/* This is a work of fiction and all resemblance to any person, place, event, nationality, or landmark is purely coincidental. I have employed my artist's pejorative in adapting and modifying the events and places to suit the narrative. Would encourage the readers to first read 'My Almost Brother: Ch 1&2' before to get familiarized with the preceding story. All rights reserved */
Chapter 3
The Week After
Over the next few days, my life followed an altered routine.
During the day I craved work and being busy.
Everybody said that they always found me running hither and thither over the next few days. I volunteered for the graveyard shift, I took it upon myself to complete pending reports and correspondence, I even went so far as to volunteer when the Arse-bitch, our HoD, requested volunteers for the initiation training for the first years.
My only objective was to get dog-tired by the end of the day so that I could somehow stumble into our home, down a glass of Glenlivet and pass out on the couch.
And follow this same routine the next day and the next.
It was Brady, the most outspoken amongst us roomies who pronounced his judgement on Tuesday night a week later, in the few minutes before I passed out.
"You cannot run away from him forever. Sooner or later, you will have to confront him and your feelings for him"
"Shhh...Shuuud...Shaaaduuup" That was the best I could come up with before I passed out into oblivion again.
I got up the next day, which was a Wednesday, my day off, with a massive hangover which was quite acceptable as on most days I had been having alcohol on an empty stomach. That I was not barfing out blood was a bloody miracle.
Even a hangover was better; the shooting headache helped me forget that which I was desperately trying to forget.
But even with the hangover, I decided that I could not put it off any longer. The point that Brady had made last night, the picture that I had been desperately trying to obliterate with alcohol these last few days; now was brought in sharp focus to me;
My desperate longing for my Brother.
I tried internally to rationalize my emotions by saying to myself, "Okay, part of the reason was that he was a very handsome guy who was a sharp contrast to his siblings both because of his genial manner and because of that mystery about him."
I still didn't know what he did and why he needed a bodyguard.
Afreen the autophile amongst us roomies had pointed out with patient aplomb that the black Mercedes in which he departed that day was an Armored Maybach S680. Also, there was his crazy assertion that Mom had contacted and sought him out, which was very puzzling and mysterious indeed.
I consoled myself that yes, what I had wanted so much from him was companionship and belonging.
At least that's what I told myself.
I didn't have any brother growing up; an elder brother whom I could run to with problems and who would solve them for me. So basically, what I was getting confused with were Daddy issues. That's what any shrink would say.
In the few hours that we had been together, he had been confident, humorous, and caring without being nosy and most importantly he was modest and carefree.
Neither showing off his wealth nor insulting others about their lack of it.
Yes, he did tick all the green flags!
And then I suddenly jerked awake. (With a sharp shooting headache due to my jerky movements)
"Bloody hell girl, what the fuck!"
"He is your bloody brother, not a guy you can shag or plan on keeping!"
I must have said this aloud because all the other three slowly trooped into my room and sat down on my bed. One of them handed me a lime soda which I downed in a gulp.
Then, slowly and tentatively, I opened my eyes against the sunshine peeking through the curtains and looked around at the assembled three.
Brady was almost six feet with mocha-colored skin and was of mixed-race background basically from the Caribbean where his original ancestors had enormous sugar plantations way back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Over the next couple of centuries, his family had diversified into a cluster of automobile manufacturing units and allied businesses in the main hubs spread across the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean.
He was buff, an avid gym enthusiast with a shaved head and was gay. He was also in CMT like me and assigned to Oncology at the Uni
Afreen was a tan, sporty brunette who wore her straightened hair till her waist, who was about my height with almond-shaped turquoise green eyes. She was the quiet one, preferring to spend more time on the internet and hence her knowledge of trivia was phenomenal.
And she was a rare breed. A foodie who could also cook very well.
So, on our off days, she cooked while the other three of us did the dishes and other household chores. This arrangement worked out perfectly for all of us. Her family was originally from Iran and had migrated to Britain just before the Islamic revolution. Now her family ran carpets and loom businesses spread across the UK and Western Europe while here she was in CMT with me assigned to the Clinical Biology labs at the Uni.
Finally, there was Helen who was short at five feet four, a Scot and currently assigned to paediatrics at the Uni during her CMT
Her relationship with me was best characterized by saying that we were not enemies.
Her original Gaelic name was Eilidh but was anglicized to Helen.
She belonged to proud Scottish nobility with a family tree tracing back to the Battle of Stirling Bridge with her extended family owning quite a few castles in Aberdeenshire.
She was your typical Hebridean Lass. Emerald blue eyes, red hair which was framed around her head (which my grandmother would have called as a blunt cut) and freckles. She was the youngest amongst us, always wore a nose ring and dark eye shadow (still a rebel at twenty-nine with the goth look)
Despite our strong differences of opinion on Scottish Independence, Brexit and British Royalty, both of us were united in our resolve to not let our ancestors and their troubles dictate our present.
All four of us had met in medical school and decided we got along well with each other and thus we all became roomies in a houseshare. This arrangement was about nine years old and had held strong all this while
And now, into this mix was airdropped Johan!
Naturally, it was Brady, the eldest among us (he was thirty-three), who parried the first charge.
"We are already romanticizing a shag, are we!" His sing-song voice made the thrust more brutal.
I decided to go with the truth. We had all been together for too long now, for me to invent some random lie.
"I don't know. I am confused by my emotions."
It felt so cathartic to finally let it all out.
"I know that before our meeting, I did not even know about his existence. But now that I know, I cannot go back to not knowing. You all have seen how much of a dish he is. He is even more wonderful as a person."
