There was no surprise waiting at home. As we pulled up, I saw Dad chopping wood. He wore his usual denim overalls and an old, torn cowboy hat. I glanced at him through the car window as my mom walked over to my door.
"Climb out, James," my mom called, my dad glancing our way. Every time he looked at me, it felt like he carried hatred. I was the child born from my mom's affair, or so I thought. The truth was, my parents had a huge argument over a girl my dad worked with, and in his anger, he left my mom alone that evening.
Mom decided to blow off some steam at a nightclub with college friends. In an alley, she met a handsome man. The flickering street lamp barely illuminated his well-groomed appearance, but his scent, voice, and charismatic personality drew her in. They made passionate love in that alley and continued at her place. As he gently stroked her arm and hair, she finally saw his mysterious grey-green eyes, making her feel alive – something her husband hadn't done in years.
"I have to go now," he whispered, lacing up his black trousers. She noticed a dagger behind his neck, its intricate artwork glowing in the moonlight.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
He turned and gave a faint smile. "I am your shadow, your light. I am your guardian," he said softly, sending shivers down her spine. "If anyone finds out what happened, you might lose everything. Say you were overpowered at the club by some drunk guys."
"No, I can't say that. Why can't I just tell the truth?"
He brushed her hair out of her face. "Stick to the story," he insisted.
The mysterious man vanished, and my mom stuck to the story that she was raped. The man was never seen or heard from again. Everyone believed her story, including my dad.
So, I, James, was apparently born through an act of violence. And that's how I was conceived. My twin brother, Kyle, however, is my stepfather's biological child. This rare occurrence, heteropaternal superfecundation, was confirmed by a specialist. My dad wanted an abortion, describing me as a piece of filth that shouldn't exist.
But since aborting one of us could risk losing both, they decided to keep us.
Dad blamed Mom and even though she assured him it wasn't intentional, he never believed her. He drank heavily throughout her pregnancy, barely staying sober. He worked in construction and spent his spare time arguing with game shows on TV, a beer in hand. Mom and Dad grew distant, their hatred festering. Mom hated Dad because he hated me. I wish things were different, but I was the mute punching bag.
Despite filing for divorce, they still lived together. Kyle and I were close. He was light-skinned with brown eyes, well-built, and well-spoken. He could deliver a speech on a whim and excelled in sports. We attended different schools because Dad didn't want Kyle near me.
As I climbed out of the car, Dad shouted, "Boy, what are you doing at home? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"
"No, George," my mom replied sharply. "I wish you'd pay that damn school a visit instead of ranting. When will this bullying stop?" she yelled, exasperated.
Dad stood up straight, axe in one hand, cigarette in the other. "Your boy needs to grow a set. He's nothing of mine, and I don't want to see that brat in front of me,"he spat.
I covered my ears, trying to block out the noise. Dad shook his head. "You're nothing but a waste of space. A disgrace to humanity. Get inside and stay out of my sight." He then grabbed Mom by the neck, tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the belly.
I ran to protect her, using my body as a shield. Dad lifted me like a ragdoll. Kyle arrived just in time, seeing us on the ground. Furious, he ran towards Dad.
"This isn't your fight, boy," Dad said.
Kyle punched him in the stomach, grabbed our hands, and we ran into the house, locking the doors. Dad stood outside, looking bigger and stronger, smirking as he pointed at me. "Your time will come."