My Brother Was Destined To Be My Lover??, Venus Soriano [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

My eyes started to water when I heard the irritating sounds of their laughter. My heart thumped faster and faster as I heard footsteps heading in my direction.


I knew it. She had called him. I was lying on the corridor with my clothes soaked in a pasty, ingratiating liquid that they had spilled all over me when I was on the lawn eating my snack.


I had attempted to run inside immediately towards my locker to clean myself up. But Sarah, the most popular girl in the school and my brother's girlfriend, followed me. She startled me by pulling a meter stick out of nowhere and putting it in my way, which made me lose my balance and fall to the ground once more.


"Aww! Look at the poor little nerd lying on the floor, babe." She stood in front of me as she stood next to Trent, my brother, with her arms wrapped his torso possessively as she looked up at him.


Yes. Trent is my older brother. Probably surprising to you that he isn’t defending me or anything against his girlfriend huh? Well, it’s not surprising to me considering this has been going on for a while now. We used to be really close up until two years ago when we entered this stupid school. This is the place where snobby bitches rule and high school bad boy jocks play girls like a game of football. To say that this place was hell incarnate would be, of course, the understatement of the year. No, scratch that. It would be the understatement of the century.


Who am I, you ask? I am Rachelle Sparks, a fifteen-year-old chubby girl, more commonly know to Sarah as that poor little nerd. In this school, where anorexia is the latest fad and any girl above 130 pounds is considered absolutely unacceptable, I tend to stick out like a sore thumb. I’m not big as to where people are afraid I’ll break a chair if I sit on it, but I’m not thin either. In terms of clothing size, a size fourteen is definitely a big no-no.


I’m sure you are all still reeling from the fact that my brother does nothing to defend me from those who pick on me. So allow me to explain. My brother, Trent, never told all these bitchy snobs that I am his sister. Instead, he decided to make up the all so creative story that I am his cousin, someone that he isn’t close to. They all bought it, therefore excluding and isolating me and including him into their circle. After that, it became very clear that having a nerdy sister like me shamed him. Even though this has been going on for two years now, it still hurts.


From my position on the floor I looked up into Trent’s face. He looked at me with widened eyes in horror, and for a moment, I deluded myself into thinking that maybe he would take pity on me and help me up. I couldn’t have been farther from the truth. His shoulders started trembling, then he as he shook his head he burst into laughter, killing the tiny hope that had dared to bloom inside of me. Okay, so I got it. Who would ever help me anyway? It certainly would not be my brother, Mr. Hot-Shot. With that, they walked away, laughing their snobby asses off.


We used to be really close. I never, in my fifteen years of life, had ever even tried to hide a secret from him. He knows everything about me, and you could even go as far as saying that my brother had been my best-friend. But all of that changed when we moved to this school and he began to be popular. We still ride to school together, but he always stops his car on the last street before we arrive to drop me off and makes me walk the rest of the way.


The reason he does this is so he won’t be seen and associated with me. Ever since we entered this school, he had undergone a big change. It’s almost like his soul was exchanged for one who didn’t recognize me in the hallways, one who joined in laughing when all the other snobs teased and tormented me.


I tried asking what happened, why the sudden change, thousands of times. But I always failed to get a decent reply. Our parents noticed that everything had completely changed about their son and even the way he treated me but they can't do anything about it though they also tried asking him. In short, his new behavior and personality was a huge puzzle, one we couldn’t put together because we didn’t have all of the pieces.


We grew up together as the best of friends, promising that nothing would ever be able to separate us.


Now, we're total strangers to each other.


With a sigh, I got up and opened my locker to get clothes to change into after washing off the oily liquid coating my body from head to toe. I walked to the gym and hurried to the shower rooms, crossing my fingers in hope that they would be deserted. One look around proved that I was completely alone, as the seniors who had practice had just emptied the locker room.


I cleaned and dried myself up then decided to go home, since I had already missed my last class. I always walked on my way home from school. It is during this time that I always imagine the old times I spent with my only brother. Those were the good times. He would sometimes carry me around when I got tired or buy me ice cream on days I wasn’t feeling well. That only made it more difficult to accept that all of those good times and memories are just that: only memories.


