The Other Son

1971.

The mahogany door of Orion Durand’s childhood home creaked shut behind him.

For a few moments it was only him, his footsteps, and the rattle of his suitcase’s wheels before he heard a familiar creak of a front door opening and closing. Then the fast, frantic footfalls of his younger brother as he caught up to him.

Of course he had heard him leave.

Orion ducked his head, held his breath and walked a little faster.

Arcturus caught up to him, blocking his path. He was in his silk pyjamas, and in his rush to exit the house had put on no shoes. “Ori, are you actually leaving?” he asked, eyes wide and panicked. He never called him Ori now, and the sound of the brotherly nickname and the pain in his voice was almost enough to make him go back. 

He looked to the side, unable to meet his brother’s anguished eyes. “I chose to.”

Arcturus flinched. Orion staunches the instinct to comfort him.      

When he spoke, his voice was small—scared. He looked younger than he was, and though he was two years older, Orion felt the pain of abandoning a child. Like if he blinked once more, a four-year-old Archy would be standing before him.

“I don’t want you to go.” Even when he was desperate, vulnerability didn’t come easily—a trait their mother had stifled. The words were pained and he stared at his feet, dark curls falling over his eyes. “Just—just talk to maman! I’ll help you.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You wouldn’t help me; you’re the perfect son and you worship maman. You love her despite all that she has done. So forgive me, but I don’t believe you.” The words were supposed to be calmer than they were—it came out unforgiving, full of blame. “And you don’t need me. We stopped needing each other long ago.”

Why? Why is it only when I’m leaving that you need me again?

Tears rapidly welled in Arcturus’ eyes, but predictably he quickly blinked them away. “Will I ever see you again?”

Orion’s silence was enough of an answer, and before he could catch sight of the emotions in Arcturus’ eyes, he pushed past him and began the arduous path to his own freedom.

Yet sometimes he would glance behind him and see that his shadow looked too alike his brother’s.

***

1961. 

“Ori, Ori!” Archy called. The four-year-old could never get his r’s right, despite how many times Orion had tried to teach him, and so it sounded more like Oh-wee. “I’m coming to find you!”

Orion bit his lip over a laugh, hiding in the closet under the staircase. His baby brother would never find him here! He was too afraid of the dark.

He felt the low ceiling above him vibrate as Archy ran up the stairs, clearly thinking Orion was hiding in the library like last time. He chuckled to himself at the thought. 

A few minutes later, he heard his brother’s young, high-pitched voice once more: “Where are you, Ori?”

Orion opened his mouth but didn’t answer—he wasn’t that silly.

“Ori!” Arcturus called as he stomped down the stairs, and Orion felt dust fall onto his nose; he stifled a sneeze. “Oriii!” Oh-weeeee!

He shook his head, grinning. Didn’t he know that he wouldn’t answer? It would give away his perfect hiding spot! He felt around the closet, his hand landing on the doorknob. Out of pure curiosity he opened it a sliver, just so he could peek out and see where his brother was. He could view the entrance to the kitchen, and if he strained a bit further he could also see the front door and the floating shelves with unlit candles and leather-bound books upon them.

He caught sight of Archy’s black curls as he ran into the kitchen. He spent a while there, no doubt going through each large pantry and cabinet. There was the sound of cutlery clattering.

Orion finally heard his brother exiting the kitchen. He could fully see him now, standing no taller than the staircase’s railing and thoughtfully scratching his mop of hair.

“Hmm.” He looked around, gaze landing on a large storage cupboard to the right of the front door. It was just out of Orion’s vision, though he could see his mother’s new marble vase beside it. It had been dropped off right before his mother left and it hadn’t been moved to the living room yet, so there it sat, waiting to be relocated. Archy grinned widely and began waddling his way past the vase and to the cupboard—now out of Orion’s sight. 

Then…

Creak.

The front door opened. Their mother had returned from her summit meeting. Her black dress rippled as she stepped inside. 

