Page 69 of Twisted Heathens

Holy Night by Landon Tewers

Crouched behind my dad’s vintage Porsche 911, I’m well hidden from sight as I spark up a cigarette. Taking a long drag, I blow the smoke out and my body begins to relax. It burns my lungs but I don’t care, I need the relief right now. I’m not much of a smoker, but when you’re surrounded by stuck up assholes commenting on shit that’s none of their business, it’s needed. Why the hell did I think coming home was a good idea?

“Kade! You out here?”

My head falls between my legs as I sigh, hoping that she’ll give up. There’s no such luck as Cece peers around the car, eyes landing on me. She scoffs and sits down by my side, her hand held out to demand a drag on my cigarette.

“Come on, give it up. You know Mum and Dad don’t let me.”

“Fine,” I grumble, passing it off to my baby sister.

Where Hudson is adopted, Cece is my sister by blood. She’s the only one out of all of them that I can stand to be around. Down to earth and level-headed in a way our parents really aren’t.

“Was it what Uncle Terrence said?” she guesses.

I manage a nod.

“Fuck him. He has no right to say shit about Hudson or his life choices. What happened to blood is thicker than water, huh? Stupid old bastard.”

I snatch the cigarette back, giving her a shrug. “He’ll just wheel out the tolerance card when it suits him. We all know what he really thinks of Hudson. Doesn’t give him the right to talk smack about him in front of the entire family though.”

“True, but least he isn’t trying to act like he actually cares.”.

I guess that would be worse, at least we can rely on him to be a cunt. We sit in silence until the smoke is done, staring out across the foggy grounds surrounding our family mansion. Seven acres of grass, trees and horses line the estate, with a giant circular driveway to fit Dad’s extensive car collection. The house itself is a million-pound monstrosity, full of antique crap that Mum proudly collects and displays, as if to suggest that her days as a housewife actually amount to anything.

I hate it here.

I hate everything about this life, and the expectations that come with it. I’m aware how much of a privileged shit that makes me sound. But the truth is, I’d rather be fucking poor and in control of my own destiny than in this prison of superficiality. Controlled by other people’s plans and ideals, trying to defend my rejected adoptive brother to relatives whose kids attended Oxbridge and boast several doctorates.

“How’s boarding school?” I sling an arm around my sister.

“Crap as usual, I hate it there so much. Can’t wait to graduate, but now Mum won’t let me apply to art school. Apparently that’s what, and I quote, ‘bums and lowlifes do to pay for their skank addiction and shitty apartments.’ No joke, those were her exact words. Can you believe this shit?”

“Yeah,” I answer drily.

Our parents care more about propriety than anything else. Why do you think they paid a fortune to hush up Hudson’s arrest and pack him off to a place like Blackwood? Just so the embarrassment would fly undetected under the radar. To this day, our extended family think I’m studying abroad to explain my constant absence.

“How is he?” Cece asks.

She anxiously picks at her pale pink dress. I can’t tell her the truth. That he’s a fucking wreck barely scraping by, making zero progress and on track to be refused release. He’s got a record longer than my arm and more incident reports than most prisoners. Right now, he’s spending the rest of his weekend rotting in a cell for getting into a fight. The damn idiot.

“Good. You know Hudson, he’s never far away from trouble.”

“But you’re looking after him, right? Like you said you would?”

I clear my throat, forcing a smile onto my face. “Of course. I promised, didn’t I? I’ll bring him home, Cece. We’re halfway done.”

“I can’t wait until you’re both back. These stupid family dinners aren’t the same without you guys.” She sniffles.

I give her a squeeze, trying to convey the comfort that I can’t manage to vocalise. So many empty promises, they threaten to drown me at every turn. Will I ever come back here, to the life I so desperately want to escape? Even if I do, will Hudson be with me?

“Miss you too, kid. We’ll be back before you know it,” I lie.

“I’m not a fucking kid anymore, Kade. Haven’t been for a while.”

I ruffle her hair, even as she curses under her breath. “You’ll always be a kid to me,” I reply with a smile.

Someone shouts our names from far off. We share a grim look before rising and walking back to the house. Mum stands in the door with her hands on her hips, looking suitably unimpressed. I get a whack around the head with a dish towel for my absence.