Burning Moth

Chapter Three, Part Three - Habits

I was thirteen when Jake's studly, successful father, Richard, married my beautiful, spirited mother, Sarai. After so many years of cohabitation with a thirty-something down-and-out still living like a drunk sorority girl, I couldn't fathom sprouting roots, trading eviction notices and paper plates for life behind a white picket fence. Yet Richard was charming, and assured, and offered my mother something she'd never had–stability and a mortgage.

Richard Sayler was a suit with a cushy lifestyle. He put my mom in a big house, and filled it with lots of shiny things to occupy her during his long hours away at the office. And like a fat kid at the end of a candy conveyor belt, she took it all in–until she realized that was all he had to give her. Richard's nourishment was fleeting–Louis Vuitton and pearl necklaces couldn't feed the soul. While Sarai made up flamboyant excuses to stay, I plotted my escape. 

Because when Richard was around, he was cold and callous, and frighteningly territorial of my mother's time–yet the worst part about him was that slow, lingering gaze. It happened at the dinner table, and in between conversations, or when he passed my room at night on his way down the hall. The only other person in the household who shared my distaste for Richard was his son, Jacob.

Jake was two years older than me, but the real difference lay in our mindsets. I conducted my devilry out in the open, strolling through the front door at two am because why not? But Jake's style was more low-key. Whether our parents were home or not, when he snuck in it was always up the trellis and through his bedroom window. He had secrets to protect. If Richard suspected his ascot-wearing, rugby-playing, Ivy-destined son was up to no good, Jake's father would drop him from the will like a bad habit. So imagine my surprise when one day, an innocent trip to the linen closet reveals my step-brother making out with his tutor. My cheerleader-dating, throw-some-dirt-on-it-and-you'll-be-okay stepbrother had the hots for skinny dudes in horn-rimmed glasses.

With that information, I did what any other decent, loving sister would do–I blackmailed the shit out of Jake.  No longer could he cock-block me at school when I cozied up to his super-hot teammates, or gyp me out of slow-dances by telling others guys I had HPV.

We made a deal. For the rest of our sentence as brother and sister, we could avoid mutually assured destruction–and Richard's wrath–by staying the hell out of each other's business. And it all would have worked perfectly–if it hadn't been for Aidan.

The day I met him, he became my one and only escape from the cardboard world my mother had married us into. Aidan introduced me to family dinners, took me on summer vacations, and when my mother stood me up at the father-daughter dance, for one night Mr. Waite was my dad too. Jake saw what I had... and the rest was history.

He wormed his way into my friendship with Aidan, and soon enough Mrs. Waite had a place for him at the dinner table. But I knew–the more time Aidan spent with Jake, the more opportunity for disaster. I foresaw the consequences–but Jake ignored the possibility. If he hadn't, maybe his father's dealership wouldn't have burned to the ground, and maybe Jake wouldn't have spent six months behind bars.

Now, I was trapped in an elevator with a convict who probably blamed me for losing his freedom, his inheritance, and his boyfriend all in the same night. If my stepbrother was there for retribution, he deserved it. 

But not Aidan.

"Long-time, no see. Why the sad face, Shrimp?"

"You're out early, not for good behavior I take it. What do you want, Jake?"

"You know what I want. That's never changed." Jake took a menacing step forward, filling the elevator's small space with the pressure of our secrets–secrets that could bury us. "Remember what I told you all those times you tried to visit--that I'd have to be desperate to ever wanna see you again? The fact that I haven't shaken you down for those stacks I saw you put in your bag just now, speaks for itself--I want Aidan more. We need to talk, but I'd rather not surprise him."