My stepbrother was in trouble. Academic trouble. I’d heard it through the grapevine half through the first semester. Okay, so I was practically using every occasion I could to find out about his dealings. Girlfriends didn’t last long. Calling them girlfriends would be a terrible stretch to begin with, but it was easier for me to keep track of his little affairs without calling them ugly names such as hookups.
The trouble with his academic pursuits was a lot more serious than dipping his dick in too many pussies. It got so bad that I received a call from Madeline one day. How she knew about Adrian’s slipping in his studies, I had no idea. But you can imagine my surprise when I saw the caller ID on my phone.
“Hi Madeline,” I started with forced enthusiasm. A little part of me wondered if she was calling because something happened to my dad, but my joy was short-lived.
“Hi Jordan. I’m really sorry to bother you with this.” Her pause made me pause. I had this feeling that I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear. “It’s about Adrian.”
Had she told her I assaulted him or some shit? I won’t lie; all the blood in my head rushed to my feet. It wasn’t even about the shame or the exposure for the public judgment. Southerners, especially those born and raised in small communities, fear that almost as much as they fear God.
But it wasn’t my case. I just realized, that very moment, that if that was what he truly thought about me and what I did to him, he’d wreck me for life.
“What about him?” I asked slowly, sitting on my bed to brace myself.
“He’s not doing well,” she said. The sigh was behind her words, though she didn’t let it out. “I mean, I know him, and I’m well aware of how much promise he’s showed so far… but he seems to have lost his interest in art. And I worry.”
Ah, so he was skipping classes to get his dick wet. I could be mean and ask Madeline why and how she’d raised a womanizer like that. But I saw no reason to be mean to someone who’s always been nice to me.
I opted for the truth. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, well, I guess he tends to keep such things under wraps,” she said. “But a mother knows these things. Each time we talk, he complains that art school is not at all like he imagined.”
Now that was a surprise. Adrian enjoyed being a freshman, but maybe he was only enjoying going to parties and sleeping around. With how little time he spent in our dorm room, I assumed he’d made a lot of friends. But I hadn’t suspected until now that he was skipping classes. Even if Madeline didn’t say it out loud, it had to be the case. Adrian only did what he liked, and when he disliked something – like me – he simply avoided it altogether.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I asked.
“If you can. You’re the same age, and I have a feeling I’m not his best friend anymore.” She said the last part on a light tone, so it was up to me to sweep in and tell her that I was the one to take her place.
I kept my mouth shut. I had no intention to lie to her.
“I think he lost his inspiration. He’d sketch for hours and hours when we were back home.” Madeline hesitated for a moment. “Not that we’re not at home now, at your father’s house. But it’s change, and change… has not always been kind to Adrian.”
So it wasn’t only me realizing that he didn’t do a lot of sketching. Even at my father’s house, to quote Madeline, he used to get lost in his sketching so much. I’d seen enough of the desk in his room to know it. Until he ripped to shreds that sketch he’d made of me.
“I don’t promise anything. We’re not very close,” I added, to ensure that her expectations remained low.
“You two are different,” Madeline said. “But given enough time, I believe you can become best friends. It may be just a mother talking, but I can tell that you two have a few important things in common.”
“Like what?” I bit my tongue, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag.
“You are both so serious, so intense,” she chatted away. “Cutting corners and making compromises aren’t for you.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. But I couldn’t confirm.
“I will talk to Adrian,” I said. “Do you want me to tell him that you called? I’d rather not lie.”
“Of course,” she replied hurriedly. “I know all about your outstanding upbringing.”
Which meant that my dad must’ve yapped his mouth a great deal about how well he’d raised me. Not surprised there. It did make me wonder if he reproached her about not raising her son the way she should’ve. Something told me he wouldn’t dare to behave like that toward Madeline. He adored her, and that was her saving grace.
“You can tell him about our conversation. I know he doesn’t want to disappoint me, as well as he knows that I’ll always be supportive of all his choices.”
Now that was how a parent should talk like. Lucky me, I’d been past the age of regretting my dad wasn’t nice like others.
“Alright,” I said. “If that is all--”
“Your dad is well,” she said, interrupting me.
Damn. Like a good son with an outstanding upbringing, I was supposed to ask about my father’s wellbeing.
“He always is,” I said. “He’s healthy as a bull. Also, he doesn’t like it when people fuss over him, especially his son.”
“That’s true,” Madeline agreed. “Men,” she added, this time letting out that sigh she’d been holding throughout our conversation. “You two are made of sterner stuff than what I’m used to. No worries, I’ll get used to it in time.”
Phew. Now that was a bullet dodged.
We exchanged goodbyes, and that was it. Only that now I had the perfect opportunity to annoy the shit out of Adrian.
***
Finding out about his academic situation required a bit of digging, but it looked like my good boy attitude took me a long way with the administration and quite a few professors.
In a nutshell, Adrian was doing very little drawing, sketching, or any other kind of artistic pursuits. He was skipping classes, too, and one of his professors even told me how surprised she was that someone with as much promise as Adrian Shaw could fail so hard once challenged in an academic environment.
She was also convinced that I was a good brother, and that my desire to help him was commendable.
Music to my ears. And now, I was properly weaponized.
I only had to wait for him to remember that he actually had a dorm room where he was supposed to sleep. My initial plan was to allow him a couple of days of fooling around before starting to whip him into shape.
But he decided to make an appearance to our shared room an evening earlier. Too bad for him, I had my plan ready.
“Your mom called,” I said without any introduction.
He stopped in the door, as if he didn’t know if it was worth it for him to come in at all. Eventually, he decided he could face me. Funny how guilty he could feel for someone without any strong Catholic beliefs. I didn’t even know what religion he and his mom belonged to, but I assumed my dad wouldn’t go that far against his personal views and pick a Presbyterian as his new life partner.
