Four Brothers and a Bride

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

ASHTON

"I don't need a bodyguard" Ashal scowls at my looming presence.

We're in his home office where he is setting up for a zoom meeting with his staff at the office. "Good, because you couldn't hire me to protect your dumbass anyway. I'm here as your brother." I circle around his chair while he shifts restlessly in his seat.

"Don't you have to be at work? Gris has been calling."

"My personal assistant should be the least of your concerns right now, Ash. I'll handle my business. Just pretend I'm not here and carry on." I fix him with a deep stare. Ashal avoids my eyes and fusses with his setup.

I am not surprised he tried to commit suicide; I am surprised he waited this long. I am genuinely surprised to learn how strong he is. Unlike me, Ashal is actually strong. He doesn't just pretend to be. I pace the room now, trying and failing to quell my temper.

"I can't concentrate if you keep pacing like that. What the fuck are you looking for, Ashton?"

"Signs of confusion, vomiting, respiratory problems and every other post drowning symptom I can think of."

Ashal cocks a brow at me, perplexed by my response. Sweat starts to dew on his face.

Contrary to what it may look like, I am not enjoying any of this. I am deeply hurt and I am afraid for Ashal. I know he looks fine right now but when a man contemplates suicide to the point of actually attempting it, he opens a dangerous door in his head. That door is difficult to shut. For this reason, the chances of repeating the act won't just be a faint smear in memory.

I know because I have tried to take my life a few times in the past even though I chickened out in the end. While Ashal feels burdened by the fact that he can't get people to see him beyond being a guy with a personality disorder, I on the other hand struggle with an identity crisis as I can't get people to see the real me. Ashal wants to be perceived as more than his condition; I want to be perceived as just me and not the million personalities I have played over the years.

When we were kids, it was absolutely fun to switch identities without consequences. We were boys trying to help one of our brothers feel better about himself after his abuse. We didn't have anything to lose and it was fun. At that age, everyone thought it was cute.

However, when you play that type of game for years, you just might lose sight of who you actually are as a person, especially if you didn't discover your unique self before wearing different faces.

My brothers and I have never been the perfect sons father always wanted. After so many years under his tutelage and iron fist, Asher and Ashely managed to conform and become men father can be proud of. I couldn't do that.

Like Ashely who was visibly smaller than us in statue while growing up, I was born with dark hair as opposed to the golden locks of my brothers. Father hated it. He punished Ashely and I for being too different from the rest.

Ashely grew taller and caught up with the rest of us, leaving me at our father's mercy. Mother had to dye my hair from a very young age so I could seamlessly blend in with my brothers. After that problem was fixed, I realized I was dyslexic.

My teenage years were riddled with diverse, consecutive challenges that made it significantly harder for me to find favor in father's eyes. He treated me differently, like he had triplets and not quadruplets. I felt like the odd one in the group for so long. To compensate for my shortcomings, I mastered the art of pretending to be Asher, Ashely or Ashal. Even father couldn't tell when he patted my head and complimented me as Asher. Pretending to be anyone but myself was the only way to connect with father so I stuck with it.

grown up, switching places is riskier. We now run businesses and have women in our lives. Hence, there is need to form some rules. Asher cleverly came up with them. We call them the quad codes. While it's a wise decision, it has left me feeling rather empty as I am stuck with being just myself most of the time. The problem with that is, I don't know who

mirror after washing my hair. The dark-haired stranger staring back at me is

moves

"Care for a cup?"

something stronger to lift

Ash. A million questions and thoughts are glistening in your eyes. Ask

sharp breath and ease a hip onto his desk. "Was it the first time you tried to take your life?" I need

several beats. He takes a

"It's been in my head for years but I never acted

or run away from our problems, we face them head-on." I feel a sting of hypocrisy claw its way up my throat at the irony of giving an advice I didn't completely believe. Lord knows how many times I have tried to ram my car into

desk and jam my hands

maids report that she keeps trashing the gifts I sent her." He runs his hands over his face, trails them through his hair. "I don't know how we can move past this, bro. Every time I think we are making progress in our doomed relationship, classic Ashal strikes again

focus on your therapy. You

install the cameras like

Short pause. "I did."

"And?"

clears his throat. "There was nothing helpful from the feed, just me turning glassy eyed and attacking Olivia after a hapless argument." He grunts in frustration. "I can't get the images off my head. I think I'll take the cameras down. It was hard seeing myself

about that. You should definitely take them out if

it but Ashal has a 'tell' when he is about to lie;

the business district of Danvarr. As chief operating officer, I am advised to be punctual as a leader who leads by example. I'm told it helps to boost company morale, bolster the team spirit, blah blah blah. I completely agree but when your father owns the fucking place and you don't necessarily need the job to survive, you can bend the rules

assistant grabs my things from the back of my car and trots after me towards the bank of elevators. While he babbles my schedule, I plug in headphones and shut my eyes till the elevator dings in front of our office building. The showroom is milling with chattering salesmen and

need

postpone the rest of my

the glasses on his face. My date will be arriving FiFi's soon. I

I watch my date walk in, slicked in a sexy black number and sharp red stilettos. She's early. My fingers tremble on my steering. I can't

your first rodeo. You've had all sorts of women in your bed. This should be

doesn't feel like a cakewalk. True, I have never had to beg for a woman's attention. With a face and body like mine, I attract lots of women even when I don't mean to. It's one of the perks of being

night, I want to introduce the real Ashton Rollins to the world without the

and cross the street. The bell dings when I enter the diner. My date continues

is extended for a handshake. Too formal? Too stiff? I am not sure how dates work. Never