My Brother Is Ashley Purdy

“Alexandra!”

Ugh, damn woman.

“What?!”

“Get in here. We need to talk.”

For fuck’s sake. It’s currently a Thursday night and I’m in my room supposedly doing my homework. Nah, I’m just updating my Tumblr. I have so many requests it’s not even funny. It kinda takes the fun out of my fanfiction blog but I still enjoy it.

What does she mean “we need to talk”? Oh, holy hell. She found my stash. I glance at my closet and quietly get up. I need to find a better hiding place, that woman is crazy.

“Alexandra!”

Keep your hair on, I’m coming. Sheesh.

I quickly open skype and type a message to Lonnie.

Alix_98>: brb monster call

LuluS is typing…

LuluS: lol text me later ho

I open my bedroom door and look at the couch. She’s slumped up in her usual position and she’s on her Iphone. Why the hell can’t I have an IPhone? Like literally every teenager on earth has one. Okay, so we’re behind on our mortgage, but still.

“What is it? I have homework.”

“It can wait.”

It can wait?! Holy fuck, who died? In my mother’s eyes school and grades come before oxygen.

She looks up at me and pats the sofa. “Sit, I gotta tell you something.”

I fold my arms across my chest. So I’m not in trouble – I hope – but something’s definitely up.

“Are we expecting someone over?”

She made me clean the whole house after I came home from school. I warned her that I might fall behind on my homework (ha, I’m barely passing anything) but she just waved me away, not really concentrating. She was busy mopping the floor and mumbling to herself.

She sighs. “Yeah.”

“It’s 8pm though.”

Her rule is that anyone under 18 should be in bed by 8:30pm. I got a free get-out-of-jail card today due to the extra chores. It’s not like I ever actually do fall asleep that early. Fuck no. I’m always on my PSP or listening to music or reading until 3am when I drop dead. I don’t like sleeping. I mean, I do, but I don’t like the insecurity of not knowing what the fuck is going on when I’m knocked out flat. Just saying.

“Yeah, I know. Honey, here. Come sit.”

I frown. Did she kill someone?

“Alex.”

“Fine, fine.”

I sit about a foot away from her and stare in space, waiting for her to talk.

Again.

It’s been like this for the past month. She’s been engrossed in her laptop and she’s been making phone calls. And I can hear her sobbing and laughing every night in her room at 4am. Wimp.

She’s been asking me weird questions, too, like “how does it feel being an only child?”
I don’t know. It’s not like I have anything to compare it to. I know she wants another kid. She’s alone (my father walked out on us two years ago. Good riddance, too. Abusive dick) so she’s considered all the options. Adoption. The thing where they stick a test tube up her vageygey. I can’t pronounce it without giggling. I guess she’s tired being stuck with an annoying brat like me. Honestly, I can barely wait. I’ll be laughing my ass off at the poor child who has to join this fucking family. It’ll be hilarious watching the dweeb struggling to follow her rules.

Oh my god. And then the day will come when they’ll rebel, convinced that there’s nothing she can do, and then the slap will come. Yes. She can be very scary.

What did I do? I learned to detach myself emotionally. I simply pretend I’m exiting my body when she starts throwing shit at me, and I can’t feel anything. It’s like being high without actually losing control. It’s great. Yeah, blah, blah, you risk your chances of becoming bipolar and schizophrenic and whatever else. Do I look like I give a fuck?

So anyway, back to the kid.

“Look, sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that.”

She frowns at me but I keep my head high.

“Alexandra. I don’t want your shit tonight.”

Oooh, fuck me. So parents are allowed to curse at a child but a child isn’t allowed to curse back, right?

“You will be on your best behavior,” she snaps.

I mentally roll my eyes.

Her phone suddenly rings, making her jump.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause. I see her go pale and I raise an eyebrow.

“Already?” she whispers. “Y-yes. Apartment 14G…yes.” She looks around with a crazy look on her face and then she catches my eye, looking like she remembers that I’m also in the room. “I.. I’ll be the door.”

I’ve never seen my mother look so lost. It’s very entertaining.

She ends the call and turns to look at me.

“I’m sorry in advance.”

“For what?”

“That I didn’t tell you sooner. I honestly just found out.”

She stands up and goes to the front door, which is just 20 feet away, honestly. I hate this fucking apartment. Well, okay. I don’t mind the apartment; I just mind that I have to share it with her.

She opens the door and sticks her head out.

I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.

If we are expecting someone, then fuck. I should’ve at least worn a decent pair of jeans. Not these baggy, street bullshit. Seriously, they’re 4 sizes too big. Comfy, but not ideal for a good first impression.


But if it’s just a kid (who she might have adopted behind my back, screw her) then it shouldn’t matter. Where are we gonna put the punk though? It’s a two-roomed apartment and there’s not fucking way I’m sharing.

Yes, I’m a single child. I’m not supposed to share my shit.

I can hear a male voice. It’s not super deep, so I’m guessing it’s a teen. Fuck my jeans. I hope she picked out a hot one so I can show off to my friends.

Hey, check out my attractive brother.

I see my mom nod her head and step back.

