OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

I
loved
him so much that I dared not doubt him.

I
removed my undergarments
, slipped on my nightgown and prepared the bed for my rest. I lied down, closed my eyes and started thinking of happy thoughts. I tried to sleep so that I could recharge my weary body.

I
tried
.

I
twisted
and turned and curled for what seemed like hours. But slumber eluded me.

T
hen I remembered
an old belief that my mom once told me when I was little:
if you can’t sleep, it could only mean that someone was thinking of you
.

O
f course
, I’m too old to actually believe that now. But it gave me some comfort when I imagined it to be true.

W
ho could be thinking
of me at that moment, I wondered?

F
inn
.

I
t could only be Finn
.

I
grabbed
my phone and speed dialed his number.

I
was expecting
his sweet voice, raspy and sleepy, to greet me.

B
ut his phone
kept ringing and ringing until an automated response told me that his number was currently unattended. I tried again, only to be met with the same response.

H
e was asleep
... deeply it seemed. I have tried to call him in an ungodly hour a couple of times before, and he picked it up. He was too groggy to come up with a coherent reply, but he still answered his phone. That gave me the confidence to call him that night, even if it was in the wee hours of the morning, but his mobile just kept ringing.

I
can’t blame
him though. How could I? He was supposed to be resting. He had a tiring day as well. I was the one who wanted a favor - to hear a voice so familiar to my heart.

Y
et
, it was still disappointing, but I could live with it.

I
lied
down in bed once more and tried, again, to get some sleep. It escaped me at first, but eventually, I dozed off... and I started to dream...

A
bout getting
my UCLA acceptance letter, one which I have been waiting for the past three weeks or so...

A
bout going
to the same college as Finn and doing everything together...

A
bout preparing
for a life we will share...

A
bout our love
which would only grow with time....

A
bout making love to him
, his sturdily built body pressed against mine... rubbing... caressing each other... locked in a tight embrace... impassioned kisses that expressed how much we meant to each other... his manhood... my dampness... the consummation of our desires...

T
hen I heard
a creak and I woke up, bringing my unconscious reverie to an abrupt end.

I
t was
the main door downstairs. Someone opened it, quite carefully judging from how soft and slow the grating sound was. A small thud followed, then footsteps going up the stairs.

I
gulped
as I started to panic. Was it a burglar? Has someone intruded our house while everyone was asleep?

I
should wake
up my folks.

I
got
up from bed and tiptoed towards my door. Before I could open it, I heard a soft knock.

T
he intruder was already
outside my room!

I
wanted to scream
, to alert my folks in the other room so that they’d know what was happening and we would have a better chance at thwarting whatever nefarious plan the trespasser had. Strength in numbers. And my dad had a baseball bat right beside his bed.

B
ut something was stopping
me from crying for help.

W
hat if it
wasn’t an intruder.

W
hat if
he
finally decided to come home?

A
soft whisper
from the other side of the door confirmed my thoughts.

“
A
ndrea
,” the voice muttered agonizingly, as if he was in so much pain.

“
N
ash
?” I asked, though I already recognized his voice.

“
I
need your help
,” he continued, pleading.

N
ashville Walters
? Begging for help?
He never ever asked for any kind of aid before. Not from me, nor from our parents.

H
e must be
in serious trouble.

I
hurriedly unlocked
and opened the door, and there he was, barely able to stand, his left arm rested on the wall for support, his right hand clutching his ribs. He was still wearing the navy blue hoodie from yesterday afternoon. But there was something different about it. The color was dingy, as expected, but somehow... it was much so much darker.

A
nd it was wet
.

T
hen I turned
to look at him and a lump formed in my throat. There were so many bruises on his face. There was a large gash forming a vertical line just below his left eye. His lips were swollen and bloody. A slight tear can be seen on his left ear as well.

“
O
h my God
, Nash,” I almost screamed, “what happened to you?”

“
P
lease
... don’t yell,” he requested, still struggling to stay standing. “Can I come in?”

H
e has never been
in my room. Never. He knew how much I valued my privacy. But at that moment, my quirk didn’t even enter my mind. I grabbed his arm and placed it around my shoulder. I led him towards my bed, where he sat... his body almost collapsing into a ball over his knees.

“
D
id you get into a fight
?” I asked, as I opened my drawers to get some towels.

H
e didn’t answer
. He just curled up and winced in pain, gripping his ribs.

H
is ribs
.

T
hat was
the wettest area of his sweater.

I
dropped
the towels beside him and started to pull up his top. He tried to ward off my hands, but I was insistent and he was too weak to stop me. Horror struck me as soon as his shirt was raised to his chest. He was bleeding profusely. A laceration, seemingly deep, polluted the area just above the left side of his waist. Blood was dripping effusively to the rim of his loose jeans.

I
t looked like a stab wound
.

“
N
ash
... what have you gotten yourself into?” I questioned in shock as I covered up the tear with a towel, blood quickly formed a pool of red on the white linen.

