Chapter 3 – Josh's POV

Something Happened to me Yesterday

https://youtu.be/Va0Fm6zZLbc

Kissing some girl in a bathroom shouldn't be that big of a deal.

It's been two weeks. Two godforsaken weeks since she just left me there in that bathroom breathless and with quite the hard-on. I'd been too surprise to realize I should have ran after her. I thought she was kidding. I thought she was going to run back in my arms. I didn't think she was really going to just up and disappear.

And disappear she has. She's been missing in action ever since our lovely encounter. I hate to admit it, but her absence almost gave me a nervous break down and I did call Todd and asked him to pull out every death notice of blond girls under twenty five and he did call me a fucking lunatic but he did give them to me and I did come empty handed and I did dance around in my apartment for fifteen minutes when I realized she wasn't dead but then I did start to freak the fuck out when I realized that maybe then she just wasn't coming back and stalking her would become time consuming and I should just mentally shut up get out of my car and walk into my parents house and have dinner with my family.

My father is hell bent on having at least one dinner with the whole family every week. I understood the sentiment behind the action but it always felt like such a hassle.

It was one evening every week where I could see my father judging me. My mother was always more understanding but that was probably only because she wasn't my real mother. I mean, for all intend and purposes she's my mom. She's held the title waaaay longer than my biological one did.

And I love her, I really do, but sometimes, deep down, I hate her too. I hate the fact that she took my mother's place so easily. I hate that she got pregnant so fast. I hate that she made my father move on, that he couldn't take care of me while he was processing his grief but he could shag her. I hate that even after all these years, even though I know my father loves my adoptive mother, I can see it, the crack in the relationship, the ever so present but you're not her, you'll never be her.

In all honesty though, I lost my mother too young to really be able to feel the true weight of her death. To me, the first time I really experienced death was when my bestfriend died in a car accident. Jayden was the brother I never had. There was a connection with him that I was never able to find with anyone else after, not even his little brother and my now-bestfriend Blake. It was different with Jayden. He was the big brother. He was the one in charge. I love Blake but he's like my little brother. It's just a different relationship, the kind where I always feel I need to protect him. I never felt the need to shield Jayden from anything but I do with Blake.

I never even had the guts to tell him he wasn't the only artist that his parents produced.

I still have boxes filled with Jayden's drawings. I'm the guardian of his art. His drawings were very peculiar. There's a lot of gestural stuff and sometimes there's kind of a childlike quality to it, but the way he used the lines and everything, they all just looked so damn good.

I've never had the heart to tell Blake about his brother's artistic talents. Jayden always told me I wasn't allowed to tell him. He wanted his little brother to feel special. He wanted him to think that art was his thing. Blake always idolized his big brother, but he also undermined himself whenever he compared himself. Jayden was worried that if Blake knew he could draw he would stop.

Unfortunately, Blake's art has been at a stand still ever since his brother died. The only way I'm able to push him into finishing any kind of project is by making it into something illegal. Graffiti is the only medium Blake seems to not resent with a passion so that's how I've been able to keep his art alive.

I'm keeping both of the Eaton's art alive.

There's a knock on my car's door and I jump in my seat. I look out and Catherine is standing there all smiles and freckles and red hair.

I step out of my car. "Well, well, what do we have here? The wicked step-sister," I tell her with a grin.

She rolls her eyes at me. "The very understanding half sister you mean."

"I would if you stopped wearing my glass stilettos!" I exclaim dramatically.

"I seriously have no idea where you went wrong."

"Well at least I'm not an evil redhead that sucks the soul of children so she can have one herself, Catherine." I tell her, pointing at her freckles.

Messing with my sister's hair color is one of the things that bring me the most joy in life. That and torturing her unfit suitors. Unfortunately, for the last year or so she's been dating Mark and the bastard's a good guy. Ugh. The humanity.

It's important to picture the Hindenburg going up in flames when I think that.

"You're such a dick," Catherine whines.

