Two days later Jack moved in.
I was in the library, enjoying my day off in an oversized lounge chair reading one of the classics on the shelf when I heard his Lamborghini pull up. Correctly assuming that he wouldn’t come to try and find me in the library I listened as one of his friends followed in a rented truck: apparently the supercar wasn’t big enough to fit all his belongings.
They trampled through the house as they took Jack’s things to his room, and when the noise finally died down I figured it might be safe to go to the other side of the house and find some food to eat for dinner.
To my surprise, Jack was already in the kitchen, raiding the fridge the same way I was used to doing.
“Oh. Hey sis, I didn’t know you were here,” Jack said, that familiar smirk across his face.
“I do live here, you know. Is it really that much of a surprise to run into me?”
“Well I dunno, I figured you’d have things to do, right? Like, digging through trash for dinner? I guess since my father’s decided you’re his new charity case though you get to eat from a real kitchen.”
That was it. I’d had it with his insults. I could feel the rage building inside of me. I’d always had too quick a tongue, I sometimes said things without thinking, and this was one of those times.
“You know, for someone who seems to hate his father so much, you sure don’t seem to mind spending his money. I guess it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk, isn’t it?”
I saw something flash in my brother’s eyes. Was it anger? Fear? Loathing? Something else? I wasn’t quite sure, but I did know his face went dark and he stepped towards me.
I moved back a step to get away from him, but found myself pressed against the counter. Jack loomed over me, so close I could feel his breath on the top of my head, the heat of his body against mine.
I should have been terrified. I should have been angry. But instead, I was so incredibly turned on. My blood was boiling in my veins, I could feel myself getting wet, imagining him taking me right then and there in the empty kitchen, on the counter…
“Don’t pretend to know anything about me,” Jack growled in a low, husky voice, breaking me away from my fantasy. “Just… don’t.”
Suddenly he moved away, turned around and left the room. I guess I touched a nerve, I thought as I moved to the fridge to find myself some food for dinner.
Still, I wondered what it was about him, what he was hiding. I had obviously struck a nerve, and I was curious as to what it was, even though I still thought he was a douchebag.
I imagined Jack left, since when I got back to my room I had a look out the window and his car was gone. I didn’t see him again until our next class together, three days later.
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks I discovered first hand just how frustrating living next to my brother really was.
Sometimes it was the loud music: if I was trying to study, it was often far more productive to get Michael to drive me to a local coffee shop than to stay at home, since Jack would blast hard rock from his speakers every single night.
On the other hand, I thought it was nice to get out of the house, and enjoying a hot chocolate while I studied was a nice treat (I could never sleep well at night when I drank coffee after dinner). Plus I knew I’d never run into Jack here, this was far too nice an establishment for him.
It wasn’t the loud music that really, really bugged me though. It was the girls.
The first time I saw one of them I half expected it to be the girl I’d seen sitting on his lap. But no, different girl. Different hairstyle, still blonde, still rake thin, still absolutely gorgeous.
The one the next night was different still.
Then, gross, the night after that he was back to the first girl.
Every night I wished the walls between our rooms were thicker.
My brother was a womanizing asshole, and the more time I spent living near him, the more I hated him.
Then, of course, there was my brother’s habit of walking around the house without a shirt on, sometimes in just a towel as he went to the expansive pool outside. I was right about his tattoos, he had two on his chest, one on his abs and one on his right arm. The man was a badboy, through and through.
I hated the feelings I had for my brother whenever I saw his body. I couldn’t help myself. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way, I knew that it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.
It was almost like he knew. Like he knew that every time he walked past me with those abs on display my breath caught in my throat. Like he knew that when he walked past wearing tight pants I immediately started to dream about what was underneath. It was like he was doing it on purpose, to taunt me.
Instead I got to listen to him have sex with a different girl almost every night.
And it drove me insane.