fourteen

                                    

                                          
I glare at my feet, lips turned down in a pout that won't go away as I frown.
                          
"Why can't I just go with you?" I ask.
                          
"Because you have school," my mom whispers, his forehead pressed against mine as our noses bump together.
                          
"I'm home-schooled now and I did all my work," I argue feebly, "You said you trusted me to survive alone."
                          
"I know baby boy, but we were gone for one night when that happened.  This time around, your dad and I will be gone for one week.  You know these meetings drag on, you know how boring they are," he reminds me.
                          
I snort softly, "I know.  But why do I have to stay with him?"
                          
"Because he's your brother and we trust him to take care of you."
                          
"He's not... I don't... just no," I struggle briefly, brows furrowing, "it's only gotten worse."
                          
"Ya sé," he sighs, "but he loves you."
                          
No he doesn't, I think miserably, at this point, he hates me.
                          
"Baby," my mom says, thumb smoothing the crease of my brow gently.
                          
I look away with a sigh, "I know, mom.  Just.. hurry back?"
                          
His smile is small, sad, as he nods.  His plush lips (much like mine), press a firm kiss to the top of my head.
                          
"I love you sweetheart," he coos.
                          
"Love you too mom," I flush, "but please."
                          
The rest goes unsaid, "we'll try, but you'll be with Ian.  You'll figure this out and things between you will be fixed.  We're family regardless of what happens."
                          
That's the problem.
                          
We're family and Ian... there's no doubt that he hates me.  Not after what I did.
                          
"Have fun," I whisper.
                          
It takes a while longer before he lets go, only to be replaced by my dad.
                          
The old man looks good in his pressed suit, almost untouched by time if my mom's memories are anything to go by.
                          
I can't help but offer him a smile, his arms wrapping around me in a warm tight hug, "Chin up, kiddo."
                          
I nod against his shoulder before letting go, "Good luck, dad."
                          
And they're gone.
                          
I stand outside until there's no trace of them.
                          
The only hint of their presence ever being there is the mild cologne of my dad and the scent of apple pie from my mom.
                          
The clearing of a throat breaks me from my thoughts and suddenly I find myself in front of Ian.
                          
"Hey," he greets softly.
                          
"Hi," I whisper, reaching for my duffel bag to head inside.
                          
But he's faster, his veiny hand wrapping around the handles and lifting my bag swiftly and without a sweat.
                          
I swallow thickly, eyes landing on the bulging muscles covered by a long sleeved shirt but barely restrained by the thin material.
                          
"Come on," he urges.
                          
I look away and duck inside his apartment, the door closing behind us with a deafening click.
                          
I suddenly feel small and overwhelmed.  
                          
How am I supposed to survive a week with Ian?
                          
Why couldn't Ian just go back to CA and attend the stupid meetings?  He had no problem leaving before, why couldn't he just go back now and never come back?
                          
"Make yourself at home," he says rather stiffly.
                          
I nod and slip off my shoes, placing them neatly in the closet.  Despite being a little over a year since I was last here, I still remember the place perfectly.
                          
Ian's warm scent embedded in the walls, the scent of promise and home.
                          
Something that is not mine and will never be mine, not with him.
                          
I shake my head slightly from those thoughts and walk upstairs where he places my bag on top of the bed in the room that has always had my name on it.
                          
"Thanks," I mumble.
                          
He turns to face me, his eyes boring into mine and I'm reminded of the shower incident.
                          
My face heats up at the shameful memory and he breaks the contact first, eyes landing on my bag.
                          
"Dinner will be at seven, if you want we could-"
                          
"I'm not hungry," I lie, "I think I'll skip, I'm just... just tired."
                          
I miss the way his face falls in disappointment, but his voice doesn't waver, it only grows tighter, firmer, "alright."
                          
I'm about to take a relieved breath when his steps pause just outside the bedroom door, "Morgan."
                          
"Ye-Yeah?" I stammer a bit off guard.
                          
"If you need anything, just tell me."
                          
"O-"
                          
Before I finish agreeing, the door is already closed behind him.
                          
"-kay..." I sigh miserably.
                          
This is going to be a long week.
                          
Just then my stomach growls in hunger.
                          
Yeah, this is definitely going to be a long week.
                          
I shove my bag off the side of the bed and face plant onto the soft and bouncy mattress, groaning as my tensed muscles slowly relax.
                          
A long week indeed.