Stepbrother (Sequel to Stockholm Syndrome)

51

It had taken me a solid three minutes to decide I did not like Billy. Much to my distaste, Luke was letting him stay with us for a few weeks because the guest house had been infested. Personally, I think he would have fit right in with the family of rats, but, apparently, Luke didn't find that practical.

Luke and I were on speaking terms only when necessary. He and I both knew it was not a safe communication zone with Billy hanging about, and he continually gave me a look signifying we would be having a long discussion once his cousin was gone.

I was spending a lot of time with Travis on the days that Billy was there. Although – through happiness and through fights – Luke had become my ultimate safe place, I felt safety around Travis. His friends weren't half bad either.

The second afternoon Billy was here, Travis and I were in my bedroom, sitting on the bed, arguing over John Green books and their plots. He voted that 'Looking For Alaska' was the best, while I was stuck to the basics and called 'The Fault in Our Stars.'

We drew a tie, neither of us feeling that it was worth it to argue again. We'd already settled which One Direction song was the best and which teams we rooted for in sports. The ladder was a decently one-sided conversation as I had little to no input regarding sports.

"I'm starved," Travis announced. A butterfly in my stomach rolled over in its grave. "Will your brother care if we raid the fridge?" Travis asked.

"No. It's fine. I have a feeling the more we eat the happier he is."

I followed Travis to the kitchen.

"Do you want food, too?" He asked the question I had been dreading. I'd been keeping my food down for a while, but I didn't want to relapse while he was here and still unknowing about my condition.

"I'll pass," I replied, trying to act natural. Although it was typically not a very suspicious thing to turn down food, my case was different. Travis didn't know any better, but I felt eyes boring into the back of my neck.

While Travis dug his nose into the fridge, searching out something to fix his appetite, I turned, leaning on the island, to face Luke. He was in the corner, observing quietly. He and I made eye contact, but that was all that happened before Billy waltzed into the room.

"Lucas, can I borrow your car? Mine's broke down again," He explained in a semi-sing-songy voice.

"Billy, I have told you about a hundred times; my name is not short for Lucas. My mom named me Luke and only Luke." Luke responded, digging through his pockets for the car keys. I ignored the fact that I knew Luke was lying, figuring it was probably something he told Billy just in case he ever tried to turn him into the cops. I'd gotten used to the precautions like that that Luke took regularly.

I wouldn't be bothered by his intrusion more than normal, but, in his right hand, I noticed my hairbrush. Now, the man had long hair, but him using my hairbrush, especially without asking, rose above my small level of patience for him. I grabbed it from him with a wave of fierce anger I didn't know was pent up inside of me. He looked down at me as I backed up a few paces, still glowering. I ignored the fact that Travis was in the room.

"I have been tolerating you being here for the last week, and I'm already near my breaking point," Wrath was clear in my voice, but I did not raise it above its normal tone.

"Madeline..." Luke trailed off when I shot him a look.

"No. I was in a bad mood when he came, and he's been adding to it." I turned back to Billy, waving my hairbrush at him. "You added another level of terror to my life the last time I saw you and I don't think you understand how hard it is for me to watch you waltz back into my life as if nothing happened!" I snapped.

"You seem just fine with Luke doing just that." Billy retorted, making a clear point.

"Luke and I have been working on our relationship long after you left... we've been working at it for years, Hell, we're still working on it," I told him. Travis hopped up onto the kitchen counter, grapes in hand, knowing he was best off quietly observing for now. "He puts effort into our relationship. We've started to build a mutual understanding. He doesn't just rely on any of my confusion or fear of him to keep the upper hand in our relationship – he doesn't want the upper hand, he wants equality. Man, I hated him more than you for a long time after you left. I did, I really did. That problem wasn't fixed by him leaving my life for more than a year and then walking back in like nothing's ever happened. He and I have spent that year – plus some – working to build a relationship that can overcome shitty beginnings. We still have bumps along the road, I still get scared of him sometimes, he still gets impatient with me sometimes – all that was clear the day you showed up. But when we hurt each other, we don't become ghosts to haunt each other; we work it out. That's the only way our relationship works."

All three men watched me closely.

"And I might not be completely justified in holding such a strong grudge against you, but PTSD works in strange ways. And you trigger far too many bad memories for me to just let it go." I let out a big breath. "I'm not trying to be a bitch, honestly," I told him. "I'm sure you're great. Luke wouldn't let you in the same room as me if you weren't safe. And I'm sorry if I hurt you by my honesty, but I've lived my whole life keeping things held inside me and if I do that anymore, I'm not going to be able to let it out in healthy ways," I explained. My goal, through this outburst, was not to leave him with hurt feelings or a bruised ego.

Billy came towards me slowly and the only reason I didn't retreat was because I could see that Luke's eyes were fixed on him, watching in case he needed to step in. Instead of any bad reaction that could have come from him, Billy stuck his hand out.

"Do-over?"

I shook it.

"I'm Billy."

"Madeline."