OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance (16 page)

A
knock on the window
.

I
didn’t have
to look at the source. I knew that there was a man outside sitting precariously on the sill. I didn’t have to check who it was. I knew it was him.

A
nd it was
about damn time that he came.

F
ive days
.

I
t has been
five days since the incident at Linda’s Round-The-Clock Convenience Store. It has been five days since he got arrested for a robbery he pulled out of at the last second. It has been five days since he punched the guy whose father just saved him from serving some jail time.

I
s
he really the kind of father I want for my unborn child?

S
omeone who spends more
time away from me than with me?

S
omeone whose presence
is as erratic as Shia Labeouf’s periods of sanity?

I
gave him a cold stare
. He looked at me with sullen eyes, wondering whether I would open the window for him. I just gazed at him for a minute or so. I wanted him to wait. I wanted him to feel how it was like to be uncertain about something. I wanted him to know how disappointed and frustrated I was with him.

I
finally stood
up and approached the man outside who, at that time, seemed like a stranger to me. I pulled up the glass pane. He greeted me with a smile.

“
M
ad
, huh?” he uttered.

T
hat was all
he could say?

A
fter making
me wait for five days after the hell we’ve been through, that was all he could come up with?

I
got so
angry that I wanted to push him off the small ledge he was balancing on. Instead, I just walked away and sat on my bed.

H
e didn’t wait
for my invitation. He leapt inside my room and went to me. He sat by my side and sighed.

“
I
guess
we have to talk,” he said.

G
uess
?
Was he really that callous? Was I merely blinded by a misguided sense of affection - and most probably, lust - that I didn’t realize that before?

“
Y
es
,” I frigidly answered him. “We have a lot to talk about. But then, you might just act all mysterious again and say
‘ooohhh Andrea, I have to go, it’s for the better’
and run off to God knows where.”

H
e bowed
his head and fiddled with his fingers, resigned to the fact that what I said was true.

“
W
e have the entire night
,” he spoke. “I won’t leave until we get this sorted out.”

I
took
that as my cue to ask the questions that have been bothering me since I saw him bloodied and bruised a month ago.

“
W
ho are you
?” I questioned, looking at his face... sad and ashamed and defeated, yet his handsome features still shone brightly even in the darkness of my room.

“
W
hat do you mean
?” he replied, perplexed.

“
W
ho are you
, Nash?” I repeated. “I know so little about you. And all these things you’re involved with... all your questionable activities... all your sneaking in and out of every single place in this city... they just make me doubt if you’re the Nash I really know.”

H
e looked at me
, his deep-set eyes burdened with sorrow and regret but brimming with sincerity. He pulled up his hood and his hair fell over his face, concealing those very eyes that would’ve given me more hints about the struggle he was waging within him.

“
I
... have made some very bad choices, Andrea...” he started to say. “A year ago, I joined a group. They gave me something that I never had before... something that I didn’t even know I wanted... something I didn’t even know I needed.”

“
W
hat’s that
? Friendship?” I asked.

“
N
o
. Acceptance,” he succinctly answered.

I
found
that hard to believe. I wanted to tell him that if all that he needed was acceptance, then he shouldn’t have looked anywhere else. We, his family... his own family... fully accepted him for who he was. Never did he hear anyone of us complain about his dubious behavior, nor his quirks, nor his moods. He didn’t have to look elsewhere. We were, as we still are, always there for him.

B
ut I stopped
myself from speaking my mind. I wanted him to share what he wanted to share as freely as he could. I kept silent and allowed him to continue.

“
T
hey treated
me like their equal,” he said. “They never judged me. They were there when I needed them. And I didn’t have to force myself to be there when they needed me.”

“
T
hey sound like good friends
,” I remarked.

“
F
riends
?” he queried. “They aren’t my friends. They never were. Once, we called ourselves brothers. And I believed that. Brothers bound by fate stronger than blood, they always proclaimed. There was a time when I held on to that belief... as if I carved those words on my heart.”

“
Y
ou’re speaking
in the past tense,” I shared my observation. “What happened? What changed?”

“
E
verything
.” His answer was resolute. “They did things... bad things...
very
bad things... things that I didn’t approve of... things that I didn’t believe in...” He struggled with his words, agonizing over the memories that he was compelled to remember.

