Nursing a hangover, Baz hadn’t been able to withstand his mother’s incessant pleas to stay. Even without the splitting headache, he wouldn’t have been able to tell her no. Feeling wanted was like its own kind of drug, and he’d chase that high even if it meant the incoming confrontation that was sure to take place. His leg shook under the table, and his mother reached out to press her hand to his cheek. He stiffened before pulling away, his attention drawn to the sound of Clement’s voice ringing out from the front door.
His every muscle tensed, hands balling into fists as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He hadn’t looked upon his brother’s face– the one identical to the vision he cursed every time he looked into a mirror– in more than a decade. The loud clatter of the dish on the table reverberated through the house like a bomb. Cerulean pools glared in his direction from across the room, though they would never actually land on Baz himself. He dug his fingernails so sharply into his skin he was surprised he hadn’t yet drawn blood. The walls felt as if they were inching closer, pressing in on him, and his heart clanged a little faster in his chest.
He stood quickly from where he sat at the table, adrenaline propelling him into action, the chair protesting the sudden movement with a screech, and let his mask fall into place, a carefully crafted piece of armor that he’d worn so long it had become a second skin. A smirk teased at the corners of his mouth, and he crossed his arms casually over his chest. The hurled words landed in every weak spot Clement intended them to, felt their sharp teeth pierce straight through the armor into the flesh beneath. He opened his mouth, poised to hurl his own string of words right back– a sick game of volleyball he’d been playing his entire life– when a knock sounded from the door.
He deflated a little as Clement turned away to look towards the door and stiffened immediately as he turned back, the hatred still burning like fire in his brothers eyes. He held that gaze with his own just as sharp until Clemence suddenly appeared in the entryway. He faltered a little upon seeing her face again for the first time in nearly twelve years. She’d been but fourteen when they’d sent him away, and she had remained that little girl in his mind until right now. He almost smiled at her, a picture of innocence, free from the guilt that threatened to drag him down beneath the water. But as she inched herself closer to Clement, the wall shot back up with a resounding click as the lock slid back into place. Of course she would be on Clement’s side. He had every fucking thing and Baz’s anger returned in a sudden gust of fiery rage. His smirk fully bloomed across his face as he surveyed the scene before him. “Ah, well isn’t this nice? One big happy family.” He cut his gaze back to his brother, eyes glinting, begging him to come and take a swing. He welcomed it– wanted it– and made a disapproving clucking sound. “Petit frère, I do hope your better half will be joining us today. Stella was her name, wasn’t it?” He let his eyes burn into his brother’s a moment, beckoning him forward, daring him to take the bait. “She’s so… friendly. Really knows how to give a proper welcome home.”
Clement wanted to pull Clemence closer, like a security blanket, and a reminder of what his imagined idea of a good family was. He wanted to root himself to her, and yet like some twisted funhouse mirror, his twin addressed him. Clements’s heart cracked and ached, and his face reddened with every single word that pulled from his lips. Their mother watched it unfold as if it was a natural disaster a long time coming. Dangerous and inevitable. Clem’s knuckles paled, and his nostrils flared.
Clemence gripped the back of a chair, an effort to keep from letting his fist impact against his brother’s jaw. Looking at him, he tasted only saltwater and betrayal; words had no place on his tongue when there was so much history and a ghost between them. After a long pause, Clementine raised her brows and cleared her throat only to have Clement cut her off by jabbing a finger through the air in Basile’s direction. “Don’t you ever go near her again you can’t really afford another funeral.” Clement scolded, shoving the chair against the table, prompting a scoff from their mother, who seemed more delighted than worried.
“Are you both quite done posturing and pissing all over one another, or can we drink and eat a meal without scarring one another?”
Clement looked to his mother, his sister, and back to Basile, “I lost my appetite the moment I saw him- why are you even here? Did you blow through your trust fund? Some sensor tell you I had another girl around for you to fuck and murder?” Clement was wild-eyed as he gestured towards the door, “Your a few years too late for the ex-wife, but I have a feeling you’d found a way to fuck that up for me too, wouldn’t you brother?”
Clementine rolled her eyes and looked to Clemence for help as if she had the answers in her to fix the turmoil and pain between her brothers. Clementine herself was growing weary and bored by the exchange. “If I had known you lot would be so cruel to one another, I’d have let your father have you three for this asinine Holiday.”
"Maman, please,” Clemence shot back in a hiss, there was too much to decipher without to listening to her dramatics. Why her mother looked at her like she could help was ludicrous.
Clemence moved, reaching out to clutch Clement’s bicep. “Clem, stop...just stop...” she pleaded, squeezing his arm before taking a couple steps toward Basile, eyes raking over the mirror image of Clement. No one had any really good explanation for his departure. Clementine had talked in circles and her father had refused to discuss it other than Basile was away at school. But that didn’t account for his absence from her adult life. Did he not care to know her? Tears welled in her eyes as she looked from Basil back to Clement. What had happened to make them hate each other so viciously? And why had no one thought she’d deserved to know? Her own anger welled up and spilled over into hot angry tears.
Looking from person to person and knowing that the answers wouldn’t be ones she wanted to hear, Clemence fled the dining room. Running up the stairs, she hoped to god her old room had been put back to rights after the last party.
