Page 32 of Trick of the Flesh
My pulse spikes, panic mixing with something darker.
I tug on a hoodie and some basketball shorts and stumble downstairs.
Celeste’s already at the table with her pumpkin mug, scrolling on her phone. Dad’s got the paper spread out, humming under his breath. And Miguel—Miguel is leaning back in his chair, sipping black coffee out of a ghost muglike it’s just another Friday morning. He glances up at me, smirks, and goes right back to his drink.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Celeste says cheerfully. She gets up and serves me a plate of pancakes, complete with a chocolate chip smile and fruit.
I smirk and dig in.
“Rough night?” She asks, patting my shoulder.
I nearly choke on the bite I shoved in my mouth the second before. My ears burn and Miguel hides his grin behind the mug.
“Uh—yeah. Didn’t sleep great,” I mutter under my breath.
“You two were up late,” Dad adds. “Sounded like a whole horror movie up there. Lot of… stomping around.”
I freeze mid-bite. Miguel doesn’t. He leans forward, eyes locked on mine, and says smoothly, “Yeah, Caleb’s a restless sleeper. I was in and out of there all night with him.”
The fork nearly slips from my hand. Heat floods my chest. My parents laugh, unaware, and I force a smile that feels like it’s going to crack my skull in half.
Miguel kicks me under the table. Not hard, just enough to make me jolt. His eyes glitter, daring me to react. I don’t.
Keep it together, Caleb.
He leans closer, voice low, so only I can hear him. “Relax, little brother. They don’t suspect a thing.”
My stomach twists and my pulse won’t steady. Every second feels like they’re about to tell me they know.
I spend the rest of breakfast barely tasting the food, shoving pancakes and fruit down just so I have something to do with my hands. Miguel laughs at one of Dad’s dumb jokes, easy and unbothered, like he didn’t ruin me less than twelve hours ago. Like he doesn’t own every breath I take now.
When I finally excuse myself, my skin is crawling with heat. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive in this house with him for another few days.
Later that night,I let a few of my old high school friends drag me to a Halloween party down the road. It should be normal—cheap beer, loud music, everyone in half-assed costumes. I even let someone paint fake blood on my neck, like a vampire bit into me. But I can’t relax.
Not when I know he’s here.
Watching me like prey.
I’m still exhausted from last night, so I really hope he isn’t up for a chase. If that’s the case, I’m just going to lie down and take it.
Miguel didn’t bother with a costume. Just a black shirt, jeans, and that smirk that says he’s already thought ten steps ahead of me. He doesn’t dance. Doesn’t drink much. He just stands in the corner, talking to people like nothing’s wrong, but his eyes are always on me.
Every time I glance over, he’s watching.
Every time.
I down half a beer just to keep my hands from shaking, but it does nothing to cut the feeling of his stare crawling down my spine. Friends pull me into stupid party games—beer pong, flip cup—but I can’t focus, so I end up drinking way more than I planned to. My head is buzzing, my chest too tight. Every laugh feels fake, every shout muffled under the weight of knowing he’s here.
At one point, a girl in a devil costume leans into me, giggling, pressing a red plastic cup into my hand. “You’re cute. Haven’t seen you around here.”
I force a smile. “Visiting for the weekend, I’m a sophomore at UCSC.” Her hand lingers on my arm. I should like it. I should lean into it. But all I feel is Miguel’s gaze, like a brand from across the room.
When I risk a glance, he’s watching us. His smile is small, sharp, and dangerous.
I look back over at the girl, realizing I don’t feel anything towards her because she isn’t who I want. I want my six-foot-two, curly-haired stepbrother and his eight-inch pierced cock. I don’t want her sickly sweet-smelling perfume; I want his earthy, woodsy citrus scent. I excuse myself fast, muttering something about needing air. My friends don’t notice.
Nobody ever really notices when I slip out.