Orion could only stare—wide-eyed, horrified, frozen—as the next few moments unfolded.

His baby brother was on his tippy toes, reaching for the handle to the cupboard. Her sharp eyes caught onto Archy immediately. 

The cupboard opened. But Archy’s stubby arms had exerted too much strength, and it flung directly into the vase.

In what felt like slow motion, the vase fell, fracturing loudly into a thousand pieces.

“ARCTURUS MONTGOMERY!” his mother shrieked, face red in anger. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

His brother jumped in terror and burst into tears immediately. He hadn’t learnt to hide his emotions yet; it would be a few years until he mastered the art of donning an impassive mask. 

Despite his fear, Orion stepped out immediately. “It was my fault, maman!” he said over his brother’s wailing tears. He scrambled for any excuse he could think of. “We were playing hide-and-seek and–”

She wasn’t listening. “Arcturus, stop crying and stand like a man.” Her wedge heels crunched over the shards of glass, and he pulled Archy up by the hair, turning his cries of fright into pain. 

“Let go of him!”

His mother’s hateful glare fell upon him. “You—you’ll clean this up with your bare hands.”

Why me? Why do I get all the punishments? 

He glanced down at the vase’s shards. They were sharp, sure to make him bleed. How was he supposed to touch them? 

But even then he understood. If he didn’t take the punishment, then his brother would—if he hurt, then at least his brother wouldn’t.

Yet he wouldn’t go without a fight. “No!”

The sound of her slap seemed to echo in the foyer. Orion’s knees buckled, and he caught himself on the staircase railing, cheek throbbing in pain. He shut his eyelids over tears—he would not let his mother see him cry.

“In half an hour this will be cleaned,” she ordered before shoving past him and up the stairs.

When Orion regained balance he glanced at his brother, who was no longer crying. Instead, his grey eyes were fixed upon his cheek, where a bruise was no doubt forming.

“Hey, look at me,” Orion said, steadying his voice so it wouldn’t shake.

Archy obeyed.

“I’ll clean this up, alright?” He wiped the tear tracks off his brother’s face. “Go to your room.”

Archy nodded, sniffing. “She hurt you.” Huwt.

Orion smiled. “I’m used to it—it doesn’t even hurt anymore. I’m not afraid of mother.”

***

1966.

Boarding school was the best thing to ever happen to Orion. It was a whirlwind of new senses. Friendship, belonging, and community. Things that he had never truly felt before.

The finest of it all was his best friend John. He, within only two weeks of knowing each other, had already felt like a brother Orion never knew he needed. He finally had somebody to pull pranks, cause mischief, and fool about with. A partner in crime, so to speak.

He knew he should write a letter to his brother, but he was so busy he barely had time to sit

down and write. There were just too many new things to do! Planning and doing mischievous endeavours, studying, classes… And he planned to soak it all up before he had to return home.

Plus, Orion always felt a sense of melancholy after reading Arcturus’ letters; he simply wasn’t in the mood to read about his brother’s accomplishments and just how proud he made their mother. He scoffed at the thought. Matrina Durand`’s younger son, well-groomed and perfect, good at virtually everything. Oh, the older one? Forget about him. He’s tainted.  

“What are you thinking about?” John asked from beside him. They were having dinner in the dining hall and had a whole table to themselves. John was taking advantage of it, spreading his long legs across the bench seat and placing his bowl in his lap.

He shrugged. “Just how this is our third day eating curry. Could the chefs not get any more creative?”

His friend rolled his eyes. “Not all curry is this foul. You should taste my mother’s! It’ll change your life, this is nothing compared to hers.” John loved talking; he could go on for hours about virtually anything, and Orion loved listening—a perfect match. “When she isn’t busy with work, then she’s busy in the kitchen. It’s why she’s so good at cooking. Well, in my opinion at least. And my dad’s. Hey, you should come over this summer holiday! I talk all about you in my letters. My parents would be delighted to see you.”

