#fabinelli

Fábio Vieira

They had just submitted their final assignment for the fall semester. Fábio was confident in the work he handed in, but Kai and Martin kept arguing about the rubric as they waited in line to enter the bar. Fábio wished that their anxiety could rub off on him, but his brain preferred to tune them out and focus on the bass-boosted song coming out of the door.

A looming cloud of newfound nihilism had made the end of the semester seem pointless for Fábio. The topics of his studies paled in comparison to the growing realization that he had been deluding himself into thinking he could ever escape the life he was born into. 

Spending more time with Jorge meant being exposed to the family business. Jorge was careful not to bring anyone home, but he still had to answer the phone. Sometimes Fábio had no choice but to eavesdrop on the conversation. At first the words coming out of his brother’s mouth left him appalled, reinforcing his belief that Jorge may truly hold an angelic personality he only reserved for his little brother. 

Now that he had heard Jorge speak one too many times of fatal retaliations like they were items on a grocery list, Fábio found himself feeling numb to the violence around him. It made his own issues feel small and insignificant, and maybe this explained why he was standing in line with two classmates he couldn’t really call friends. Standing in line waiting to enter an institution that mirrored the one that had thrown him in a well so deep, Fábio wasn’t sure what his heart felt like without the aching pressure caging it forevermore.  

And the memory of that particular night wasn’t the only cage Fábio found himself in. No. Other memories, like the visit of his father the week before had shackled him back to a reality he had been fleeing from all of his life. 

They had been sitting in the living room, coffee served on the coffee table Jorge insisted was temporary even though he’d owned it for years. The angular armrest dug into Fábio’s ribs but Fábio preferred it to the option of sitting right next to his father who had sat himself in Fábio’s usual spot. Espresso cups sat untouched between them, the white cream Jorge had poured in them long since collapsed.

Of course, their father had arrived unannounced, under the pretense of missing his two sons dearly. But Fábio knew this was a test, a verification that they were following his demands, and Fábio was naively proud that they had proved his suspicions wrong. 

When his gaze had slid to Fábio for the first time that evening, it felt like he was being assessed for an insurance policy, scanning Fábio for his style, his physique, and his health. 

“You look unwell compared to the last time I saw you,” he said. “I thought university suited you but perhaps I thought wrong.”

Fábio’s lips had thinned into a small line, unsure what the correct response was, so he went with silence.

“Well at least it’s temporary,” their father continued, his tone shifting to one that held optimism, folding his hands over his legs. “You know Fábio, that in our world, appearances matter. I cannot have you looking sickly and unkempt.” His eyes, steely and expectant, set on Jorge, and the blame for Fábio’s poor form had shifted onto him.

Jorge’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “What do you want?”

Their father sighed, the sound carefully calibrated to convey disappointment. “Is it so unreasonable,” he asked, “to want my sons aligned with my vision of things?”

The word “sons” landed strangely. Their father had rarely spoken of them as a unit. 

He turned back to Fábio, voice softening cunningly. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Fábio felt the pressure of the question settle on his chest. He glanced at Jorge, but his brother’s expression was unreadable, and god, Fábio hated his neutral disposition.

“I’m just studying,” Fábio said finally, despising the fragility in his voice. “I don’t-”

Their father smiled, almost indulgent. “Of course. No one is asking you to do anything. Not yet at least.” He paused deliberately, and Fábio recoiled when his father’s hand, scarred with prominent veins and dotted with sun spots, placed itself gently on his knee.

“But families have responsibilities. You can delay them. Pretend they don’t exist. But eventually, you’ll have to face your destiny, Fábio.” He leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “It’s better to accept that early.”

Jorge stood abruptly, chair scraping against the hardwood floor of the living room. “He’s not a fucking contingency plan.”

The smile didn’t falter. “No,” their father agreed. “And don’t go swearing at me over something we all knew was bound to happen. Fábio is an asset to this family Jorge, and you know it.”

Fábio’s stomach dropped and wished the floor beneath him would crumble so he wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of this. But Jorge’s floors were sturdy and up to codes, and Fábio was still seated beside his evil father.

Their father looked almost regretful then, as if he were explaining an unpleasant truth rather than making a threat. “You’re emotional about this because you’re close to him. I respect that. Truly. But these sentiments cannot interfere with the structure of our family business.”

Jorge was quiet, his hands seemingly tied.

Their father rose smoothly and straightened his coat. “We’ll talk again. When you’ve both had time to think though I didn’t think I was bringing up anything new today.”

At the door, as though he hadn’t caused enough damage, as though he hadn’t destroyed any hope of normal future Fábio had been holding onto, their father paused, turning back to Fábio one last time. “Enjoy your studies. They’re a privilege, so don’t mistake them for an escape.”

And just like that, he had gone.