Chapter 35: Home Sweet Home

*Tobias*

Looking dejectedly in the mirror, I shudder. The scuffle between my anxieties and my bad mood is ongoing. The migraines aren’t doing anything to improve my disposition.

Coming here was a gamble. I knew that this would put me back in the depressing position of always being compared to Kyle.

He is always the better one, right? More handsome, stronger and obviously much more responsible. I am tired of being known simply as Kyle’s brother; I am a man with my own two legs to stand on. I have my own identity, and this time, I will claim my place just as Tobias Logan, not Kyle’s weaker sibling.

Tobias the drunkard, the one who always needs saving…I am so over that narrative.

The healer I went to see in the city told me that I had to return home. This is the only place I will find the witch who can help me with my predicament, and this Leviathan beast that gnaws relentlessly at my insides. I swear it will burst out of my skin soon.

The witch is beautiful, but I have to find a way to keep her for myself. I’m not naive. I know it will be difficult to pry her away from the clasps of my brother’s claws. I have never won any battle against my brother, but I have no other choice than to keep trying. It is a matter of life or death to get Thelma to fall in love with me and give ME a child.

First, I need a makeover. My rugged look might fly in the brothels and bars, but not here. Not when there is an elegant lady I need to woo. Not when I have more than the gorgeous witch at stake. I have to shave; this much is certain.

I look at the blunt razor lying on the base of the sink. I endured it for a couple of hours, but finally accept that it is no longer fit for the purpose. Unfortunately, there are still an unreasonable number of Kwaad pack members roaming the streets, meaning I would not be running the gauntlet to the corner store for provisions when I need them; I have to tread carefully. I still don’t fit in with the Kwaad Pack.

They all still look at me like a nuisance. Although I plan to change their perspective of me pretty soon, for now, I would rather be as far away from them as possible.

I already concluded that embracing this furrier look is absolutely out of the question, but luckily there is one other option. In my duffle bag is a new cut throat razor.

I bought it on the spur of the moment a while back after speaking with a bartender who said it would give me the closest shave conceivable. Apparently, classy women adored these tidy styles, including the witch Thelma.

I decided to give it a try because of how it was portrayed in television and movies; it couldn't really be that difficult, right?

Turns out that yes, yes it is; it’s damn hard. The feel of the dangerously sharp blade against my own throat is filling me with unwelcome PTSD.

I lower my quivering hand realizing that the shaking is making the task even deadlier. How am I supposed to get this damn beard off my face with a weapon of mass destruction at my fingertips?

The bathroom is still steamy from the hot shower I just took; I can barely see what I’m looking at as I shave. Talk about a recipe for disaster.

With nothing but a towel draped around me, I walk back to my room and dial Kyle’s number. Typical…the very person I don’t need saving me is the one person I have to ask for help from. I hate this, but desperate situations call for desperate actions and I know my brother will heed my call as he always begrudgingly does.

“Hey, bro. Would you by any chance have hair remover cream?”

I can hear him breathing on the other side of the phone.

“Why? Don’t tell me you love smooth legs now.” The mocking tone in his voice is undeniable and irritating.

***

Two hours later, I find myself walking out to the rose garden. The maid who brought the hair remover was precious enough to give me details on the whereabouts of the witch. Of course, it might also be because her eyes had bulged at the sight of my naked hairy muscled chest, as the towel hadn’t covered much of my core which lurked fiercely under the cotton material.

I had taken advantage of her admiration and flirted with her a bit….Well, what can I say, I am a dog and a sucker for beautiful women. She looked lavish in her little maid uniform, reminding me of a certain type of role-playing I wouldn’t mind suggesting to her later. But, for now, I have to focus on the mission at hand: get the witch to fall for me.

I stand and watch Thelma carefully run her finger over a delicate white bud as she wears a short flowery summer dress that matches the blooms all around her. In the light breeze, her black hair flutters as softly as a poet's ink and pen. She gently sighs as she pulls her finger away. Her lovely eyes dart up to meet mine. I guess she must have sensed that I was staring at her. Her eyes are brilliant and delicate at the same time, like the color of early spring’s innocence and purity. There are hints of power in her pupils, though, the type of emerald that only appears as summer draws closer.

I think this type of beauty might just tempt me to live a responsible life.