Dirty Seduction

JULIAN

I stood before michael as he held the letter in his hand, and my stomach rolled over. He was suited, fresh from the office, in the same style I’d been wearing myself for years, but he was a lot more muscular than I was. I was still gaunt in comparison, and I felt it. For a fleeting moment I was a shell again, fragile before his stare. Instinct. But no. I wasn’t a shell anymore. I was the total opposite.

And that was down to my princess. The girl looking between us with nervous eyes.

“I’ll, um, nip down and see Mum and Tom,” she said, and I held out a hand to her, ready to ask her to stay, but she shook her head, pre-empting me. “I’ll be back when you’re ready. Just call.”

She dashed off to grab her bag and phone, and I stood aside to let Michael in. It felt surreal to have him in this place, so at odds with every other environment we’d shared in our lives.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“I’ll see you later,” Rosie said, squeezing my hand before she went. I pulled her in to kiss her head as she passed me by, and my brother looked away.

In disgust. Pain. Shock. Maybe a combination of all three. He’d only ever seen me with Katreya, and our token, public facing gestures.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” I said to Rosie, and she was off, closing the door behind her after a token wave to my brother.

Part of me wanted to grab hold of Michael and hug him tight. The emotion was already choking me, but Michael had never been an affectionate man, and neither had I. Any far off dreams I’d had of sobbing in beautiful reunion were already fading as the dawning reality kicked in. Michael was still Michael, and I was still me.

He was trying to stay composed, and I knew it. He was silent as I led the way into the living room. His jaw was still gritted as he looked around the place, scathing, no doubt still in disbelief. The decor of the apartment was most certainly a lot more grand than it had been on my arrival, but it was a droplet of extravagance in a world Michael had never known.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked him.

“A whisky, you mean? I’m sure you’ve got plenty. But no, thank you. I’m driving.”

We really had been separated a long time.

“I was thinking a coffee, actually. I have your favourite.”

“Not going to be downing the shots yourself, then? You really are full of surprises, aren’t you? If only we’d have known about them sooner. Honesty would have been the best policy.”

I stood still, shoulders tall as I kept my eyes on his. I saw my previous self standing there, guarded by a thick wall of ego, untouched. I’d thought I was so happy, such a success and a partygoer, with my seedy habits under the surface. I wondered if Michael had any of his own.

“I’m not going to be downing shots,” I said. “I haven’t been drinking. Not for a while. I’m sure I said that in the letter.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you? After everything else you’ve been telling us for years?”

I tried to make light of it. “I prefer a glass of champagne to five straight shots of whisky these days. You can believe me on that, I assure you.” “Well. Things really have changed in that case, haven’t they?”

“Quite.” I pointed to the kitchen, beckoning him to follow me, but he cleared his throat and folded his arms, still clutching the letter tight.

“Some things haven’t changed in the slightest though, have they? What a sweet little thing that was that just skipped away. Another sleezy conquest. Shame I didn’t give you prior warning I was coming. You could have thrown her out before I arrived.”

His words pissed me off, even through the pain and the shame of what I’d done to him, and to my life in Oxford. Had he not seen the tenderness in the way I’d held her tight and kissed her head? Seemingly not.

“Rosie isn’t a sleezy conquest,” I told him. “She’s the very opposite.”

“What is she, then? The love of your life?”

“You said honesty is the best policy, so I’ll hold to that.” I paused. “Yes, she is.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus Christ, man. I wish you could hear yourself. You really are out of your fucking mind.”

I could hear myself loud and clear, actually, and I was speaking the greatest truth I’d ever told him, but I couldn’t hold any judgement over him for misbelieving me. I hadn’t exactly done much to instil confidence. My dreams of open arms and understanding were shrivelling away. I thought I’d bared my soul in the letters, but maybe my soul wasn’t quite what they’d taken from it.

“Let’s get those drinks,” I said.

I went through to the kitchen and my brother followed me. I took mugs down and put the kettle on, my stomach still rolling.

