The idea crossed my mind to offer him a blowjob to make up for making him angry, but I had waited so long that when I went looking for him, Isabelle said he had already left.

Indeed, Lucas's jacket that he had placed on the chair was no longer there.

And as I stared at the empty backrest of the chair, Jeremy opened the front door.

He entered the kitchen where I was lounging on a stool not knowing what to do with my existence.

He still had his tie neatly tied and his usual hair slicked to one side.

Isabelle stopped reading for a moment, looked at the figure standing in the doorway, and regained her disgusted expression, the one she had reserved me in the beginning.

Jeremy wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled something unpleasant. "You look like a panda with your eyes painted like that."

"And you look like my asshole."

He emitted a disgusted "UGH" and stepped back, leaving the kitchen.

I heard him stomping his feet as he went up the stairs.

What a lovely atmosphere.

"I'm not surprised you're twins. You two have a lot in common."

And this had to be the most absurd thing I had ever heard since a cop told me my father was a criminal mastermind.

"A lot in common? Me and that shy little snail? In what world?"

Isabelle closed her book and offered me her undivided attention.

"Shy little snail? Who, Jerry?" Her indifferent demeanor dropped for a moment, her mouth opened revealing a row of white teeth, with a gap between the incisors.

After laughing to herself for a moment, she got closer. She took the sleeve of her leather jacket and the T-shirt underneath it, and rolled them up almost to her shoulder.

"Look. Do you know what these are?" She pointed to three small dark marks on her skin, right on her elbow.

"Uhm..."

"They're Jerry's teeth. Baby teeth, actually."

I tried to reconcile the image of the Jeremy I knew, the one who didn't even tell off the guy who threw slobbering balls at him, with Isabelle's Jerry, who enjoyed chomping on girls to the point of leaving scars.

"I see you're confused. You just got here, maybe you've only seen the good daddy's boy. You'll also meet the hysterical little jerk who can't live a second without mommy and daddy's approval."

Honestly, I felt like I had already seen some ups and downs.

"If he tries to bite me, he won't come out with all his teeth."

Isabelle started rolling down her sleeve and sat back down composed. "Oh, he's past the biting phase. Now it's the phase of deceit. Manipulation comes to him as easily as breathing. He tells lies upon lies."

Okay, I was starting to feel like she was trying to turn me against Jeremy, and I didn't like it. I was about to stop her when she said something that confused my brain for a second.

"And anyway, being both assholes isn't the only thing you two have in common. No wonder Jerry needs all these math repetitions."

She said the last three words making air quotes.

"Well, thanks for calling me an idiot, but actually math is the only subject I'm kind of good at."

"I wasn't calling you an idiot, even though it was implied. I was saying..." And then she stopped. She blinked her long plastic eyelashes. "Uh. No, never mind."

"What?"

"No, listen... Jerry annoys me, but I don't think I should tell you. I thought that since you're so, let's say, explicit... he would have told you."

Jeremy had told me a certain amount of things, but my brain was struggling to keep up with that conversation.

"Okay, I'm lost."

"Drake. You're identical twins. It means you share 100% of your genes."

"Ok."

"And many characteristics are determined by genes."

"Ok."

"Those kinds of characteristics that are considered innate and stable over time."

"Mh-mh."

At that point, she looked at me like you look at a child who keeps trying to fit a square block into a round hole.

"Ok. You know what? It doesn't matter. You'll get there."

But knowing my limited intellectual abilities, I had the feeling I wouldn't get there at all. So I decided to go investigate the source.

...

After the trek to the third floor, I couldn’t be bothered to follow formalities, so I opened the door without knocking.

"What a fucking BITCH!" Jeremy threw his uniform jacket to the other side of the room and started pulling on his tie knot, as if he wanted to strangle himself.

"Oh, wow. I didn't know you could swear."

He jumped in the air and turned like a frightened squirrel, but he recovered quickly from the surprise. He continued loosening the tie until he took it off completely.

