My mom called my dad for the first time in 20 years. She was getting married. She needed the apartment for her new family so i had to get out.
My dad lived in the same city, I go to school in the same city.
That's the most he's ever given me.
I'd barely met him twice in my life. My mom never talked about him except to say it was a mistake. I don't think she meant just him.
I showed up with two bags. My dad opened the door, looked at me, and stepped aside.
That was it. He went back down the hall and I stood in the doorway holding my bags.
Cole, my half brother, was on the couch. He looked up when I walked in. Nineteen years old and already built like our father. He looked at me for a few seconds with a smirk on his face.
He turned back to the TV.
I took my bags to the basement and slept the night.
I heard movement upstairs early. When I came up, my dad was by the front door with two suitcases. He didn't look over. Cole was there and they said something to each other low and brief and then my dad left.
I went to the kitchen and made eggs. I fixed my plate and turned to clean the pan before eating. Cole came in; boxers, cap, phone in hand. He didn't say anything. He looked at the plate, pulled a stool out at the counter, sat down and started eating.
He ate without looking up from his phone. I stood by the sink.
When he was done he pushed the plate toward the edge of the counter.
"Six eggs. Scrambled soft. Every morning."
I washed his plate and made myself another breakfast.
I was still eating when Cole came back through, fully dressed, keys in hand, cap pulled low. He didn't slow down.
"I'll be back by dinner. Laundry, cleaning, cooking. Better be done."
He was out the door before I could say anything.
I sat there for a second. My heart was going fast. I had a hard-on by the time I stood up.
I started with the laundry. Went room to room pulling hampers. Cole's first, then whatever my dad had left. I didn't touch my own until the machine was already running. While it cycled I went through the house. Surfaces, floors, bathroom.
I folded the laundry and left Cole's pile on his bed. Started on the dinner. Chicken and pasta.
He walked in, looked around once, said nothing, and went to shower.
He came out he was in sweats, hair damp, phone already back in his hand and took a seat. I plated his food and set it in front of him.
"Seasoning's off, fix it next time."
He ate. I stood by the counter and after a moment I pulled out the stool next to him and started to sit.
"Faggots don't sit with men."
I stood by the counter the whole time he ate. Hands at my sides. When he was done he pushed the plate toward me without looking up and went to his room.
I washed everything and ate standing at the sink.
It was the end of August. No classes for another three weeks. Nowhere to be.
The routine set itself. Six eggs every morning, scrambled soft. His laundry before mine. Surfaces wiped, floors done, dinner ready by the time he walked in.
Faggot had become my name.
Mid-week he came back from the gym. Tank top, shorts, still damp. He walked through to the kitchen and I was at the sink. I don't know how long I was looking. Long enough. He caught it.
He set his bag down slowly.
He punched me across the face.
From then on I looked at the floor whenever he was in the same room.
It was a Saturday evening. Dad was still gone.
I came up from the basement and Cole was already in the recliner. Jeans, cap, no shirt. Both feet up on the arms, bare soles facing out. TV running.
I crossed the room and stood in front of him and waited.
He nodded once toward the floor.
"You faggot freaks love man's feet, no?"
I started with his right foot. I didn't need to be told how. I pressed my mouth to the sole and felt the warmth of it, the weight when he let it rest against my face. His skin was dry, clean. I worked slowly; heel, arch, the ball of his foot. My hands around his ankle to hold it steady.
I moved to his toes. Took them one at a time. I was on my hands and knees on his living room floor doing this and he was watching something on the TV and the house was completely quiet except for that.
I kept going. Left foot and repeated all the steps again. I don't know how long it went on.
At some point he looked down.
He pressed his foot into my face and kicked me over.
"Pathetic little faggot."
Eventually he stood up. He stepped over me without looking down and went down the hall to his room.
I stayed on the floor for a while after that.