Oh, that's just too easy. "You're totally right. I am quite like a dick. My hair is a mess. My family is nuts. My neighbour is an asshole. My best friend is a pussy and my owner beats me."

Of course, she isn't fazed. She's heard worse. "I shouldn't be encouraging this, but who's your owner?"

I press my hand over my heart and pout. "Every woman I've ever encountered."

She doesn't appear to share my grief. "If you stopped telling them that if a key opens lots of locks, then it's a master key, but if a lock is opened by lots of keys, then it's a shitty lock you'd stop getting punch in the face."

I grin again. "Why? It's just a fact."

She huffs a breath and heads for the front door of the house. "And once again, I'm ashamed that we're blood related."

I follow her. "Don't worry, it's just half of it."

"Still too much."

We walk in the house and take off our shoes. We're not animals. We don't keep our shoes in. That's something I've absolutely never been able to understand. How to you plan on keeping a clean house with your dirty shoes? How are you comfortable in those fabric and plastic shackles? The second I can take them off they go flying. When I was younger I used to abandon them in shopping malls. People always gave my parents nasty stares because I was the weird kid with no shoes.

Catherine and I silently walk the halls that lead to the dinning hall. My parents are a bit loaded, so yeah, we've got a nice house. I mean, we don't have a freaking inside pool like some people, but we can't exactly complain.

Mom is fussing around the table when we walk in.

"Hey kids!" she greets us, all smiles.

I small back, I go give her a hug. Her hand lingers on my cheek while she assesses me. I know what she's looking for—the stress lines I get whenever I'm about to be in the same room as my father.

And right on cue... "Everyone is finally here!" a voice greets us from behind.

I turn around and here he is. Scott Torres. My father. Not smart enough to become a real doctor so he became a chiropractor, a fact I gleefully remind him every chance I get. That's just the main career though. My father is a jack of all trades. I might tease and say he's dumb but that's not all he does. As much as he loves getting on my case, he's the one who thought me about art, about installations and how to properly use too many mediums. He's the one who instigated my love for art. I never understood why it pissed him off that it stuck.

"Son, how good of you to join us," he says in passing, going for his chair at the head of the table, like I'm not there every goddamn week, like this is suddenly a grand event. "What have you been up to lately, aside from vandalizing public properties?"

Of course, because the fact that I own seven buildings and that all of the apartments are rented in them, that I'm developing an app with Todd to make old vinyl records available for everyone and that it's going great so far and we already have a few investors, and that the charity I'm working on for homeless people is finally really starting to pick up, means nothing.

I didn't study to be a lawyer or a doctor so I'm a disgrace.

"Nothing," I tell him and go for my own seat, "I mean since nobody in Congress is answering my letters about trying to legalize cat-human marriages, I've just been completely stumped. If Miss Puss and I can't get married it's really going to put a strain on our relationship. If we don't make it official I'll always worry that the hussy is going to leave me. She has other options, cat options and that's a scary thought."

My father does not find me amusing. "The scary thought is having you as a son," he looks at his wife while she puts his plate in front of him, "Andrea, please do something with him."

I smile at her sweetly. "Yes, mother dearest, please try to write to your local congressman about the very serious issue of cat-human marriages. We cat lovers have rights too," I say and stamp my fist on the table.

Catherine rolls her eyes as she sits down with her own plate, giving me mine. She's a much more useful child than I am. In my defense, our father worships the ground she walks upon and these family dinners don't stress her out as much as they do me.

"Of course you do sweetheart," my mother says, stroking my shoulder.

I think she accepts my bullshit more than my father because just like I resent her sometimes, she always feels guilty.

What a beautiful pair we both are.

What a beautiful mess I am.

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A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry, I wanted to upload this yesterday but I got home a little too late last night after drinks with my friends. XD

Anyway, just a friendly reminder that the best place for updates on what's going on with the writing is probably my instagram. I'm at kaygiard. I'm trying to not spam you guys too much with messages on Wattpad with new uploads, so I'm trying to keep you  guys on the loop on instagram instead. :D

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! My next upload should be The Family Curse, tomorrow. :)