NOTE TO READER: Argos is aimed at readers who like dramas with a realistic touch of erotica when appropriate. This first installment of Argos is heavy on build-up. Before you read, please note that Argos is about love, not excessive sex.
Characters are 18 years or older.
*****
Prologue - The Beginning
"Your friends are not my friends."
Those harsh words were medicine for my insecurity towards men who weren't me. I saw them as nothing but weapons targetting the person I kept close to my heart.
My hatred towards them was justified because it was an instinct I couldn't control.
I was eighteen years old and I had never taken drugs in my life. I never planned to because I would always need something to reassure me that I was not what my thoughts portrayed me as when the person I cared about was out of my sight.
Out of sight, out of mind?
If that saying were true, I would have lost my mind by now.
Maybe I already had.
-
Chapter 1 - Bitter Dreams
"You kids don't stay up too late," Mom uttered as she waved her hand while walking towards the master bedroom.
"We're not kids anymore, Mom," my little sister, Tracey, sitting a cushion away from me, scolded Mom.
Although law legally made us adults at age eighteen, we were still viewed as teenagers in society. You couldn't spell eighteen without teen, of course. But, I was okay with being a kid so long as I had a fridge that was never empty and a bed that was always warm.
"You'll always be my little kids," Mom's final words were before she closed her bedroom door.
Right on cue, Tracey shifted over a cushion, linked her right arm around my left, and snuggled beside me.
Tracey and I were always close, and more so when we started high school. From eating together in the cafeteria to stopping by at the local fast food restaurant on our way home, we were never embarrassed; except for around our parents.
Tracey fidgeted around on the couch before bringing her knees to her chest and sighing as I stroked her straight, long, brown-oak hair.
I grabbed the remote from the armrest opposite of her, and pointed it towards the television.
"No," she yawned.
I shook my head before pressing five and then one on the remote.
"We saw that episode already."
I blinked repeatedly before pressing forward button.
"The food channel, really, bro?"
I playfully shook her, erupting laughter before I handed her the remote. "Why don't you choose?"
Tracey giggled and took the remote from my hand.
After several moments of watching someone stuffing a pulled pork sandwich in their mouth, I realized Tracey hadn't changed the channel, so I looked down at her. She was staring blankly at the remote as if it were foreign to her.
"Everything okay, Trace?" I asked worriedly as she continued to stare at the remote.
"Yeah, I," she shook her head and handed me the remote, "I haven't told them yet."
"Told them what?" I inquired, laying the remote on the coffee table in front of us, and returning eye-contact.
"About Andrew," she answered, rubbing her head against my shoulder, her eyes no longer on me but on the television.
There was that name I was hoping to avoid tonight. I just didn't get it. There were four-hundred girls in our high school, yet the punk picked my sister to flirt with. I always loved how Tracey only saw the best in people, but this time, I hated it. I hated him. I knew what she was to him: a toy to be played with and then tossed aside for the next "best" thing. If you looked closely at his palms, you'd see at least ten other phone numbers he tried washing out but gave up because he was too lazy and too careless. There were two ways of dealing with this: I could tell her who he was and she would hate me for it, or I could sit on the sidelines until he dropped her onto the curb like trash and then hit my head against the wall until it bled. The double-edged sword cut both ways, and I knew that.
I grabbed the remote from the table. "Lets check the TV guide, there must be something good on," I pondered out loud.
"Kenny?" Tracey shook my arm.
"Look, Trace, I really don't want to talk about him," I said flatly with a hint of false merriness, hoping she would drop the subject.
As much as I didn't want to talk about him, I did. He was a thorn in my backside, and I felt it every time I sat down. The more she brought him up, the tighter my grip was when I thought about my hands around his neck. He died twenty-four times already, and I didn't feel bad about it.
"What about tomorrow?" she bitterly retorted, and slowly unraveled her right arm from my left as she looked at me, "I don't get it, Kenny. I finally find someone who loves me as much as Angie loves you and you don't even care?"
There was a big difference between my two week relationship with Angie and her relationship with Andrew: Angie actually loved me. I knew that if I looked behind my shoulder after she kissed me goodbye, I wouldn't see her flirting with another man. Tracey either ignored him, or the scumbag really wanted to get inside her pants. MY little sister's pants.
