INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XLVIII

CHAPTER XLVIII 

Dinner consisted of rosemary braised lamb shanks and a bottle of 1961 Château Pétrus and uneventful events. Small talk was made: Zeus was a managing director of an investment bank, was the owner of a pale pink Sphynx cat whom he adored more so than his girlfriend of three and a half years; Veronika Petrov, a renowned model with a failed tv host show under her buckle. He spoke of the summers spent vacationing with best friend, Zeke Rubeski and his family whilst still at college, of the winters skiing down icy slopes with Petrov, and celebrating graduating from college with big breasted hookers and fine white powder and expensive champagne. It was a grandiose life for a vainglorious man indulging in heaven's whores, earth's succulent meats and god's wealth. He spoke animatedly with hand gestures and as he raised his fork to his mouth, chewing, quickly swallowing, adam's apple bobbing, chewed brown meat moving from one side of his mouth to the other and white teeth glistening, telling of a hilarious tale of the time Zeke helped them get out of a speeding ticket after almost running over a child, I couldn't help but fill with rage. It began as a slow trickle that eventually gushed. I longed to leap across the table and lash his face with a steak knife, to stab my fork into his throat and raise my wine glass to the blood that would spill out.

My smile became harder and harder to hold, slowly, ever so slowly, slipping at a snail's pace and my interest dwindled into the same texture of the coke he had snorted off a prostitute's bleached ass crack. Wind carried away its remains, drifting into the thunder and being eviscerated by the storm.

I fast became short tempered and knew if I spoke my words would be blunt, harsh and acrimonious. To overcome, or at the very least, subdue the immeasurable animosity that burned passionately in my chest, I tilted the wine bottle into my glass and drank until my belly was full and bloated and my temper was a smaller flame, a slow burn tamed by intoxication. It worked – somewhat.

I was no longer overcome by a wish to break glass over his head.

"What about you?"

"Hmm?" I was taken by surprise, not expecting the sudden inquiry and keen gaze of Zeus.

He smiled. "Tell me, what have I missed?"

"Well," I wiped my mouth with a napkin and set it down with all the time in the world at my side, and I straightened up, no longer slouched against the hardback of the wooden chair. "I quit playing Neopets when someone hacked my account. I lost my virginity on an eighteen year old's balcony when I was fourteen. I made a twitter account back in 2015 but the only people who message me are spam bots wanting to fuck. I'm going to be graduating high school this year. Attending college next year. I'm uncertain about what I want to major in. Oh. And Mom died."

The ambiance smothered any ideas of friendship. Tension, as thick as a bowl of oatmeal, entered the room and became the uncomfortable and unavoidable elephant in the room. My words were graceless, clumsy and coarse. The situation became discommodious. Bodies shifted slightly. Jaws were set.

"Calla–" Uncle Hektor admonished gravely with a grimly set mouth.

I continued, holding Zeus' gaze, unwavering and relentless with my attack, accusatory. "She was manic and her emotions were unstable. Her will to live disintegrated into fine dust and she was no longer hopeful for tomorrow. She took pills to stabilise her mood and to regain control of her overpowering despair. She slept all day and night. I'd beg her to eat. I'd set the table for a family of four and then three when dad was murdered but, like an unescapable cycle, I would only end up washing a single plate at the end of the night. She needed help, Zeus. You ignored every call, every letter she sent. And then, at 4:22 in the morning after Halloween, she stepped out of the house and she walked to the train station. Cameras picked her up walking up and down anxiously for a while, glancing at a board announcing train arrival and departure times, and then when the train neared, she stepped out and ... She was gone."

"That's enough, Calla." Uncle Hektor growled, pushing back his chair and rising. "Come and help me clear the table and wash the dishes. Allow your brother to rest, he's tired after travelling."

"You weren't there for either of their funerals. You didn't send any flowers or cards or word that you've heard of their deaths. You come back now and for what? Reconciliation over dinner and a chance to flash your wealth at us? You are not our family. You are not our brother. You are a stranger, a guest. Don't overstay your welcome." My expression was glacial cold. I shoved back my chair, dropped my napkin onto my plate and stood up.

"I'm your brother and now that..." he avoided mentioning Mom's death, expression twitching, uncomfortable for a brief moment before he gathered himself, informing me, voice steady and confident, "I'm here to take care of you. Hektor needs not be here any longer. I want you and Eton to pack your belongings and come and live with me."

Incredulous, I scoffed softly, laughed as if I was waiting for the punchline. It never arrived. I slammed my hands down on the table, enraged and maddened beyond control, and I hissed lowly. "I am not the same child who begged and pleaded with you to stay. What I thought I felt for you upon first glance was a moment of senselessness, a guilt-trip of memories. Nostalgia is a liar and the truth stares at me in the face now more than ever: I don't love you, I don't miss you and the day of your death will be a day of celebration. Excuse me." Sharply, I turned on my heel and left the room despite Uncle Hektor's angry protests and the flash of hurt crossing Zeus' face.

I crossed the hallway, heading up the stairs, head in a cloud of hot rage. Eton sat at the top of the last step, crossed legged, in a yellow knitted jumper and blue ripped jeans and with a bemused expression on his face, his held was tilted and he mused, half to himself. "That was an interesting conversation."

"You're a jealous fool," I exploded, I shoved past him, not in the mood to kiss and make-up. "A bitter bastard."

"Nostalgia is a dirty, dirty liar, isn't that right, Calla?" grey eyes, alight with mirth, flickered over to me and his mouth quirked up into a depraved smile. "I'm glad I didn't kill you."

"Careful, Eton," I warned harshly, "I don't like being taken for a fool. Your tricks and tears may work on everyone else but I know you like I know the back of my hand, I will always be a step ahead."

"Your paranoia is growing by the day," Eton took delight in his words, holding a forefinger to his temple and moving it in circles; implying insanity. "Not everything I do is an attack at you. Relax, sis. You're so strung up. I'm not playing mind games with you. If I were... Well, you'd know if I was. Or would you?"

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