"Why not?"
"You wouldn't understand!" Sylar shouted so loudly that the boom of his voice made the nearby framed pictures of their parents shake fearfully on the walls. Brea stepped back, removing her palm from the door as Sylar angrily flung it open and disappeared inside.
Slowly Brea went back to the sofa, shoulders slumped. She hadn't wanted a huge argument with her brother. She just wanted him to see things from her point of view. Of course she was grateful for everything he'd done for her, she always would be. But that gratitude couldn't replace the gnawing feeling in her stomach that she felt each and every day. She yearned for excitement, for adventure. She yearned to live a life that felt like her own, not one that had been planned out for her.
From inside Sylar's bedroom, loud music started to boom out. Brea knew that in less than an hour he'd come back out, face like thunder before leaving on his motorbike, roaring off into the night to work his dangerous job. Brea disappeared into the cool of the garden, not wanting to be around when her brother resurfaced.
Chapter 5
Brea awoke early the next morning to the shrill squeal of her alarm telling her that it was five AM. She always got up extra early to ensure she was able to get out and about before Sylar returned. The house felt painfully empty as she wandered around fixing herself some cereal for breakfast. She turned on the TV but struggled to engage with the show that was on. She kept thinking about her argument with Sylar, wishing they had left things on better terms before he'd gone out.
The piece of paper with the job advert was still on the coffee table, slightly crumpled. Setting down her empty bowl Brea picked it up and glanced over the information. Her heart sang at the thought of doing a job where she could use her love of art. And if she did well, if she progressed beyond apprentice then perhaps Sylar would be able to give up his dangerous job, then they would both be happy. Brea made her decision, even though her brother wouldn't be happy with it.
It was agonizing as she waited for the hours to pass. But she needed it to be nine o'clock before she could call the number on the ad. She anxiously paced around the small house, running over in her mind what she would say.
When nine o'clock did arrive, Brea had her speech all planned out. She knew exactly what she was going to say, she just had to make the call. Which she did. She shut out all her negative thoughts about Sylar and just focused on how good it would make her feel to get this job. Her heart jumped up into her throat with each passing ring and eventually someone picked up.
"Hi," Brea squeaked, sounding every bit as nervous as she felt. "I'm calling about the ad for a tattoo artist's apprentice."
Chapter 6
It was ten when the roar of Sylar's motorcycle rumbled like thunder in the driveway. Brea was perched on the edge of the sofa. She'd had an hour to prepare herself for what was about to happen, but that still didn't feel long enough. But there was no putting off the inevitable. If she wanted this job as badly as she knew she did, she was going to have to get Sylar on board. Either that or sever all ties with him, which definitely wasn't what she wanted to do as he was the only family she had left.
Sylar stormed through the door, his expression grim.
"Hey," Brea called amicably from the sofa. He paused en route to his bedroom to look at her.
"I know you're tired," she held her hands up apologetically as he frowned at her. "But I need to talk to you. Just ten minutes, I promise."
With a groan, Sylar sauntered over to the sofa and dropped down beside her. He stank of petrol and cigarette smoke, but thankfully boasted no new injuries though the bruise beneath his eye had blackened something awful.
"I know you're mad at me," Brea began quietly.
"No, I'm mad at myself," Sylar interrupted. "You're right, Brea. You're always right. It's one of the things I hate about you," he admitted with a sad smile.
"I was right?" Brea felt confused.
"I have kept you here like a prisoner," Sylar lowered his head shamefully. "I always thought I was doing the right thing by you, keeping you here, keeping you safe. But the troubles that follow me around town, they are my own, not yours. Last night at work, I got to thinking about what Mom and Dad would have said if you'd gone to them with that job idea."
Brea felt herself brighten with hopefulness. Sylar had considered what his parents would have done without her having to prompt him to do so. Perhaps he was about to do the right thing and grant her some freedom. Brea held her breath and waited for him to proceed.
"They'd have been all over it," Sylar said as his voice grew warm with fondness. "They were always so supportive of both of us. Whatever we wanted to do, they urged us to go for it."
"So you are going to let me apply for the job?" Brea blurted excitedly.
"I guess I am," Sylar sighed. "As hard as it is for me to admit, you're an adult now even though I'll always see you as my kid sister. If I don't let you go for this, you'll only resent me for holding you back."
"Since when did you get so wise?" Brea teased.
"I've made mistakes," Sylar admitted grimly. "Too many to count. But I made each one of them thinking about you, thinking about what's best for you. I don't want my keeping you here to be another mistake I make, even if it is with the best intentions at heart. So if you want to go follow this dream of yours … " Sylar gestured sadly towards the front door. "Then go, I won't be the guy to hold you back. Our parents raised me better than that."
"Thank you," Brea threw herself against her brother as she embraced him. This was the Sylar she'd been waiting to see for so long. He finally didn't seem beaten down by his life choices – he seemed kind and smart, just like their father had been.
"But I don't want you traveling to the next town over each day," Sylar declared.
"Well, I'd kind of have to," Brea laughed. "Since that's where the job is."
"Not if you got your own place close by," Sylar stated quietly, folding his hands and lowering his head.
"My own place?" Brea gasped, this was more freedom than she could have ever possibly hoped for. Whatever had happened to Sylar the previous night it had clearly altered his entire mindset and for that she would be eternally grateful.
"Yeah, your own place," Sylar forced a smile. "Give you a chance to spread your wings and get a taste of independence."
"Thank you," Brea was almost rendered speechless. She hugged her brother again, tighter this time.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she gushed, wishing there was some stronger phrase to explain how much gratitude she was feeling towards him.
"I won't let you down," she promised. "And you can come and visit me anytime."
"Oh," Sylar raised his eyebrows at her, "I plan on it. So you best make sure you behave."
Chapter 7
Miles Jun knocked down the kick stand for his motorcycle and killed the engine. He effortlessly withdrew his long legs so that he was no longer straddling the bike. His dark hair had become tussled by the wind and his sun-kissed skin glowed in the late evening light of the setting sun. Readjusting his leather jacket, he pushed a hand back through his hair, kept on his mirrored aviators and strode confidently towards the entrance to the bar. On the back of his jacket was an embroidered design of a skeletal man clutching a scythe with bony fingers while grinning madly at the open road beneath him. The design was a logo. The logo for the Highway Reapers – the motorcycle gang which Miles ran.
As he opened the door to the bar, the hot musky scent from inside engulfed him. He stepped inside, pausing briefly to remove his shades. The bar was relatively quiet at such an early hour. A few leather-clad men were shooting pool, others were sat at tables nursing cold bottles of beer. Miles confidently approached the barman and grinned.
"Is the big man in tonight?" he asked the heavily tattooed man behind the bar. He nodded in response towards a far table, in the back corner of the bar where a gray-haired man with a long beard which draped over his chest like a strange cravat, sat.
"Thanks." Miles smacked his palm against the chipped wood of the bar before turning and approached the gray-haired man. He pulled up a chair beside him without waiting to ask permission.
"You wanted to see me, Uncle Deacon?"