Falling For A Criminal

Falling For A Criminal - Chapter Three*

I had been focusing on the last of my homework when a knock on my bedroom window made me look up in alarm. The first thought that came to me was that Haydn finally accepted that he was caught, but then I remembered he was a guy, and he had an ego. Because of that ego, he wouldn't be in my room confessing any time soon. 'Why I was even thinking about him? He's completely irrelevant!'

I stayed in my chair for another minute or so, waiting for whoever was there to knock again, and sure enough, there was one—even louder than the first one. I honestly didn't think that person had the balls to do it again, but it let me know that I was dealing with an ass hole. Of course, after all of last night's “fun”, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a friend of Haydn's coming to make fun of me or mess with me in some kind of way. In a fit of aggravation, I walked over to the window and opened it; taking a quick peek out to see who was knocking. I half expected to see some random guy from school with his red eyes sitting on my balcony again, but what I got was an even bigger surprise. “Trace? What are you doing here?”

Motioning for me to move, the familiar blonde climbed into my room and quickly threw his jacket on the ground. I noticed he was cold so I quickly grabbed a blanket from the closet and threw it over him. His clothes were wet, along with his shoes, but he could handle it. It wasn't the first time he had came into the house in freezing cold—and wet—clothes and kept them on just to prove he could. 'But that would just be another guy-ego thing. . .'

“You've grown a lot in the four years I've been gone, Love. I must say, I didn't think you had those genes in you.”

I rolled my eyes at his comment.. Yes, I had grown, but that's not something you want your brother to point out—especially after said brother abandoned you for four years without so much as a goodbye or a legit reason for leaving. “Trace, is there any particular reason you had to come in through the window? I mean, yeah, I'm glad to see you, but we have a front door for this.” I crossed my arm and stuck out my hip for affect; from what I could tell, it annoyed him.

He rolled his blue eyes, proving that he was, in fact, annoyed, and quickly kicked off his shoes; revealing a pair of wet socks and cold feet. I was going to comment, but since I hadn't seen him in almost four years, I guess there wasn't anything I could really say that would make a difference. And besides, he was blood; kicking him out would be inhumane. A strong part of me was mad for him just up and leaving, don't get me wrong, but still. Sending a person out into the cold—whether they were family or not—wasn't something I could do. “Do you really think that our overly strict father would have let me in if he saw me? I may be eighteen, but he'd still kick my ass if we gave him the chance.”

'Isn't that the truth...'Giving him a quick once over, I frowned when I noticed a scar running from under his left eye and down to his chin and a slight bruise under the same eye. From what I could tell, it looked like someone had come at him with a weapon—maybe a knife—and they got him pretty good. His once platinum blonde hair was now a sand color and a lot longer. Same with his eyes; they were darker, and held a lot less life in them. He wasn't the same Trace he was four years ago, and I really didn't like the change he had let himself go through. “Where have you been, bro? You seem. . . Different.”

“Just around.” Next off was his shirt, revealing a bruised and beaten torso. A few burn scars surrounded his naval and it caused me to wince. What could have happened to him? I guess he noticed my staring because he smiled a me and took a few steps closer to me, cupping my cheek in the process. “Don't worry about those. I was a reckless kid when I left and got into some trouble, but it's nothing I couldn't handle.”

'If you could handle it, the scars wouldn't be there.' “Well,” I began, pushing his hand away from my face, “what are you doing back? I clearly remember your last words being 'don't look for me; I'd rather die than be caught dead under the same roof as that controlling bitch.'” He had been referring to my mother when he said it. Before he ran away, she had been one of the most out of control, crazy, well, bitches out there. Work was the only thing she cared about and she'd ignore us for months at a time because we were considered 'distractions'. That had caused us to resent each other after a while—my mother and I, I mean. But we've been OK for about a year now; I wonder how my brother's dramatic return is going to change that. They're both known for being a bit over-dramatic.