“Have you any idea how frantic we’ve been? We’ve been looking for you, you know?” he said. “Have you any idea how terrified we’ve all been for you?”

No, I hadn’t. His words made me stop what I was doing, searching his stare. “Looking for me?”

His expression darkened, and his jaw changed, trembling. And my brother the strongest, most steel hearted man I’d ever known looked as though he was going to break down before my eyes.

“We thought you’d have gone somewhere we knew, to someone who knew us, or used your passport, or your fucking business account card, or anything. ANYTHING. But there was nothing! You didn’t leave a single fucking trace!”

His hurt was rooting its way through anger, and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t blame him at all.

“I didn’t think I’d need to leave a trace,” I told him. “After all I’d done, I wasn’t planning on staying around.”

He held up the letter. “Yes. I know. You made that plain. Sitting here, plotting your own demise. Would you have truly done it? Ended your life alone here, with a pile of pills and a bottle of whisky?”

“I think you can tell that from my letter, yes.”

He looked at it, as though it was some trusted holy document, shaking his head. “I’m still struggling to believe it. You were ready to say your goodbyes and write your whole life off, just like that?”

“I didn’t have anything left to live for. I thought it would be in everyone’s interest if I did.”

“I can assure you it wouldn’t have been.”

I continued making the coffee, but he stormed on over at that, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.

“We were worried fucking sick, Julian! Worried sick! You really think we wanted you dead? Seriously? For fuck’s sake man, you’re fucking INSANE!”

I felt my own hurt welling up in a fresh round of shame.

“I wanted me dead. I thought I deserved it.”

His eyes were both angry and hurt at the same time under heavy brows.

“Because you’re ill, Julian! You need help! We all know it. Katreya knows it, Grace and Ryan know it. I do. You have serious mental health problems, and you’re an alcoholic. You’ve broken down! We just didn’t know it. It’s been happening for years, right before our eyes, but we didn’t see it. We didn’t fucking know.”

“Yes, it had, and I kept it very well hidden.”

“We found the stash of whisky bottles. Katreya saw the full extent of your perversions.”

“Exactly. So I left. I didn’t expect anyone’s forgiveness. I only had myself to blame.”

“NO!” Michael said. “That’s NOT true. We wouldn’t have blamed you if we’d known you were ill. You’ve done some despicable things, Julian, but you’re not a bad man. We can hate the actions, yes, but we can’t hate you.”

I didn’t know quite what to say to that. At one point, I’d have believed him. I’d have dropped at his feet and given my thanks, overcome by the truth in his words.

Some of it was correct. I had been an alcoholic and hidden it. I had been fucking college girls behind everyone’s back, and a lot of them. I had buckled under the weight of the truth when it had been discovered.

“I had broken down, yes,” I told him. “When I threw some things into a suitcase I was on the brink, ready to leap off a bridge. I didn’t dare hope there was anything more. But then, slowly, I got back to my feet. I looked inside, and found what I’d been missing.”

He pulled a face at me, as though I was talking nonsense.

“You sound like a wannabe zen master. Is there a wacko New Age club around here when people aren’t crack smoking?”

“Hey, stop it with that!” I said, surprised at the fire in me. “I’m not a wannabe zen master, and this place might seem like a cesspit to you, as it did to me, but that isn’t quite the case. Not all of it.”

He scoffed. “That just confirms it. You really have lost your mind.”

I wanted to shake him and hug him, both at the same time, desperate for my brother to see the truth in my words, as well as my truth in the letter.

“I’d broken down, Michael. I know that.”

“HAVE, Julian. HAVE,” he interrupted. “You’re not any better! That much is clear based on the girl who just left this place. Whisky or not. You’re still ill.” His tone changed. His jaw trembled again. Finally, the core of the emotion rose to the surface. “We would have helped, if we’d known, but we didn’t. Everyone was angry, nobody understood, but we get it now. You’re sick. You have problems. You need professional help. And we’ll be here for you, all of us.”