“
N
othing
... just a little squabble, s’all,” he answered while flinching.

“
T
his wound
... it’s very deep,” I said anxiously. “Oh my God, Nash. We have to wake them up. We have to bring you to the hospital...”

“
N
o
, no,” he stopped me. “Don’t. Just... don’t.”

“
W
hy
?” I asked him, as I cleaned the edges of his wound with the tip of a new towel dipped in alcohol.

“
Y
ou don’t have
to bother them with this,” he answered. “This is nothing...”

“
N
othing
?! Nash, you’re bleeding! Heavily!”

“
I
’ve been through worse
.”

“
R
eally
? What could be worse than this?”

“
Y
ou know
, sticks and stones... painful words... etcetera...” he said with a chuckle, only to grimace once more when laughing proved to be painful.

O
nce the fringes
of the laceration were cleaned, I realized that the wound wasn’t as deep as I feared it to be. It was deep, but it was more of a cut rather than a puncture. The rest of his body, though, was filled with patches of black and blue and violet... contusions that may have been caused by punches or kicks or blunt objects, or all of those things combined.

I
removed his sweater completely
, his naked torso exposed to my care. I wiped the blood that have splattered all over his body. Then I proceeded to his face. Mud was all over his profile, making him appear worse than how he really was. I cleaned it up, and though the lesions remained, he looked a little less harrowing.

“
O
kay
, I won’t tell them about this,” I started to say, “but you will have to tell me what happened. I need to know, Nash. You’re killing me with worry here.”

H
e tried not to respond
, but I was persistent.

“
I
t was just a small rumpus
,” he said.

“
A
small rumpus
?” I repeated in disbelief. “You look like you came out of a prison riot.”

“
S
ome of my
friends got into a fight,” he explained. “I had to help them out.”

H
e has friends
?

“
I
t must’ve been
one hell of a fight,” I reacted.

T
hen he held
my hand and caressed my fingers.

H
is touch was warm
.

W
as
it because of the adrenaline in his blood? Was his circulation running fast, causing his skin to heat up? Was it the cold dry weather outside, and his body had to adjust correspondingly?

O
r was
it because it was the first time he touched me... ever... and I was never familiar with the feel of his hand?

R
egardless
, his touch was strangely tepid... it was both reassuring and terrifying... affectionate and apprehensive... a promise of peculiar sensations and of something bewitchingly dangerous... an invitation to something dark and mystifying and enchanting...

“
H
ow have you been
?” he asked. There was a different kind of gentleness in his voice... serene... content... vulnerable...

I
t took
me a few seconds to process his question. Why was he asking me how I was doing when he was the one who has been through hell?

“
E
verything’s okay
,” I replied.

I
withdrew
my hand from his touch... only to realize afterwards how reluctant I was to do so.

B
ut why was
I so disinclined to pull out from his grasp?

H
e bowed
his head once more, wincing still, the pain has yet to fully subside. It won’t disappear anytime soon, judging from how badly damaged his body and his face were. It will take a few days before he can fully recover.

I
stood
up as I tried to regain my composure. His touch was very... disarming. What scared me the most, however, was the fact that I didn’t know why he had that kind of an effect on me... that my body would respond that way to the feel of his skin.

I
went back
to my drawers to get more towels.

W
hen I turned around
, I saw him looking at me... all of me... his eyes surveyed the entirety of my body... from my thighs to my stomach... to my breasts.... to my arms... to my neck... before settling on my face. When he noticed that I was staring at him, he quickly tipped his head to his left and pretended to look at something else.

I
scowled
in humiliation when I remembered that I was just wearing my nightie. Its fabric was too thin, almost transparent. My breasts pushed out of its soft textile. My thighs were very much revealed, owing to how short the nightdress was. My nipples, pinkish as they were, surely screamed at him as their color made them protrude from the silky texture of my gown.

M
y bare form
was very much visible for his scrutiny.

O
r perhaps
, his enjoyment?

“
I
’m sorry
,” I tried to reason out. I didn’t have to say anything, but I didn’t like the awkwardness of that moment to persist. “I didn’t have time to wear something... modest,” I continued as I clutched the towels near my breasts in a belated attempt to conceal them.

“
W
ell
,” he said, almost groaning because of the pain that lingered, “all I saw were your legs. Nothing new. I always see them everyday, anyway. During your practices.”

T
hat was
a nice way of dismissing what was a discomforting episode.

“
S
peaking of which
,” I spoke, “what were you doing there anyway? You haven’t really answered me when I asked you yesterday.”

A
nd just like
yesterday
,
I was met with the same response... silence.

“
I
f you like Jaynie
... I mean, who doesn’t like Jaynie, right?” I continued. “If you like her, I can introduce you to her. Or maybe you like Kyla, the tanned brunette who’s always wearing a ponytail? The second prettiest girl there, next to Jaynie? I could introduce you to her, too... but I must warn you... she has a less than stellar reputation. Many people say she sleeps around and brags about her... sexual conquests. She’s very risky.”