Repulsive

     I stared at the maroon door, hesitating, second-guessing my decision to come back here, come back to this place where the Devil lives a couple houses down, and his best friend is the mayor. I remembered the last time I saw that door, slamming it in my parent's face, walking out on that life. I remembered how bad I wanted to take my little brother with me, innocent yet so close to demons, but I walked away without him. This would be the first time in ten years I would see him. I turned away, like I did before, and took small steps back to my car. I heard the door open, and cringed at the voice that said, "Look who came back."  

     Slowly I turned around, and stared at the face I've hated for years. Yes, it looks just as it did years ago. His piercing blue eyes and smirking lips wore the look of being superior and egotistical narcissistic attitudes perfectly. "No, Dad, I was just remembering how much I hate you all." I smiled, seeing his startled reaction. 

      "Honey, let the boy in. He's probably starving." Mother's desperate attempt to please her husband seemed to fail. 

      "Marabeth, we don't feed beggars remember?" He smiled at me, the person which he despised most. I was the result of a failed marriage between him and his ex wife, Emily, and he hated admitting I was his. The same feeling were reciprocated from me, I hated admitting he was my father, and he hated that. He hated everything about me. 

      "If it makes you feel better to put your own son down, so be it. But I'm not here for you, I came to see Jason. So fuck off." I said, walking up the stairs of the porch. By then, Jason was standing in the doorway as he was trying to remember who wanted to see him. 

     He was a taller than I remembered, and a little more mature, but still he was my half-brother. "Hey Jason. Remember me?" I said, searching his eyes for a spark of recognition.

     He stared at me with brown eyes, confused. I sighed, he doesn't remember me. "We should let him come in. C'mon." He said, in his deep 17-year-old voice. 

     Once inside, the flood of memories attacked my brain. I pushed them away, building damns. I pushed away every drunken fight, every "I hate you"s exchanged, every "Why don't you just leave then"s screamed, every memory I ever made in this stupid house.  Why did you come back? My brain screamed at me. "I don't know." I screamed back in my head. 

     We all sat down at the table, Dad on one end of the table, Jason to his right, Marabeth on the other end of the table, and I to Dad's left. I always found it weird that we just did immediate family at Thanksgiving, when everybody else goes to someone else's house for a huge family gathering where everyone laughs and jokes and lays down on the arguing for a night or two. 

     Marabeth got up to check the turkey, leaving the us three boys alone. This was a recipe for disaster, leaving my father and I in the same room alone, and he never missed a chance to torment me, but I kept my mouth shut for Jason's sake. 

     "So, kid, what's become of you? Are you a drug dealer or something low like that?" He asked, smiling a fake smile so fake artificial cheese would say it's fake. 

     "Nope. I'm in a band." I lied, just for a reaction. 

     "Oh so you smoke pot and write nonsense verses all day. Makes since, that's pretty low." By this time, Marabeth had come back in, snickering, holding the hot turkey. I always thought my father and she made a great couple, each seeking to prove their importance to one another. 

     I smiled and said politely "Dad, I'm a journalist. Make fun of my profession I dare you." Challenge flared in my eyes. I glanced at Jason, and he couldn't stop staring at me. 

     "It's a stupid profession. Anything you do is stupid. What a dumb son of mine. I'm so glad I don't have to deal with a failure like you anymore."

     Jason looked as if he was going to be sick. "Jason? Are you okay?" I asked, not even bothering to retaliate to my dad's toxic words. 

     He looked at me gravely and said, "They said you were dead. They told me you died on the street somewhere." He said. "But it's really you. How can this be?" 

     "YOU WHAT?" I yelled at my parents, standing up. "YOU TOLD HIM I WAS DEAD? WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU BASTARDS?" I screamed. 

     I had grabbed my coat and had my hand on the door knob when my father said, "The problem is not with us, it's with you. You're better off dead trust me."

     "Why do you hate me so much? Why am I 'better off dead' huh?" I calmly said, as the fire of anger burned in my eyes. 

     "Because. Your whore mother slept with my brother, thus creating an abomination like you. You ruined the marriage I had, you ruined everything. I hate you so." He said, once looking like he told the truth. 

     For the second time in my life, I walked out that slamming maroon door, intending to never look back. Never again would I go back there. Instead, I had a bone to pick with my mother.