Hi folks! My first entry on lit! Here is the first part to a two-part story. The second part is under construction and I'll hopefully finish next week.
The tale is of step siblings. My idea for this story came about because of a new friend describing his relationship with his wife of 12 years. The characters bear no resemblance to them, though.
This story is a very very far cry from the classic 'What are you doing, stepbro?" trope. It contains descriptions of depression, abuse and violence. Please be forewarned. It is also a slow burn without graphic sexual descriptions. If that isn't your cup of tea, please look elsewhere. There is however personal growth and lots of love.
I am a Brit and the spelling here will reflect that. Any comments or feedback is welcome. I humbly apologise for any errors and mistakes. I'm not a writer but a computer scientist, I tried my best. I hope you like the story.
-SS65
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Chapter 1.
It was a cold, uncaring early December evening like all others that came before and those that would follow. I hated this bit of winter. Especially since everyone was jolly all the time with Christmas cheer. I hadn't been this cynical always but time and a lot of hurt during this particular period had made me so.
I sighed into the silence of my new Mercedes AMG-GLS. On my side lay the file with a new contract from my employer. I was being promoted to head of R&D in Europe for the big pharma company I worked at. It was obvious who was the one worthy candidate despite my 'young' age of 36. I knew it and the world knew it but there was a healthy dose of imposter syndrome.
It felt somewhat undeserved. Not because I couldn't do the job. I was certainly one of the very few people who could, technically. It was just that my life was a mess and the station deserved someone with their shit together.
Cambridge had been home ever since I came here as a fresh faced teenager with dreams of winning a Nobel Prize. I had only left for a few years after my PhD to do a post-doc at Harvard, but that place too was Cambridge in another country. The rest of the time was spent here. Close to a decade and a half and I loved it. The city was in my bones.
My success was at a new high. I'd always been bright, much to my mum's dismay who wanted me to be normal. Not that I gave a shit about what she thought. She was never present, always drowning in a bottle to hide her misery. She cared more about bingo and the latest shitty soap on telly than she did about feeding us. I was the parent since I had been 11 and my cunt, drug addict of a father left us. Just a week before Christmas!
It wasn't easy. I came home from school every afternoon to cook a frozen meal for us. Mum returned with a bottle every evening after her shift at Tesco's three streets away. She had been a brilliant interior designer but got fired. She usually ignored me but would berate me if she found me buried in a book, calling me a sissy for not going out and having a life at 15. What 15 year old could read books and not do drugs? Insane, right?
Why did I disgust her so? She had once loved me deeply! Maybe because I looked so much like my father. I just suffered it silently, knowing I'll be away soon. She never hit me but her cold indifference hurt more. The dream of getting away kept me afloat. The only alternative was getting into gangs and a life of crime. That would mean a wasted life.
I went to a state school in a shitty neighborhood but had good teachers who encouraged me. I did well and they pointed me in the right direction. I was tall, skinny and nerdy but generally lay low so the bullies and druggies didn't notice me. That meant very few friends. Only three to be exact. Sarah, Mark and Graham.
Sarah was a fellow nerd and I had a huge crush on her but never voiced it. She was my first girlfriend as no one else seemed interested in the awkward, nerdy bloke. One fine day she just came to me and told me we were getting together and I didn't object. It was a dream come true for me. We hung out a lot and we shared so many precious moments. I loved her. She felt the same.
"I'm sorry Sam. I have to leave. Mum is leaving dad and we're moving to Dublin where my grandparents live." She said one December morning with tears in her eyes. She was gone after we said goodbye. I don't know what became of her. We couldn't afford cellphones back then and she didn't give me her address as she didn't know where they would stay. We would have been good together. The thought of her made me smile.
Mark and Graham were the Blake twins, a year younger than me. They were weird to put it mildly. Tall, gangly blokes with braces and glasses who collected fossils and leaves. They were always together and you couldn't tell them apart unless you knew them well. Our weirdness bonded us and we were inseparable. They were the closest thing to family I had left.
They were both doing well now. Mark was a dentist and had a wonderful family in Leeds. Beautiful wife and a daughter. Graham was a psychologist at the university of Manchester with a wife and two kids as well. We were still best mates but time and distance had made it difficult for us to be a very active part in each other's lives. I still saw them a few times a year and we spoke regularly. They were worried about me but they didn't know how miserable I truly was. It was better that way. No one needed to share in my misery.
I had always wanted to get out of the shitty council estate flat we called home in Birmingham. The crime-ridden pisshole was no place for someone with my talents. I had worked hard for my A-levels and landed a spot to study computer science with maths at King's.
My job at a computer store at 14 made me fall in love with them. I hadn't looked back since. I read every bloody programming book I could get my hands on and slowly enough, I could write pretty decent code. It made me some money as well, writing simple code to automate things for local businesses and factories.
After I had my A-level results and offer letter to King's with a scholarship. I boarded a train to Cambridge one morning before mum woke up and I haven't cared about what has happened with her since. I felt guilty about it sometimes, that I abandoned my mother, but she had stopped being a mother a long while ago. I remembered a time when she was happy and loving. If only things were different. I still loved that version of her.
The history and the atmosphere of Cambridge was just what an ambitious, young fellow like me needed. I aced every test I was given and breezed through my bachelor's degree. I followed it up with a PhD in computational biology. Cambridge had brought out the best in me.
The joy this wonderful city and my friends gave me was no longer enough, though. I was miserable and depressed. "Why in the world would a guy with a seven figure income and a great career be depressed?", you may ask. The answer would be loneliness. I felt truly alone in the world.
I hadn't had a relationship in almost a decade. My last girlfriend, Charlotte, was the one for me or so I'd thought. A blonde haired, blue eyed American goddess. She was so loving and accepting of me. I thought I finally had my happily ever after. It was only when I found her fellating my dickhead of a landlord that my delusions about happy endings finally shattered.
"Sammy, it's not what it looks like!" She'd said. I don't think she noticed her runny makeup, his filthy hand on her head or her knickers around her ankles. I did. I was so in love that I had been a fool. She was always sneaking away and complained I worked too much. I should have known. That event broke me. Another cold December evening, I might add.
I was in the other Cambridge, a fresh, 25 year old post-doc at Harvard when it happened. It left me so bitter that I gave up entirely on my dreams of becoming a star academic and joined the dark side of the pharma industry. It had also made me a cold bastard and a hardcore cynic. I despised everything good and romantic in the world.
I moved back home. Work became my religion, advancing ruthlessly and rapidly was the aim. I made friends only for convenience and became a social pariah. I was known as the stoic and ruthless bloke who got things done. I slept with pretty women here and there but didn't open my heart ever since.
My former kind and caring self was a dream, chasing the next high like the very druggies I hated. Sure, being an arsehole and chasing money and sex wasn't going to kill me, or was it?
I was rich. There were plenty of shallow women who would just fuck me but I hadn't done that either over the past four years. It felt hollow and cheap. I desperately wanted a connection. A part of me wanted to find my bright-eyed optimism again. I had once been a dreamer. It was my only option to make a better life. I longed to feel like I did ages ago.
