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The last thing she remembers about her brother is how much she hates him.
Lydia Shvagenbagen is in the back of her limousine, on her way to Sebastian’s home, her teal silk dress pressed neatly against her crossed thighs. Her hands rest on her lap, occasionally reaching to fix her already neat and tidy flower pinned to the right side of her chest.
A week ago, her father had passed. Their father had passed. And Sebastian was informed only a couple days ago. Through her, of course. It had been her that found his contact attached to some shoddy music school—he seems to be tutoring guitar lessons now—and it had been her that called to break the news to him.
Unsurprisingly, neither him nor her were torn up about it. It was a brief exchange, and she had told him when they would be having father’s will read—only because he had asked. She didn’t think he’d care enough, but if any of the Shvagenbagen’s blood still runs through him, it would make sense that he’d be curious about what sort of inheritance father would leave him. If any. She doesn’t expect there to be any.
In any case, one thing led to another, and it somehow reached to a point where she agreed to take him—and his wife —to the will reading. But she won’t be taking them back home afterwards. One trip to this poor commoner neighborhood is enough for her.
When he had emailed her his address, to avoid any form of misunderstandings in spellings or numbers, she wrinkled her nose at the new name attached to the email address. “Glam”. What a ridiculous name. To think such a lunatic would be able to land himself a wife. But she supposes whoever this unlucky woman may be, she must be no weirder than Sebastian is.
After Sebastian disappeared, father had not been pleased. He was always prone to succumbing to his temper, but it had become worse when Sebastian left and there was no one there to be at the end of father’s beatings. No one but Lydia, of course. Apparently raising his hand once at her gave him the idea that he could do it again and again with an unfaithful promise that it would be the last time if she just did things right .
Whatever happened to preserving a woman’s beauty, or their weakness and inability to take proper disciplining? What a hypocrite and a liar. She hated him for it. Every burn she felt from being beaten, she cursed him. Him and Sebastian too, who left and made things worse for everyone still here.
Which is why she had been more happy than upset when father finally passed. She could reap the benefits of choosing to stay, of choosing to be strong and tough things out through all her home life’s harsh conditions. Despite everything she’s endured, at least she’ll be richer than she already is. That’s the prize she gets, and that’s what Sebastian doesn’t deserve.
She only agreed to take him just to see his disappointment, or to rub it in his face that she got more than he ever will in a lifetime. To tell him, haughtily, that this is what he gets for being a coward and running away and being weak.
But, she’d be lying if she said that some part of her in her youth had hoped he’d come back home someday. Not just because she knew it would make things go back to normal again, and that she’d finally be freed from being the punching bag for father’s stress, but also because it got a little too quiet at home sometimes.
Somedays, she’d imagine violin playing from the room where they’d practice. Somedays, she’d press her ear to the empty room behind his door and expect his record player to be running. Somedays, she’d stare at his empty seat, and wonder when that loaf will finally get out of his room to come join them at the table to eat.
In a distant memory, she remembers the time he cut his hand, and she came with a bandaid. Only to put it under his nose. How they had laughed. How little she would hear them now. How she’d wish he’d show up and tease her too.
The day she realized he would never be coming back, she saw him on the television. It hadn’t been for more than a second or two, because what she had been really doing was switching between the channels to find something entertaining to watch (for once father had not been home to punish her for “slacking”). But then she saw him.
All wide-eyed, bright smiles, high energy. Happy, almost. In that ridiculous get up and his circus of freaks he called his friends. She nearly threw the remote through the screen, wishing he’d shatter for real. How dare he feel this way after leaving greatness behind. He should be ashamed. He should be ashamed for thinking he deserves any more happiness than she does.
That night, after her pillow had finally dried and she had finally turned her head over to stare at her ceiling, she closed her eyes and dreamt. The rain on her shins and shoes, her brother drenched, her father trembling from unfathomable rage. Her cheek stung.
And then, after he ran, as far as he could, to a place she didn’t even know, she dreamt that she was with him too.
When she woke up the morning after, she threw her pillow against the door, nearly tearing holes into her sheets and blankets, and swore she’d never think of Sebastian again.
How she loathes him, how she hates. Her rage knows no bounds, and even as she sees his house nearing, she can feel the heat rise in her veins. She cannot wait to never see him again.
She hates her brother.