“And?” Adrian asked, challenging me with his eyes and usual insolence.
“She wants to know why you’re ditching art.”
He shrugged and headed over to his bed. In one move, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, giving me a clear sight of his handsome back. I ached to run my hands over his tanned skin, but this wasn’t the time. I needed to show him that being older than him by one year – Madeline had mistakenly assumed we were the same age – meant that I was the mature brother and I could offer my help.
“I’m not ditching art, and I already talked to her about it,” he replied, much to my surprise. I thought I’d face his sullen disposition and pointed silence while I had to launch into a diatribe regarding the way he handled college.
“You’re worrying her. Also, you’re skipping classes. And you’re disappointing your professors who thought you were the next Picasso or some shit.”
My words broke through his paper-thin armor. He turned to face him, ready to shoot lightning from his eyes.
“You don’t know the first thing about art,” he said, putting on the mask of the bored art student who can’t believe how stupid others are because they don’t worship at the altar of squiggly lines, dramatic paint drips, or noses growing out of foreheads. I did know enough about art to realize that it wasn’t for me.
“I do know, however, about the consequences of flunking your exams.”
He smirked. He looked good, no matter what he did. “And how do you know that? I bet you’ve never flunked an exam in your life.”
It was my turn to scoff at his barbs. “That’s true. Because I don’t have to go through something to know it’s bad. It’s called basic intelligence, and while it doesn’t have anything to do with art, it’s an essential skill for survival.”
For a couple of moments, he stared at me as if he didn’t know whether he should double-down on his disgust at me for being such a non-art, practical person, or laugh.
He chose the latter. It wasn’t a simple laugh. No, it was growing in intensity until it started getting weird. He even bent from the waist and slapped his knees, as if he couldn’t believe I could be so funny.
I wasn’t funny. It was a fact of life and one I had no intention to change.
“Okay, what the fuck is so amusing?” I eventually asked.
Finally, his laughter died down, but he kept pointing at me like I was his personal clown, ready at all hours to provide him with entertainment.
“You,” he said, once he could talk. “What exactly do you think it’s going to happen now? Tell me, brother.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, since it comes from a stranger, you’ll understand that you’re letting down your mom by ditching school for pussy.”
He narrowed his eyes. Seemingly, what I was saying was no longer so funny. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
I could’ve let it slide. But I didn’t have it in me to do that. “I’m the idiot? You’re the one who’s throwing his life away just to get laid.”
Adrian moved so fast, he managed to make me flinch. Now he was standing right in front of me, and we were staring at each other like we wanted to fight.
“Art doesn’t fucking come to you like your stupid numbers,” he said through his teeth, never once blinking.
I did blink. Because it wasn’t in my interest to annoy him more if I were to learn the truth about his sudden lack of inspiration or whatever the fuck was what he was going through.
“How did it come to you before?” I asked.
He smirked, but it was the equivalent of a bitter confession. “I hadn’t met you before,” he said.
Just as he was about to move away, I caught his arm. “Don’t blame this on me. You’re not going to class, so you’re not learning anything. You’re stuck in whatever praise your teachers must’ve lavished you with for being average because they didn’t know any better. And yeah, you’re getting your dick wet far too often to leave any room for art.”
Now I was getting somewhere. Adrian gawked at me like he was seeing me for the first time in my life. Even if he wanted to brush me off now, it wouldn’t make him look good.
He turned the tables on me and moved his arm fast. It hurt where he grabbed mine, right above the elbow.
“Get naked,” he ordered.
“Do you think I’m going to reward bad behavior?” I asked. “If you want to suck my dick, you’ll have to earn it, brother.”
He shook me so hard, my teeth gnashed together, making my jaw hurt.
“I’m not going to suck your dick, you fucking lunatic,” he hissed. “I’m going to show you average, dickhead.”
That gave me pause. That was enough for him to send me hurtling toward my bed and falling on it in what had to look quite the graceless manner.
“Get naked,” he repeated his order.
I didn’t have to ask why, because he was already collecting his sketchbook and an entire collection of pencils. As I slowly started to take off my clothes, he began arranging his work area. It was fascinating to watch him, so serious, so focused. I was starting to get what Madeline had said about us being similar to some degree. Only I was this serious and focused when I was planning how to get rid of my old life, no matter at what expense.
“How do you want me?” I asked, once I was completely nude.
“Just lie there,” he snapped at me, showing his irritation.
Back home, he’d drawn me from memory, and I’d thought it was a great piece. But I was suddenly self-conscious of my body, and I knew I had to look unnatural and stiff.
Adrian scoffed and abandoned his work station to walk over to me. “Can you please stop this wooden log thing?” he asked, poking me in the ribs.
I winced, to show him how much I was willing to ignore that he intended to make me laugh. And loosen up.
“I see,” he said. “You talk a big deal with my mom, about what a great brother you are, and how you intend to help me--”
“I told her nothing like that.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s your shtick, Jo. You want to make people think you’re a good boy and always do the right thing. But we both know who you are.”
“So, just tell me how I should pose for you,” I said. “It’s not like I’m doing this every day.”
He let his eyes linger on me. “You should. You have a nice body. Anatomically correct,” he added, to make it clear that he was only staring at me as an artist, not as my stepbrother or the guy who wanted to fuck with me.
“Your expression’s all wrong,” he said, grabbing my chin and looking down at me.
“For the last time,” I said, ignoring how warm and firm his fingers were on me, “how do you want me?”
He stared me square in the eye. “In pain. That’s how I want you.”
tbc
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