As It Was (COMPLETED) (wattys2023)

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

36 hours before shooting

My parents held an early graduation party for the boys. They planned to head out of town to attend my great grandmother's funeral Saturday, which resulted in them missing the boys walking the stage, thus not being able to hold the party afterward. Though the party was for the twins, they would have holed themselves in their dark room given the opportunity. Unfortunately for them, our father didn't allow for it and both boys were sat on the old blue sofa in the middle of the living room sulking.

Seeing them side by side for the first time in years, I couldn't help but stare. The two boys, who had once been so identical not even my mother could tell the difference on various occasions, hardly looked related. Frankie sat crossed legged on the middle cushion, blue eyes hidden behind a pair of black glasses, askew on his nose as his eyes scanned his surroundings, ready and alert. Mom had forced the two of them into formal attire-white button ups and black slacks-but Frankie was a disheveled mess. The three top buttons of the shirt were undone, the collar sticking up, even the small little buttons on the cuffs were undone and had them unfolding along his wrist bone. The heel of his left dress shoe dug into his right leg, currently bouncing along the hardwood anxiously. Shockingly, Clark was in dressed without even a hair out of place; it was so unlike him to clean up so nicely that it rattled my curiosity. The swelling around his eye and bridge of his nose had gone down significantly, but a fresh one, a ugly greenish-blue hue to it, had taken residency along his jaw.

Being a social butterfly myself, I should have been fluttering around the room and trying to spark conversation with family friends and relatives I hadn't seen in years, but the unsettling aura that Clark was putting off kept me pressed against Miles' chest for the first hour and a half of the party. He didn't look as on edge as Frankie, if anything he looked at ease, but his eyes would occasionally fall on our parents backs and his jaw would tighten, and his calamity would dissipate.

"You good?" Miles rested his chin on my bare shoulder blade, twirling a lock of my curled, dark blonde hair around his finger before releasing it and watching it bounce back into place. "You've been really quiet."

"I'm fine." I assured, tilting my head back to lay a kiss on his cheek. "I think my brain is just fried from all the exams this week."

I knew better than to tell him about Clark's outbursts yesterday, even if everything in me wanted to try at a cry for help again.

For me or my brother, this time I wasn't sure.

"Ah, there you two are!" Hilary Baxter's loud exclamation drew both of my brother's attention to the three of us in the dining room. Miles' mother closed the distance between us and staggered drunkenly as she approached, spilling the remanence of her wine on the kitchen tile. I felt Miles tense beside me and didn't have to turn to know his cheeks had probably lost all color. This wasn't the first occasion I'd witnessed this firsthand, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last. "I've been trying to talk to you two all night!"

I smiled weakly, lacing my fingers through my boyfriend's in hopes it'd calm him. He offered a tight-lipped smile of his own, but it faltered the moment his mother set the wine glass on the old mahogany kitchen table behind him and yanked us into a hug. He caught my eye over her shoulder and did his best to conceal his embarrassment, but I just squeezed his hand as we fell back into our original position in front of her.

"I can't believe my baby boy graduates in two days." she sniffled, looking toward Miles with teary eyes. "Look at you! So handsome and all grown up! I'm so proud of you, honey."

I caught a sudden movement out of my peripheral and glanced toward my brothers on the couch. Clark was watching us intensely, his right hand grasping the glass in his hand so tight I was afraid it'd shatter in his grip. The blue eyes I'd once found a sense of comfort, a mirror of my own, were lit with fury. He had to have been eavesdropping on the conversation, and Mrs. Baxter's praise of her son must have gotten to him. Just as I opened my mouth to excuse myself, Miles dropped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me against him, muttering something about his mother wanting to get a picture of us together. Tearing my eyes from Clark, I forced a smile and looked at the dark-haired mid-life crisis before me, hoping I'd be able to escape once the picture had been taken. Only when I looked back to the couch, not only had Clark vanished, but red stained Mom's beloved sofa in the spot he'd seconds prior occupied.