Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 8

I found the gym bag where Jude had put all my bottles in at the back of his closet. Rick was in the living room watching TV and I managed to sneak back in my room without being noticed, the music playing on my record player keeping my movements from being heard.

I went to my bathroom, taking out the bag of coke from my pocket and spreading it over the sink, leaving some for later. I opened the bottle of scotch that I had taken and took a large swig, wincing as it stung on the way down. And without hesitation, I sniffed the two lines in quick succession. I took another swig from the bottle, chasing it down.

I closed my eyes as a new song began, the perfectly flawed guitar riffs making my spine tingle. I took another swig.

I want you, I want you so bad
I want you, I want you so bad
It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad
I want you, I want you so bad babe
I want you, I want you so bad
It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad

I swayed along the rhythm, moving my hips languidly. The lyrics were simple and repetitive but unique on its own right. The structure of each note and rough riff of the guitar filled with so much sensuality I could feel it from the tip of my fingers to my core.

I want you, I want you so bad
I want you, I want you so bad
It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad
I want you, I want you so bad
I want you, I want you so bad
It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad
She's so heavy
Heavy, heavy, heavy

The music stopped and I snapped my eyes open, seeing Rick standing by the doorway, watching me in quiet disapproval. I rolled my eyes, and carried on dancing and drinking.

"Your brother called," he muttered, his eyes glancing at the bottle in my hand. "He says he's gonna be coming home late. His study group is meeting to cram for a test."

I stilled as I was about to take another swig.

While personal training was the excuse Jude labeled his therapy sessions, study group, however, meant he was out for a fuck with the contracted whore he's kept on retainer for years. It occurred very rarely it was almost virginal of him, but I had recognized a pattern at some point. He only met with his study group whenever he was losing his shit, and crying to his shrink about it wouldn't soothe him.

Our father bent me to his will with pain and flat out torture, but Jude was molded into his image through expert control. As children, he'd make Jude watch him beat me, and whenever Jude tried to interfere, the harder I was beaten. Whenever Jude disobeyed an order, Father would put a revolver to my head to make him reconsider. He'd pull the trigger even. At every click of an empty chamber, Jude's resolve would crumble until he invetiably submitted. The most he lasted was three trigger pulls, which ended with me nearly having a bullet to my head if Father hadn't moved the barrel so that the gunshot only rendered me deaf in one ear for half a year.

Since then, Jude's obsessive need to be in control of everything defined his very being. Whenever it was threatened, he would lose his mind. More often than not, I was the threat to his perfectly controlled world. The disastrous event from last night must have pushed him off balance more than he let on. No wonder he didn't personally escort me for the tests.

The thought my brother was spiraling because of me sent a bitter pang to my chest. Guilt, I identified it to be. I was supposed to be the pillar he leaned on. The right hand who wielded his sword. The one person who always stood beside him so he never faced anything alone, even if the world was against him. Yet all I did was burden him, and all he could do to keep himself together was drown in some worthless fuck.