Orion stopped his expression from slipping. His mother would never let him go. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

John grinned, glasses askew.

He’ll pretend. He’ll pretend like he’s a happy, normal boy. He’ll pretend like he didn’t have to go back to that house. Pretend like he couldn’t constantly hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head.

***

1971.

Orion had failed every exam of the year, and alongside that he was suspended for being the cause of one too many pranks—John was unscathed as Orion had naturally taken the fall. In her fury his mother had thrown a book across the room, shouting in his face.“Orion Durand, I am this close to disowning you. Fix yourself or be gone by tomorrow.” His mother’s eyes had been dark, completely devoid of love. It was unsaid that if he left, she wouldn’t come looking for him.

The words echoed in Orion’s mind, so heavy he couldn’t feel the cut in his cheek from his mother’s downturned ring. 

Disown? 

He couldn’t become Arcturus. He couldn’t mould himself into whatever shape his mother

wanted him to be. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be bred into the perfect son. It was only two years until he was of age, hardly enough time to become what his mother wanted for the family name.

And so the choice was obvious.

With shaking hands, he packed his meagre belongings into a leather suitcase. 

He was vaguely aware that it would be his last time in his wretched childhood room. He tried

to reach within himself, to feel despair or wrath or whatever else seemed fit. Yet he felt nothing. Just a chasm of emptiness, deep in his chest. His movements were mechanical. His expression blank.

Arcturus had done nothing while their mother yelled at him. He had just stood there and listened, his face carefully blank, the twitch in his jaw revealing his hidden fear in a way that only Orion could see. 

He had never taken the blame or the punishments for him. Orion knew better than to expect him to. Still, some bitter, childish part of him had hoped that this time would be different—especially that he was being told to leave.

The perfect statue, wasn’t he? Carved by their mother’s hands. 

He opened the bottom drawer of his bedside table. Beneath his clothes was a collection of letters that John had sent him over the years. He recognised his favourite one immediately, sent during their third year of school. The familiar scrawl instantly filled him with comfort.

Dear Orion,

I’ve just returned from vacation in Paris. I saw the Mona Lisa and a bunch of other famous paintings (I’ve never heard of any of them before, except obviously the Mona Lisa). I couldn’t help thinking about how much you would like them, with how obsessed you are with art and all that. I also learnt a bit of French. Bonjour, un croissant s’il vous plaît? Wow, I feel posh and prestigious like you now. 

Anyway, I’ll tell you all about the trip at school. So so so much happened and it would take hours of writing to say all I want. But I’ve added a bunch of polaroids to this letter for you.

Now that I’m home, I’ve been missing you a lot and thinking of you just as much. (Do I sound obsessed? Is that creepy? Well, whatever, I’ll be as creepy as I want.) And yes, you guessed it right, I’m going to invite you over to my house AGAIN. I hope you’ll be able to come this time. My parents said that you can treat the place like a second home, so you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. 

(Which means that they won’t care or ask if you stay here all summer and for every school holiday after, just saying.)

How’s home? Is your mother… You know. I know you hate it when I talk about it, but I’m just worried about you. Please write back and at least let me know if you’re okay, fellow marauder! 

Love, 

John

Orion grabbed the pile of letters and the clothes atop them. With shaking hands, he placed them into his suitcase. He then went to a loose floorboard, under which were an untouched pile of cash his deceased uncle had left him in his will. He shoved as much as he could into a leather pouch, putting the rest in his suitcase.

He exited his room, shutting the door behind him for one last time. 

Orion made as much noise as possible as he dragged his suitcase down the staircase. He was too ashamed to admit it, but he secretly wished that his mother would hear and would come down to tell him to come back—that she didn’t mean it. 

When he reached the doormat he stood still, the familiar silence of the house settling around him. His mind was blank. His body felt paralysed. He could’ve stayed frozen there for ages if it weren’t for the sound of his brother’s bedroom door opening upstairs.

Orion pushed himself forward.