Trust // a.i

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*If you're reading this, wow someone's reading this ok

so I started writing this two years ago but I've decided to re-write it as obviously I look back on it now and think ok what was I on

hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! *

As I squeeze the last of the few belongings I brought with me into my old leather bag, a familiar knock comes from the other side of the door.

"I don't know why you bother knocking," I say as my brother strolls in and flops down onto my unmade bed. "You always just come in anyway."

Luke put his two hands behind his head, crossed his abnormally long legs and smiled up at me. "It's never too late to start something new." Even though he walked in of his own accord, as usual. I roll my eyes and my twin laughs, barely managing to dodge the dirty sock I fire in his direction. His laughter soon dies and his expression turns serious, tinged with a mixture of desperation and exasperation. 

"Please don't leave yet, Percy. Stay another day or two. You have the whole week off, we can do whatever you want. Just you and me. Mom could stay here-"

"As if she'd even consider spending any more time with me than she has to", I cut him off. The feeling's mutual.

Luke sighs and rubs his eyes, sick of my arrogance more than likely. And annoyed with himself for dragging her into the conversation. He knows it will never end well.

"Look, forget her, Perce", he says as I flop down beside him. I stare at the ceiling to avoid his gaze, to avoid any chance of persuasion. "Think about me, your twin brother, currently bored and friendless, and pity me." I laugh and I can feel some of the tension lift as he physically relaxes beside me.

"You are not friendless," I argue, even though not a soul comes to mind when I try to think of anyone Luke hangs out with. He ignores the comment anyway.

"I don't get to see you enough and you know it. I mean I don't know about you, but I miss my sister during the long weeks alone here with Mom. I'd like her to stick around sometimes, even when she is acting like a little bitch." I poke Luke in the ribs just before I squeeze my arms tight around his torso. I might not tell him often enough, but I miss him every second of every day. He's not just my brother, he's my best friend, as corny as that sounds. But he knows better than anyone that I can't stand this place. Just having to breathe the same air as her for two days a week makes my blood boil.

"It's a two way street, brother. You could always come and visit Dad and I. He misses you almost as much as I do, and he never gets to see you."

"That's not my fault and you know it."

"I never said it was, Jesus don't go into labour." I hate myself for being so quick to rise and having such a bad temper, but it's the way I've always been. Luke is the complete opposite; the patience of a saint, he got all the reasonable genes. He's the only one who doesn't let what I say in my flashes of anger or impatience get to him, and I love him even more for it.

"You know if I even mention the idea she'll play the whole 'abandoning me for them' or 'leaving me here to rot' card, and I don't have the energy to fight with her Percy, but I'll try. And please tell Dad that I can't watch any more Masterchef or my head will implode," he begs and I burst into laughter, grateful for his ability to lighten the conversation when it heads down a darker route.

"It's practically tradition to try and watch at least one episode a day, you know how much we love it," I tease and he sighs dramatically in mock exasperation. "I really do have to go though, Luke. I promised Dad I'd make him dinner. We're having enchiladas."

My brother pulls me in tighter and we stay like that for a minute, hugging like it's the last time we'll ever see each other. I always take advantage of Luke for hugs anyway.

We eventually peel ourselves from the bed and I grab my bag, only to throw it at Luke, who narrowly avoids dropping it and spilling it's contents all over the floor. I indicate that he can carry it downstairs and he rolls his eyes as I push him through the door.

"Mom, Percy's leaving," he calls into the living room, in response to which he receives only silence. I didn't expect her to say anything anyway. Luke's features start contorting in annoyance and he looks like he might snap something unpleasant at the apparently non-verbal witch in the other room, so I open the front door and pull him outside towards my car.

My old, black Toyota Supra is my pride and joy. Dad got it from a friend who was selling it cheap to get rid of it, and it took me a year to pay him back for it. I took every rotten, getting-up-stupidly-early job I could get just to earn a few dollars more to pay for my baby. I let Luke drive it around sometimes but only when I'm sat next to him; he is by far the worst driver on this planet, probably in this galaxy.

He opens the back door and slings my bag onto the backseat before shutting the door with a slam.

"Last chance?" he tries in vain, and I look down at the ground so I don't have to see the disappointed and hurt picture painted by his features.

I pull him in for another hug and breathe in his scent, trying to get enough to last me a week. He smells like coffee and burnt wood - he must have lit the fire earlier.

"Please come and visit. Believe it or not, your room is still there," I plead, desperate to have him home. He deserves so much better than this. He deserves a family that actually cares and that will love him unconditionally.

"I'll try, you know I will. Maybe if Mom goes out or something, I'll catch a bus," he replies hopefully. "You know, if Lola happens to swing by it would really help me make up my mind..." he teases as he practically drools over one of my best friends.

"Don't taint her you freak," I retort and he erupts into laughter.

"Is it still just those two? Or have you dragged a begrudging third member into your little band of merry men?" he asks, opening the driver door to act as his shield so I can't smack him.

"My little band of merry men? You really do need to get out more," I laugh as I sit in behind the wheel. What a strange, gigantic boy I have as a twin.

"Tell Lola to call me," he winks as I pull out of the driveway. When I flip him off he only waves back sweetly in reply, trying and failing to hold in a giggle.

"Love you!" he calls as I drive away from that shitshow he has to call home.

"I tolerate you!" I call back, and see him chuckling to himself through my wing mirror as he turns to walk back inside. I wouldn't feel like laughing if I had to go back in there.

 As I drive down the almost deserted country road to my house in the city, I put my Biffy Clyro CD on and skip to Picture A Knife Fight. I speed down the road humming the lyrics to one of my favourite songs, the wind whipping my hair back off of my face, and I think of my patient, kind-hearted brother stuck in that sorry excuse for a home with our sorry excuse of a mother. In that moment I want nothing more than to turn around and take him home with me, to help him to start a new life in the city with his real family, the kind of life he deserves.