“I love you too, Mom.”
She gently pushes me back and strokes my cheek, before kissing my forehead.
“Jake, can you take Aaron outside for a while? I need to speak to your daddy,” she says.
“Sure, come on, Aaron,” Jake says, and he guides me by my shoulder away from my mom.
I end up crying all night, begging for my mom to come home. Daddy ignores me, but Jake crawls into bed behind me, stroking my hair.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you now, baby brother,” he says softly as I drift off, dreaming of Mom, hoping she feels better now that she is in Heaven.
Chapter 1 - Aaron
He’suptosomething,that dickhead brother of mine. Jake is the stupidest, most reckless person I know. He’s a whirlwind of destruction when he wants what he wants. Like making me follow in his dumbass footsteps and be part of this hell.
Jake heads up a crew, dealing in drugs on a small scale for the Kozlov Brothers. These brothers are not just any brothers. They’re sadistic. They’re the “likes to remove parts of your body and drown you in acid” kind of psycho brothers. And I’m a little worried we may be on the receiving end of their reputation. Jake and the other guys are being shady as fuck. They don’t really talk in front of me, and the group has become more disjointed, leaving me on the outside. I’m hardly even taking on deals anymore. Whatever they're doing, they're hiding it from me.
Currently, I am standing in the doorway to our living room, watching Shay huddled in the corner, whispering with Jake, who seems to be giving him instructions by the way his hands are aggressively gesticulating. Shay is another member of our crew and an okay guy. As usual, I walk in and the talking stops. Fuck this. I want answers.
“What do you want, Aaron?” Jake asks in the usual pissed off way he talks to me.
To think that once upon a time he was my wonderful big brother who was the focus of my world. That guy’s nowhere to be found these days. In his place is a creepy and controlling asshole, who’s just like his fuckhead father.
“Sorry, am I not allowed in our apartment?” I ask. I shouldn't push him, but I can’t help it. Being left in the dark is fucking agitating. I put my hands in my pockets and play with the switchblade that I always keep on me. I tend to fidget with it a lot when I become anxious or nervous. Or when I get the urge to want to push it through Jake’s dead heart.
“You wanna say that again?” he says as he moves closer to me. But I don't respond, which immediately defuses the situation.
“Didn’t think so. You need to stay here tonight. Tommy and I have business across town and Shay has to go on a deal,” he says.
“Should Shay be going on his own?” I ask. We never go solo.
“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?” Jake shouts. Wow, defensive. Another red flag that something is going on.
Given, I'm not the brightest person in the world with my screwed-up brain, I get why Jake might not see fit to tell me. I can't concentrate for shit, and with how many voices vie for my attention, I'm definitely unhinged.
“Whatever,” I say, heading back to my room with the decision made. Today, it's Crazy's turn. That voice has come up with the grand idea to follow Shay.
Later that evening, Jake and Tommy leave to do whatever their business is, which means I am here alone with Shay. I remain in my room to avoid being obvious. Shay’s bedroom is next to mine and the walls are thin, so it will be easy to tell when he leaves.
I sit on my bed, dressed head to toe in black. That's what you wear when you stalk, right?
I play with my switchblade and I get lost in thought, imagining the blade cutting skin as I rub the tip up and down my palm. I don’t necessarily like hurting people myself, but I do enjoy watching. I think it stems from childhood, when Jake used to stick up for me against bullies in high school. I'd be completely mesmerized while he either beat them to a pulp or threatened them to within an inch of their lives. It gave me a thrill, especially knowing I was the cause of it. The fear and begging in their voices made my dick hard. I loved seeing them so helpless. As time has gone on, though, and my relationship with my stepbrother and stepfather is in tatters, my tastes have gotten more hardcore.
After spending years being verbally and physically hurt by my supposed family after Mom died, my desire for violence increased. I feel like I’m in control. A control I never had over my own decisions or body as I grew up. It's definitely screwed up, but it's there, and my god is it there imagining Jake being on the end of that violence. I could groan at the intoxicating thoughts of watching Jake be cut open, bled out, watching the pain etched on his face twist and writhe.
Out of everyone in my life, Jake is the only one that holds any power over me. The only one who summons the young boy who I try to keep locked in my head. His voice overpowers the other’s when Jake is around. I fucking hate it.
“You better fucking hide, you little cunt. I told you I didn’t want you hanging with Sam after school. You should've come home when I told you to.”
The young boy in my head runs with fear-laced adrenaline pumping through his body, knowing that running’s all he can do. He can’t hide.
We could never hide. Only submit.
“P-Please, Jake. Please, I’m sorry.”
“Not yet, but you’re gonna be. What did I tell you about running from me? You obey me and you fucking come when I call you.”
That’s the problem. That young boy comes when he’s called, powerless to do anything against Jake, too paralyzed with fear. Meanwhile, I want to stab Jake in his cold dark heart. If he still has one.