A dark figure steps forward into our kitchen. He’s not a teenager, that’s for sure.

…

He stares briefly at my mom and nods politely, and then he looks past her and at me.

…

…

And I’m looking at Ashley Purdy.

…

…

…

Ashley motherfucking Purdy is in my house.

What the fuck is he doing here?

If I was one of those girls, my inner fangirl would have taken over a long time ago.

But I’m not one of those girls.

For all I know I could be on Punked and I hate making a fool of myself.

So I simply raise my eyebrows.

My mom closes the door and comes next to him. I stare from one to another.

…

…

…

And then I see it.

…

…

The resemblance.

The same nose and thin lips. The same posture. Even the skin, god damn it (I take after my father, thank god).

And I’m starting to get the bad feeling all over again.

“What the hell is going on?”

He smiles tensely at me and advances, offering me his hand. I stare at it impassively, long enough to make him feel uncomfortable and retreat.

Good.

“Hi. Umm, you must be Alexandra? I’m—”

“I know who you are. What I don’t know is what you’re doing in my house.”

“Watch your tone, girl,” my mom hisses. Oh, right. I forgot about her.

“No, no. It’s OK. This must be very confusing. I don’t know if your mom told you already?” He looks behind him and she shakes her head.

Tell me what?

The funny thing is that I can kinda see it coming. I know what he’s gonna say. But there’s no way I can hear it out loud.

“So what’s going on?”

“Take a seat, Ashley.” She wrinkles her nose slightly when she says his name. She comes down and sits next to me. I get up and cross my arms across my chest.

“I got drunk.” It’s all she says.

She got drunk? She never gets drunk! That’s literally the worst thing, because we never have booze in the house. And I love alcohol.

“Okay?”

“I was in college.”

Wait, what?

…

…

…

Oh my god.

How old is Ashley? Come on fan brain. You did the research. How old is he? 24? And mom’s 43?

…

Fuck.

…

No. What is he doing here? Band members don’t suddenly show up at a person’s house. It doesn’t work like that, damn it.

“So… you…”

I don’t have the words. I honestly don’t.

“So Ashley is your son?”

She doesn’t nod. But she doesn’t shake her head, either.

“So… he’s what? My half brother?”

“Technically, yeah,” he says. I ignore him and continue staring at my mother.

“You got drunk and… wait.”

Hold the fuck up.

“Who’s the father, then?”

I thought Ashley’s parents died when he was born.

“I… we don’t know,” he mutters.

“So let me get this straight.” I’m starting to get angry. Good. Anger is better than frustrated tears. “You got drunk in college, fucked a random dude and Purdy popped out?”

“Alexandra,” she warns but right now I don’t wanna hear it.

How dare she?! Every time we had a fight she looked me dead in the eye.

“Don’t bullshit me!”

Didn’t know? How the fuck do you get pregnant and not know?

“I was going to tell you.”

“Yet you didn’t.”

“Honey…”

“Touch me and I’m calling 911.”

She stares at me for a while. Then she starts turning red.

Oh oh. Bitch, are you getting angry? Why the fuck are you getting angry?

I glance at Ashley who’s looking uncomfortable and awkward. He’s biting his lip and I can’t help but think that I do the same thing when I’m anxious.

…

…

A big ass light bulb pops up above my head.

I’m a genius. This is it.

…

This is my chance of getting outta this place.

Right now.

“I want DNA tests and documents proving this.”

“We already looked over them this past—”

“I don’t care what you did, I need to see them.”

I turn and look at my mother.

“You disgust me,” I say plainly. She stands up and shoves me hard.

“Are you kidding me? Do you think I wanted this?”

“Well, damn. Don’t hold back. It’s not like he’s in the room!” I shout. Come on, woman. Do it. Say it. “You’re such a whore!”

Slap. My cheek stings and I’m facing the window. She pushes me hard in the wall and I growl as my back makes impact.

“How dare you! Get out of my sight!”

I smile. Finally.

This is it.

“Okay.”

…

I go to my room and lock the door. I have more or less 5 minutes before I know she’ll kick the door down. She didn’t get the response she wanted so I’m in deep shit. Thank god I have
everything I need in here.

I take out my phone and dial quickly.

It rings.

And rings.

I swear to god, bitch. Pick up!

“…Hello?”

“Lu?”

“Oh, hey, what’s up?”

“I need a ride.”

“What? Besh, no way! It’s fucking late!”

“Lon,” I hiss. Oh fuck me.

I met Lonnie online. On Omegle. We hit off so she gave me her Tumblr. Then I gave her my facebook. We skyped and swapped numbers. She works as a model so she’s currently in North Carolina doing a photo shoot. She’s my age, but her parents let her travel alone. I don’t know weather to be envious or hit them in the head with a brick for being irresponsible. Anyway, she’s like 5 minutes away from me, staying at a fancy hotel downtown.

“Listen, I’m leaving.”

“Where’re you going?”

“No, dammit. I’m leaving here.”

“Oooh.”

There’s a pause. I hear an engine on the other side.

“Your ass outside in seven.”

“Thank you.”

Click.

…

…

…

I look around the room desperately, willing myself to start packing.

Notes