It only takes one moment to change your life forever.
It only takes one decision to alter the course of your future.
It only takes bravery to open your heart.
But once your heart is open...it's open to being shattered.
Lyra and her mom had little in...
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Trenton:
"What...uh...uhm...what is it, Trent?"
"...Since it's been my dastardly plan all along...to get rid of you...I went with a ticking time bomb...can't you hear it? Oh, and I threw in some anthrax...just for the hell of it." I'd tried for caustic humor, thinking I'd elicit a smile, even some laughter. Seems like I failed, epically failed, for that matter.
Trent, man, that totally bombed. Bet bro would've made her laugh though. Hell, bro would probably have had Lyra sharing a fucking shake with one fucking straw by now— bet she'd be all smiles for him too, looking at him with those amazing amethyst eyes of hers, fuck, maybe fluttering those thick, sooty lashes of hers. And I bite back the bitter, brittle laugh those thoughts produce—doing my best to press down, and suppress the envy and shot of jealousy that floods me, just thinking of my much more easy going and yeah, fuck, kinder, mirror image.
I shake my head a little, trying to clear it. So I'm not Tal—Tal with his genuine, easy smile, his sweet talk, and big fucking heart. Yeah, it's no secret that he's always been the nicer twin...the "play by the rules," twin, the "golden, and good twin." Me...not so much. Losing our father at such a young age, and then having shithead Stefan step into our household and take over...Tal and I handled the loss and change differently—radically so. Up until that point, (or so my older brothers and mother say), Tal and I were apparently like one in the same person—so absolutely alike, both in physical appearance and personality no one could tell us apart. But our father's death, and the insertion of shithead Stefan the tyrant in our lives changed everything. My brother seemed to deal with it all by "towing the line" and often, falling into line...like a good little soldier, just doing what he was told to do—like it was easier to just acquiesce and capitulate than to stir the shit stew which was what Stefan brought to our lives. Me, well, I decided early on that I didn't give two fucks, and that Stefan "The Pretender" ( as I used to think of him when I was younger—pretending to be our father, and doing a shit poor job of it ) wasn't going to be anything to me, nor was he going to have any hold over me...he was not my father. Since it was clear from day one that he didn't like us, let alone think of us as his sons (even as young as we were when he barreled through—we just knew immediately that he disliked, hell, even hated and resented the hell outta us, he made no secret of the fact), and once I realized just how important image and social standing was to him, well, I began to "act out,"—or at least that's what my brothers and my mother called it. My mother often said, "I just don't understand...your brother doesn't act this way..." and my older brothers (who, if we're being honest, became more of a father to us than Stefan ever could be) decided that I was "messed the hell up by the death of our real father," and told our mother so, as well. I'd overheard them many a time telling her that I'd eventually "work through it," "straighten myself out," oh, and my favorite... "grow up." What they all failed to realize (even my brothers, missed it), was that much of my attitude, antics and "acting out," had absolutely nothing to do with the loss of our father (I worked on that grief personally and privately...it was mine and no one else's) and everything to do with messing with my new stepfather. Image, social standing, and the façade of the "perfect family" meant everything to the asshole my mother married, and I gleaned a shit ton of pleasure from fucking with all of it, fucking with the neat rigidity of his life, (he treated our mother like shit, I'd give him shit ten times over) messing with him was worth the heavy, hard hand of his consequences.