"She comes here and poisons everyone's life. I hate her. Dad bends over backwards for her, and she... UGGH!" He threw the tie to the other side of the room too. "She infuriates me."

"Yeah, she's not very pleasant to have around. She spent the last twenty minutes throwing shit at you."

This time he snapped to attention more like a cat ready to pounce.

"What did she tell you? Whatever it is, it's a lie. She spouts lies all the time."

"She told me you bit her, she even showed me the mark."

He rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Good Lord, I was six years old. And did she mention the hole she left in my head, ripping out my hair?"

"No, she didn't mention that."

"What else did she tell you?"

"Things. I don't know. Is it important?"

His lips tightened. Obviously, it was important. Yet what he said was, "No. Because whatever she said isn't true anyway."

I stood there in the middle of that huge room not knowing what to do with myself. Those letters came back to my mind.

It happened again, I was so angry that I hit mom and couldn't stop.

There was certainly some truth in what Isabelle had said.

Maybe I should tell Jeremy about those notes. That I had read them. I didn’t know why, but I felt a little voice in my conscience whispering that maybe, just maybe, I should let him know. But I didn't have a valid explanation as to why, so in the end, I just stood there and said nothing.

A firm knock on the door saved me from that embarrassment before Jeremy asked me what the hell I was still doing in his room.

The good little son went to answer.

"Where's Isabelle? She's arrived, right?" Spaghetti guy stuck his long neck into the doorframe.

"I don't know where she is. And yes, she's arrived."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Why aren't you keeping her company?"

There followed a brief silence, and then a cold reply. "I was changing."

"You've changed. Now go find her and escort her downstairs. You too, Drake. We don't often get the whole family together. We should make use of the opportunity."

He closed the door and clattered away in his squeaky shoes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeremy emitted another disgusted sigh. "It means we have to pretend to tolerate that witch to make Dad happy. Tell each other what we did at school with a fake smile while sipping tea."

He opened the door as if he really intended to drag me into this.

"You can't be serious. I don't think I can handle this faggy shit."

And even though I said it, I started to follow him because, well... I wasn’t going to leave him alone in that shit situation. But I didn't take more than a step out the door since he had frozen in place.

He turned slowly, trying to mask his irritation. He failed.

"Could you STOP using that word? This is the second time you've used it. It's offensive."

I stood there like a fish, rewinding my brain to find the specific word that had struck a nerve.

"Oh, come on. Who gives a fuck?"

"Gay people. That's who."

"I don't give a fuck."

"I gathered. That's the problem."

He took a step forward, and I made a desperate noise. I'd had enough of that day, that walking on eggshells, first with Lucas, then with Isabelle, now with this guy.

"Oh god, now you're going to say I'm homophobic too? That would be the last fucking straw."

"If you're not homophobic, then stop saying that word."

"Fag." I planted myself in front of him and looked him straight in the eyes. "Fag, fag, fag, fag."

He didn't flinch, didn't even look away. Isabelle was right. He wasn't really a shy little snail.

"Really mature, Drake. Really mature."

...

Isabelle walked out of the guest room with a murderous look and joined us on the stairs without needing any explanation from Jeremy. In the living room, Spaghetti guy had occupied the only armchair, so the girl was forced to squeeze next to me on the couch.

And as soon as he saw her, Kevin's eyes widened at his daughter as if someone had replaced her with a clone.

"Isabelle... What kind of boys are you hoping to attract looking like that?"

"Of course, you think I only care about my appearance to get male attention. Why am I not surprised? Fucking misogynistic bigot."

"That's literally why you do it." Jeremy interjected, leaning over me to talk to her. "You do it just to piss off Dad. Don't pretend it isn't true."

"No one asked you anything, scrotum face."

Kevin clapped his hands on the chair's armrests. "Enough of this. This behavior was unacceptable when you were children; now it's downright ridiculous. You're a family."

Both of them emitted tiny verses laden with disgust.

"Jeremy. I taught you to be a gentleman. You should know how to behave with a lady. And yet you didn't even bother to welcome your sister. Did you at least carry her luggage to her room?"

