009: Will your brothers be there?

~~PEYTON~~

I feel like a sharp blade slicing through my heart; it's so tight and painful. Tears blur my vision, hot and stinging, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

"Fine." I croak; the fight drains out of me, leaving behind a hollow ache. "Fine, you're right. You're very right. I can't go back to my stepmom. To feed off me."

Odin's face flashes with guilt, but he doesn't say anything.

"And you're right about the fact that I'm holding myself back for no reason." I add, and Odin's gaze drifts, focusing on some point beyond the room, as if trying to locate an escape hatch in the ceiling.

Without another word, I turn to leave but stop halfway. "Is there anything else you'd love to change so I'll know what step to take next?"

Odin suddenly starts to fumble for words. "Well, I don't... think there's... anything..." Then it hits him. "Oh, yeah, get a job," he whispers, almost to himself. "I'm broke."

I nod, a bitter laugh forming in my chest. I figured.

With that, I slam the door and head downstairs. Kira's voice echoes from the kitchen, syrupy sweet.

"Babe, breakfast is ready! You want some, Peyton?"

I force a smile, the kind that doesn't reach my eyes. "Not really, unless your recipe includes a dash of self-respect. That seems to be in short supply around here. Lord knows this place could use some."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sitting on the couch when the door swings open. Odin bursts in, Kira on his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, their laughter echoing through the hall, loud and hysterical.

They practically trip over each other, a tangle of limbs and unrestrained glee, like two teenagers who just pulled off the perfect prank.

"Let me down, Odin.... Odin! Stop." Kira giggles, trying to sound frustrated when she is clearly enjoying this. I know she is saying that to make me break.

I keep my eyes on my laptop balanced on my thigh, but her giggles won't let me focus. Even when they reach their room, the sounds are boisterous. Unsettling, and it takes every ounce of me not to snap.

And soon it turns into moans, groans, and loud cries that make me want to puke.

I'm looking for a job... personal assistant... preferably for someone who doesn't come with their own theme music of sexual conquests.

I would have opted for virtual assistant or social media coordinator, but I want to run around, leave this damn place, and hardly return anything to make myself scarce.

The moans stop. The noise ceases.

Just as I think I might finally get some peace, the sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks it.

Odin comes down, phone pressed to his ear, his face looking tired, probably from the call. Then I hear it—the unmistakable voice of his mother.

"Okay, Ma," Odin grumbled into the phone. "Right. I heard you. Just chill, I'll be there. I'm not bailing on you, alright?" He sighs, dropping his face into his free hand. "Hey, get dressed. We're going to Mummy's house."

"Without a heads-up?" I shoot back.

He fires back, defensive. "It escaped me, okay? We're having dinner there. It's her birthday, so be nice."

Just then, Kira comes downstairs, her skirt askew, makeup smeared, hair a bit rough, and her blouse half-buttoned.

"Hey, love, do you have to go?"

Odin sighs for the umpteenth time. "Yes, it's a must, sorry. I had to cut things short. I'll make it up to you." He turns to me. "Be at the garage in five."

A few minutes later, I'm in the garage after slipping into a polo and shorts. Though it's my mother-in-law's birthday, it's not a party, so I'm all casual and simple.

I stand beside Odin's car, glancing at the door, half expecting Kira to come out anytime soon. But she doesn't. Guess she's just gonna chill in my house, huh?

I hop into the backseat, and Odin gives me a bombastic side-eye. "Do I look like your chauffeur? Get in the front seat."

I don't argue. I slip in and slam the door harder than necessary.

"What is Kira still inside?"

He starts the engine, eyes fixed on the windshield. "She has the spare key; she'll leave before we get back."

"You gave her a spare key!" I shrieked.

Odin flinched, finally tearing his gaze from the road to snap at me. "Keep your voice down! And what's the big deal? It's not like she's going to steal anything. She's my girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend doesn't get a key to my house!" I retort, though the words taste like ash. It wasn't my house anymore, not really. It was our house, legally.

And now, apparently, her house too. The thought made my stomach churn. "This is a new level of disrespect, even for you."

He scoffs, turning back to the driveway as he reverses. "Oh, please. Don't be dramatic. It's practical. She spends a lot of time here. Saves me running downstairs every five minutes. Besides, she's tired; had a hectic day at work." He trails off, gesturing vaguely like he's trying to poke something at me.

But oh yeah, I get it—the joke's on me. I'm the one who's jobless; I don't get tired so I don't get to sleep in another man's house.

I cross my arms, looking out the window as he drives.

He sighs. "Look, Peyton, you have to get used to this; get a boyfriend or something. Maybe that will make you appear less jealous."

The words hit me, and I don't show it. I should get a boyfriend; his words I quote: "get a boyfriend or something." "Anyone." I add. No problem.

I turn to him. "Will your brothers be there?"

"Why is the conversation stirring toward the maniac twins?" He frowns.

I spit, "Will your brothers be there? Answer the question."

"Yes, of course."

"Good."