goes away…..Why? ….. I don’t want to fix things with, or for them. I’m only here because it's convenient for me to be here while finishing school… it was the one promise I made to my mom. I don’t care if I fail school…. Destroy all hope of a relationship with my dad … I don’t give a f**k…. Why should I?”

I watch him, sadness running through me at a hundred miles an hour, filling every tiny gap inside me with hopelessness, and my anxiety returns with fervor. I drop my gaze to my lap, eyes misting up again and my heart shredding a little by little. Hating that I ever had this conversation with him. It didn’t help me. It just made me feel a hundred times worse.

Dane makes a breathy noise, close to a tut, and shakes his head at me like I’m stupid before he turns and walks to my bedroom door. His shoulders are straight and his spine rigid, and I can feel his hostility, even from here. I say nothing but glance at him and drop back to staring at my fingers as I twist them together. Tension is making me stiff and holding back the fourth wave of tears because I don’t want him to stay and keep making this hurt more.

“but…. to ensure I never see you cry like that again …….. I’ll try,” Dane states so softly it’s almost a whisper that I snap my head up to stare at him and screw up my face that I didn’t hear what I just heard. My breath catches in my throat, and I'm frozen in shock.

He doesn’t look back.

He opens my door and leaves with a confident step, closing it behind him without a pause as though nothing just happened. That he didn't just tell me he would try to change it for me.

I’m sitting like this, unsure if I just imagined that or what he meant by it. Left staring at a shut door and the soft sound of him walking away as my head spins, I try and swallow what that even was.