"I have hands." Isabelle replied, bored.

Jeremy's expression, on the other hand, rose with agitation. "I don't touch her stuff. Last time I tried, she scratched my face with those nail hooks of hers."

"You weren’t helping carrying my things! You were sticking your nose in my phone!"

"YOU DREAMED IT!"

"UGLY ASSHOLE!"

It was at that moment that I realized the colossal mistake that had been sitting in the middle. Isabelle lunged at me to get to him, actually waving her nails like claws. Jeremy took hold of her wrist, restrained her, squeezed her leg, making her squeal.

There wasn't time for a second round. Kevin rose from the chair, immobilizing the scene, grabbed Jeremy by the collar, and pulled him to his feet.

For long seconds, they simply stared into each other's eyes until Jeremy came out with a weak, "She started it." Which had the effect of making Spaghetti guy even more furious. I was pretty sure he was going to slap him.

"Are you a two-year-old? You can’t control your impulses? Like an animal? Or are you a wimp? Do you need to raise your hands to defend yourself from a girl?"

Isabelle stood up. "What's your problem?! I started it!"

Kevin seemed not to hear her. He kept his eyes fixed on Jeremy with his collar still tight in his fingers. "Go to your room and reflect on your behavior. I don't want to see you until dinner."

Jeremy staggered as his father let go.

And there he was, back to being a snail, with his shoulders slumped and his back bent. He disappeared from the living room without a word.

I didn't understand. I really didn't understand. Nothing in that house made sense to me.

It didn't take long before Isabelle's phone vibrated. With the corner of my eye, I saw the message on the screen.

From: Scrotum "It's always a joy to have you here, sis 🙃"

She lowered her phone and looked at her father. She spoke calmly and firmly: "Listen, Kevin. I don't know how else to put it. I despise you. I despise this place, and the only reason I keep coming here is that otherwise, you'll throw my mother out on the street with your ugly habit of involving lawyers."

Kevin returned to his seat with a long sigh, as if he had just been told that the car needed to go back to the mechanic.

"I'm your father, Isabelle. It's my right to see you."

I shifted slightly. Isabelle looked like she wanted to gouge someone's eyes out.

"Your right?! Your right?! You don't give a fuck about me! You just want to set your conscience straight by pretending to play the role of the caring father."

“It's precisely because I care that..."

"If you care so much, why have you never come to see me? Why am I the one who has to take a three-hour bus ride at your every beck and call? Have you ever thought, I mean absurdly... that if you really want to spend time with me, you could get off your ass and COME to me?"

Once again, Spaghetti guy displayed the emotional investment of a rock. "I have a job, Isabelle. The adult world doesn't work according to our desires."

"Well, then you should've thought about it before having a daughter you didn't want."

I already felt out of place enough in that room, with that conversation... but then Kevin said, "Drake."

Oh God... "WHAT? I have nothing to do with this."

He turned to me. He smiled. "Have you tried your new amplifier yet? Oh, Isabelle. Did you know that Drake plays the electric guitar?"

"Okay."

What insane kinda discussion was that?! If your daughter tells you something along the lines of I hate you, I wish you weren't my father, maybe you should keep the conversation on that topic.

But what did I know? How does the saying go? When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

So, instead of witnessing that terribly private discussion, I decided to play along.

"Right. Isabelle... Your father told me that you also play the guitar."

I offered her my most conciliatory smile, the one that convinced teachers that I REALLY didn't deserve to be called up to the blackboard.

She, on the other hand, looked at me with her unmoving, indifferent gaze. Then she turned to her father.

"You told him I play the guitar?" Isabelle stood up. "I play the bass. Since I was ten years old. I play the bass, Kevin."

And she left the living room.

He grimaced, as if he had tried a hand at poker and failed miserably on the last card.

"You know, Spaghetti guy... When I was five years old, my father left me all night at the strip club. He hadn’t exactly acted like a model parent that time. But you... well, you're on a whole other level, buddy."