"Well... I don't care about him, I care about you," I replied amiably in an attempt to ease the hostility.
Tracey crossed her arms and shook her head. "I love him," she responded somewhat monotonously and dubiously.
Her words drove into my heart like a train going at full speed, and I clenched my fist in response as the image of Andrew holding Tracey's hand etched into my mind.
"My god, Tracey," I hysterically laughed to myself at a volume that would only be heard from within the room.
"Yeah, my god," she mocked in a coarse voice.
As frustrated as I was, I didn't like seeing tears in her dark brown eyes. The last time she cried in sadness because of me was when I ripped the heads off one of her barbie dolls when we were nine. The crying went on for minutes as she watched me desperately trying to pop it's head back in. I remembered looking up at her each time I failed to, feeling like the world was going to end for me until eventually, I did it.
"What do you want me to do, Trace?" I said calmly, taking her hand, wet with the tears I felt guilty for, "Stop caring? Because I think that's the only way I'd be able to stand him."
"Maybe you should," she said, a tearing rolling down her right eye as she pushed herself further away from me, letting loose my hand.
Instinctively, I brought my hand to her face, hoping to wipe the tear, but she whipped it aside. "What does that mean?" I asked with hurt in my voice as I looked at my hand, and then back at Tracey.
She shot up from the couch. If I didn't already know she was mad, the stomps as she made her way from the living room, through the kitchen, to her bedroom, made it evident.
I turned back to the television and pressed the power button on the remote.
"Damn it."
-
Chapter 2 - Sunny Side Down
It was easier to place the blame on Andrew.
If he had never set his eyes on my little sister, she wouldn't be mad at me, and I would've gotten more than five hours of sleep last night.
I listened as Dad said goodbye to Mom and leave for work before swinging my legs off the bed. Swiftly, I grabbed a pair of fresh clothes, walked to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and shaved before jumping into the shower.
After the shower, I dressed into my hoodie and jeans, ruffled my short hair, and headed for the kitchen.
"Trying to impress Angie, honey?" Mom asked as she grabbed her work bag.
I looked down at my clothing and responded, "It's just a hoodie and jeans, Mom..."
"Mhm, you also shaved. If only your father did - What's wrong honey? You look sad! Did you and Angie have a fight!" she asked with motherly concern, quickly bringing her hand to my cheek as I heard Tracey's bare feet slapping against the tiles of the kitchen floor behind me.
"What?" I shook my head, responding in fake confidence, "No! I'm just behind on a school project. My partner isn't doing his side of the research."
"Please tell me it isn't that friend of yours, Tom," she said and walked to the front door, "Anyway, I'll see you kids later. Love you!"
The awkward feeling settled in as the front door closed, and more so when I heard the lock. I didn't want to turn around, but I didn't want to make my uneasiness evident. Instead, I walked passed Tracey who was drinking a glass of milk, and opened the refrigerator to pull out a carton of orange juice. I felt her eyes on the back of my head as I pryed open the carton.
"I'm walking with Marianne to school," she replied casually, putting her glass in the sink.
She hated walking. The last time we went hiking with the family at the local park, I had to piggyback her back to the car because her ankles were sore. No, we always drove together in my coupe to school. I was stupid to think she'd at least give me the silent treatment or look out the window for most of the ride. But, that was what made her different from everyone else. Her emotions wouldn't die off over night; not like mine. Tracey was someone you took seriously, and I always looked up to her in that regard. Now, I would be looking down, but not of her.
"Are you so mad at me that you'd risk being late for class?" I innocently asked as I put the carton of orange juice back into the fridge, and walked over to the front door to grab the car keys from the key rack
"At least she cares about be enough to talk about Andrew," she retorted, her voice bitter, carving in stone the mood I would have for the rest of the day.
"Damn it, Tracey, I only got five hours of sleep last night because I couldn't stop thinking about how I made you cry!" I responded bitterly before cooling down, "Does that sound like I don't care?"
Her face remained stern as she looked at with crossed arms.
"Look, Trace, I can't leave without knowing we're okay," I said, left hand on the door knob.
"Why do you care?" she repeated, her face and tone not changing it's expression.
I sighed as I opened the front door. "You win, Trace. I don't care."
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Chapter 3 - My Hand Wasn't Up
