Forbidden Fruit •Timothee Chalamet (Stepbrother)

6. I'd give my life for you

(Warning: graphic content, mentions of cult, abuse and sexual abuse)

I walk through the door and I'm surprised at Timothée not being there to greet me immediately.

Good.Maybe he got the message when I said I wanted space.

I slowly push my bedroom door open to see Timothée, sitting on the chair next to my window that's cracked open.

I spoke to soon.

"You wanna tell me what the FUCK Jacob is doing driving you home?" he stands up, enraged. I shoot him a dirty look and walk past him and to my closet to change my clothes.

"UM hello?" he yells, not giving up.

I walk in his direction, and simply look at him with narrowed eyes. He fucked my best friend and he's mad I got a ride home from Jacob? Timothée really is a hypocrite. He seems to spiral even more by my lack of explanation.

"I hope you fucking used protection at least!" he spits out while looking at me with disgust.

Is he really insinuating Jacob and I had sex? I feel my blood boil. All he did was give me a ride home. Timothee calls himself incredibly jealous, but he's also delusional clearly. I don't deserve this. You wanna be petty. Two can play this game.

"Jacob's a great guy.I feel blessed to have had him around today."I say with a forced smile plastered on my face.

He scoffs at my remark. "Fuck you!" he blurts, clearly seething at me before slamming the door to my room behind him.

"Mia?" I hear Elle crack my door open to see what I'm doing.

"Yeah?" I shoot my head up from the piles of papers from the first day of school.

"Tom is downstairs. He has some time off work I guess." She starts to say slowly.

I let out a sharp breathe. Fuck.

"I'll be downstairs in 15." I respond shakily.

Tom Chalamet. Where do I begin? Tom has never been someone anyone would see as a father figure. I can't believe him and Timothée have the same blood running through their veins to be quite honest.

At first when mom married him I thought he was just a mafia affiliated scum bag, but Tom is much more than that. In the worst of ways.

I remember the first time he took Timothée and I to the underground chambers. I was only 11 years old. I remember the cult imagery everywhere, and all of the women in white and the men in black..There was so many rooms and Timothée and I would exchange looks in terror as we try to figure out which room the screaming was coming from. I never would think my step father would be a part of some sacrificial cult for the rich. One that's been around for generations, and one that takes satisfaction in the suffering of others.A lot of think of people think rich people are ordinary aside from their wealth,but the truth is..they are the most fucked up of all.

I walk downstairs to see Tom in the living room, sitting on the couch while he rests his arm on the rest.

He is grinning at the site of me.Fucking sociopath.

Timothée is standing on the other side of the room,leaning on the wall and almost crawling out his skin with discomfort. He looks at me as I walk into the the living room and his face falls when he sees me approach his father. Elle and mom sit politely in front of Tom.

"Hello." I manage to get out while quickly glancing at Tom, looking down trying to avoid his dark hollow eyes.

"Amelia! Don't ya look all grown up in one summer!" he smiles at me criminally.

It makes me stiffen. He repulses me.

"Thanks" I shortly reply but still look down and avoid his eyesight. Mom and Elle sense the uneasiness in my voice but just stay quiet, criss crossed on the fancy chairs across from Tom.

"I'm glad to see you back. Timothée and you have really blossomed aye?"

Timothée flinches at the mention of us together, and starts bouncing his foot anxiously.I turn my lips upward trying to fake a smile in response the best I could. I hear a ding.

"That's the pie!" Mom states as she runs off to the kitchen, leaving Elle there tapping her feet.

Thank god this evil man never involved Elle in any of this. She has remained unscathed.
Even though both Mom and Elle know that Timothée and I have always been his personal targets. Timothée's eyes follow mom to the kitchen before he looks at me desperately and lets out a huff.

"Timothée...Amelia, I have arrangements for you two tonight. I expect you two to be ready by 9." He says menacingly before taking a cookie out of the jar on the coffee table and placing it in his mouth.

Timothée lets out sigh of disapproval loudly as he looks away. I nod but the rest of my body is frozen.We both know what that means.

We are going to the undergrounds.

I look at myself in my vanity until my eyes get foggy.It's 8:30 pm. I hear a knock on my door and that forces me to break eye contact with my reflection. Timothée stands there with his back tilted in my doorway, wearing all black. I look back at the mirror, still seeing Timothée's lean body in the doorway.

He starts to slowly hover behind me and looks at us both in the mirror.

His hair is slicked back and his black shirt sits underneath a black collared blazer that passes his hips. His belt is thick and triangular. In the undergrounds there is a dress code.
The dress code signifies position, age, and power. Almost like a uniform.Women wear all white and men wear all black but certain details are what separates the sectors. All of this sounds hard to comprehend to a regular person, but sounds pretty typical for Timothée and I. We've been familiar with the concept since we were children.

"Do you need me to help you tighten the dress?" he mutters, while he looks at me in the mirror.The white dress is a dress I hate to bring out. Every year we get our sizing so Tom can send us a new uniform. It's corseted back needs to sinched in by someone.

"Yeah."I softly reply.

He starts to pull the strings, which causes my waist to shrink with every pull. I place my head in the palms of my hand, watching him do it skillfully.

"Amelia,when we're down there. I..I don't know what this psychopath has in store for us." Timothee stammers before continuing "I'd give my life for you. Don't forget that."

I don't hear even a hint of hesitation in his voice. My heart flip flops as I process what he says.

This is what I mean by trauma bond.

No matter what Timothée does, In moments like this, he's all I have.