BOYTOY

~ Chapter 5 ~

~ ♥️

One morning when breakfast was being enjoyed by just my mother and me, I edged into the topic of Amber's strange behaviour. Swallowing a mouthful, I casually asked, "So, mum, have you noticed anything...different, about Amber lately?"

She looked up from the newspaper, a line folded in her brow. Blinking tiredly, she murmured, "Hmm?"

"Amber." I stated. "Different. Lately?"

"Different how?" asked my mother with a soft yawn.

Shrugging, I paused before answering to act as though it was no big deal. "Oh, I don't know. A bit distracted, maybe? Secretive and she's hardly ever around; have you noticed that?"

"Well, Bronny," my mother started, looking up at me with smiling midnight eyes. "She's got a boyfriend. And boyfriends are bound to take up more of your time."

Despite Emery having told me that nothing had happened that night, I still asked, "But aren't you worried about her spending so much time with him? He could be some weirdo with a fetish for blonde hair, or worse—" I lowered my voice. "—he could be a perverted paedophile with a fetish for blonde hair!"

Mum laughed, saying airily, "Oh, Bronwyn! I really doubt Emery would have a fetish for blonde hair." Her fair eyebrows rose. "If that was so, why hasn't he gone after you or me?"

"My hair isn't nearly as blonde as Ambers."

"Oh?" Her eyes were laughing. "And he's only a year older than you, and just a few months older than Amber. How would that make him a paedophile?"

"I don't know," I grumbled.

"He seems like a nice boy to me," she mused.

"You've met him?"

"Yes, I have. A few times, actually."

"What?" I exclaimed loudly. "Then why have I only just met him and that was by some freak incident involving jelly beans?!"

She laughed, but I didn't think she knew I was being entirely serious. "Come on, Bron. Amber's just been busy, and anyway, he's always seemed to come over when you were out." She paused thoughtfully. "Quite puzzling, really."

"See! He's puzzling! And aren't all fetishes and perverted impulses born from a puzzling mind?"

She looked at me carefully, before saying, "I don't know, Bronwyn. Why don't you tell me?" I made a strange sound deep in my throat, something cross between a groan and a sigh. But before my vocal cords could strum out a comprehensible reply, my mother said, "I really don't see the problem here. I've met Emery and he seems like a really nice boy." Her smile lengthened. "He actually reminds me of you."

The mouthful of orange juice I had been part-way through swallowing rushed back up and in my haste to object, it lodged in my throat and burnt its way out of my nose. Spluttering and gasping and swearing—and earning myself a few exclaimed Bronwyn!'s from my mother, I finally righted myself enough to gasp: "W-what?!"

My mother was laughing, a hand hovering over her mouth to unsuccessfully hide the split-lipped smile that stretched across her face. "I-I meant nothing by it," she said lightly, the humour evident in her words. "I just meant—"

I stood and crossed to the sink, grunting, "I don't need to hear it," before I stomped from the room. Honestly, I didn't have a problem with Emery. He seemed fairly normal to me in the few short moments we had met, and completely sincere in the way he had talked with me that morning in my room. But it was just the fact that he was Amber's Boyfriend. If Emery had been any other boy, I would be acting the same way. She was my sister, my only sister and sibling. We had always gotten along; always talked and spent time together despite our differing ages and clique's at school.