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.

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

I look into the mirror after washing my hair. The dark-haired stranger staring back at me is exactly that, a stranger. I have never bothered to know him and now I fear nobody will

as he moves

"Care for a cup?"

fear I'll need something stronger to

"Out with it, Ash. A million questions and thoughts

a hip onto his desk. "Was it the first time you tried

long pause makes my heart skip several beats. He takes a shot of coffee

"It's been in my head for years

much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Ashal" My hands reach to squeeze his shoulder. "Don't try it again though. It's like father said, we Rollins don't hide or run away from our problems,

slide off the desk and jam my hands

a word to me or return my calls. The 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

some time. While she heals, focus on your therapy. You both can rise

install the cameras like I

Short pause. "I did."

"And?"

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

about that. You should definitely take them out

my head and possibly thaw out the truth from Ashal's words. He might not know it but Ashal has a 'tell' when he is about to lie; he shrugs and clears his

up. I have a few hours to kill before it so I head to work. Rollins Automobile is a sterling radiance along 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 for your sake.

in headphones and shut my eyes till the elevator dings in front of our office building. The showroom is milling with chattering salesmen and high-worth customers. A small smirk tugs my lips.

conclude the paperwork for certain car purchases and fix appointments with buyers who need more convincing. When I glance at my wristwatch after

of my meetings. Let's

face. My date will be arriving FiFi's soon. I had a roughly forty minutes to

parked down the street from FiFi's, a local diner with pleasant reviews online. I watch my date walk in, slicked in

your first rodeo. You've had all sorts

mine, I attract lots of women even when I don't mean to.

He is casually dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. For one night, I

car and cross the street. The bell dings when I enter the diner. My date continues to pat some more blush onto her

extended for a handshake. Too formal? Too stiff? I am not sure how dates work.