After walking dejectedly for almost twenty minutes, I reached home and unlocked the door with my key. I trudged up the stairs then hurried to enter my room. It's Wednesday, and normally my parents would still be at work at this hour. I guess they decided to skip work today, since I managed to catch a glimpse of them downstairs before I came up here. Maybe Mom is still suffering from that headache she had told us about last night.


I opened my door and put my school things on my study table and then I plopped myself on bed. It was as I lay on my bed musing about the day’s events that I heard someone crying. I sat up and walked to the bedroom door to get a better listen. But I soon found that I still couldn’t hear what was being said so I left my room quietly and crept to the top of the stairs, where I had a perfect view of my parents in the living room. My mom was crying on the phone. Why was she crying? Did someone die? Somehow, I had the feeling that wasn’t it. I was about to start going down towards them, but my mom started speaking again. So I stayed rooted to my spot.


"No, no. Please don't take her. We love her,” she pleaded with the person on the other end. I had never seen Mom so sad or as broken as she looked at that moment. My dad was standing off to the side, looking like he wanted to comfort her, but not knowing how. This conversation felt like it something I wasn’t supposed to be privy to, but I just couldn’t make myself go back to my room. A feeling of unease started growing in the pit of my stomach as Mom continued sobbing on the phone.


“She’s like our daughter! She doesn't need you. We are her family now!" And with that, she slammed down the phone, effectively ending the conversation. There was a moment of silence, broken when she resumed crying into her hands.


That was Dad’s cue. He strode over to her and took her into his arms. She clung to him, wetting his shirt with her tears. Gently, Dad rubbed circles on her back in a comforting gesture. They stayed like for a couple of minutes, until Dad pulled away slightly.


"Who was that?" Dad asked anxiously, while wiping away the lingering tears on Mom’s cheeks. She sniffled, then cleared her throat several times to compose herself.


"That was Jennifer Dane. She was Natasha's sister.” She paused, letting that statement sink in. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things, but when she said that, I could have sworn Dad’s face completely blanched. Mom continued talking, “She found out about Rachelle being living with us all these years. She wants to come for her. But I don't want Rachelle to be taken away from us. She’s like our daughter! I love her so much, and if Jennifer takes her away, I don’t know what I’d do!" Mom cried.


I just stood at the top of the stairs in complete confusion. What were they talking about?


"This is what I was afraid of,” Dad finally said. “We may have her adoption papers, we may have taken care of her all of these years, but in the end, Jennifer is her aunt. They are still related by blood.” Dad’s face was downcast, his voice filled with surrender to the inevitable.


"I know James. But, I love Rachelle. That woman, her aunt, told me that she can support Rachelle with anything she needs, as if that was the important matter at stake! Rachelle doesn't even know that she's not our child. If we tell her she’s not really our child, how do you think she’s going to take it? Huh? How am I supposed to explain to my daughter that she’s not really ours?"


By this point, I heard enough. I stormed down the stairs and into the living room, cutting into their conversation. I can tell I startled them, as Mom quickly tried to wipe away her tears and Dad tried to look like everything was fine. But that was a lie. Everything they had ever told me, everything I had ever believed was a lie.


"W-what do you mean I’m not your daughter? I existed for fifteen years without even knowing who my real parents are? Who are you people then?!" I exclaimed. Tears began streaming down my face, and Mom came towards me to envelop me in her embrace, but I pushed her away. She stood in front of me, hurt by my rejection.


"Baby, I’m so sorry. We love you, and I never knew that this day would come. I planned to tell you this but-"


"But what? If you really loved me, you would have told me the truth a long time ago! Just when were you planning to tell me the truth? Huh? Were you going to tell me in a year, five, or ten? Or were you never planning to tell me at all?” I shouted, walking forward as I demanded answers, until I was right in my Mom’s face. “So now I know. My entire existence has been a fucking lie!"


"No, Rachelle! Hear me out. Your parents died two months after your birth. They requested for us to keep you and treat you as our