“
W
hat things
? Like robbing convenience stores and shooting old, defenseless women?” I tried to confirm as my rage was beginning to possess me.

“
T
hat wasn’t
part of the plan,” he said defensively. “We were just supposed to rob that store. We weren’t supposed to draw our guns.”

T
heir guns
?

“
Y
ou mean
... all of you are armed?” I asked, shocked by what he shared.

“
A
ndrea
... the group I joined... it’s not some college fraternity with greek letters. It’s not an assembly of guys who do nothing but drink and fuck. The truth is far more sinister than that.”

“
W
hat do you mean
?”

“
I
joined a gang
, Andrea. The worst kind of gang you can find in the city.”

I
was shocked into silence
. I felt like my body was paralyzed. A gamut of emotions rushed into my soul... fear for his wellbeing... concern for how their culture of violence has changed him... anxiety about how he managed, and still manages, to evade their vengeful wrath... doubt about the real identity of the man who was sitting beside me...

“
Y
-You joined a gang
?” Those were the only words that I was able to say.

“
Y
es
. And I regret it. At first, they promised brotherhood... a bond that was so strong that nothing and no one would be able to break it. Eventually, when the leader started to assign me to join some
runs
, I realized that they weren’t a brotherhood at all. They were a bunch of criminals.”

“
W
hat sort
of things have you done, Nash?” I asked him, bracing for the worst. Has he killed somebody? Has he raped a rival gang member’s sister, like in the movies? Has he tortured people?

“
R
obberies
. Burglaries. Vandalisms. Pranks that could’ve injured some people. Brawls with other gangs.”

“
H
ave you
... taken someone else’s life?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking that question.

H
e clenched
his fingers together and looked away.

“
I
don’t know
...” he responded with a strangely remorseful tone.

“
W
hat do
you mean you don’t know?” I begged for an answer.

“
W
hen we have
encounters with other gangs, violence ensue. When you’re in the middle of a gang war, it’s total mayhem. You don’t know who’s in front of you or who’s behind you. All you’ll be able to think about is survival. No matter the cost, you should survive. I kept punching. I kept kicking. But I was getting beat up. Sometimes, I felt that they’d have me cornered. So I drew my knife and I kept swinging. There were times when I heard the flesh of another being ripped from his body. I don’t know if the people I slashed... if the people I stabbed... actually lived.”

M
y lungs were running
out of breath. His revelations were too much to bear. I always saw him as a loner, a rebel, even an outcast. But never did I imagine him to be a gang member.

“
I
heard you that night
, when you robbed the convenience store,” I told him. “You said that you were out.”

“
Y
es
, for the second time.”

“
T
he second time
?”

“
R
emember
that night when I went here, in your room, badly beaten and with a stab wound near my ribs?”

“
Y
es
.”

“
E
arlier that evening
, I told our leader that I wanted out.”

“
A
nd what happened
?”

“
T
he rules
of the gang are crystal clear. Once a member, always a member. All of us took a blood oath, and it can only be broken by blood.”

“
W
hat do you mean
?”

“
T
he only way out
... is death.”

I
swallowed
some air as terror engulfed me. I couldn’t believe that Nash was involved with something that serious. Since a month ago, I always had an inkling that he was engaged in something dangerous. I just didn’t realize that it was
that
dangerous... that it was something that would cost him his life.

“
F
or them
,” he continued, “breaking the oath is the ultimate sin. They have instilled in us that the gang is our life. And we can only leave the gang once we’re dead.”

H
e pulled
up his sleeves and revealed his tattoos, particularly the image of the barrels of two guns forming a cross, and the words beneath it:
Vive Gladio Peri Gladio
.

“
T
hey made you get that
?” I asked.

“
N
o
. During my first few days with them, I was proud to belong to their group. This design was my decision.”

“
W
hat do they mean
? Those words?”

“
L
ive by the sword
, die by the sword.”

“
T
he gang’s motto
?”

“
S
ort of
. They gave us guns. They said it was symbolic of our new life. And when we leave, that gun becomes a warning of how we’ll die.”

“
S
o where’s your gun
?” I asked him.

“
I
threw it away
. At Hangtown Creek.”

“
S
o
... they’re armed... and you’re... unprotected?”

“
W
ell
... I have my fists.”

“
A
s if those
would be enough! Can’t you just... I dunno... tell the police or something?”

“
I
... can’t.”

“
W
hy
?”