The Two Paths Of Jude And Dave

Shadows of the same blood

Chapter One: Shadows of the Same Blood

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the narrow living room, followed by the slurred curse of their father. Jude and Dave froze at the kitchen door, their small hands clutching the frame as they watched the man they both feared and loved in equal measure sway near the table. A half-empty bottle of gin trembled in his hand.

“Can’t a man have peace in his own house?” he barked, eyes bloodshot, voice heavy with frustration that smelled like cheap alcohol.

Their mother, Clara, stood by the stove, her face calm but weary. She didn’t flinch anymore; she had seen this scene play out too many times. Her long black hair hung loosely, streaked with strands of gray far too early for her age. “Please, Michael,” she said softly, “the boys are watching.”

“Then they should learn what life really looks like!” he shouted, slamming his bottle on the table.

Jude, the older twin by seven minutes, felt his jaw tighten. Dave’s fingers gripped his arm, as if begging him not to say anything. But Jude couldn’t help it; he hated seeing his father talk to their mother that way.

“Stop yelling at Mom,” Jude said, stepping into the room. His voice cracked, but his tone carried something bold, something reckless.

Their father turned his bloodshot eyes toward him and chuckled—a deep, mocking sound. “You think you’re a man now, boy?”

Clara quickly stepped between them. “Jude, go to your room. Please.”

But Jude’s pride wouldn’t let him. “You’re always drunk! You never do anything good for us!”

A silence hung heavy in the room, and even the clock seemed to stop ticking. Michael’s expression hardened. He raised his hand, but this time Clara’s grip was firm, her eyes blazing with quiet power. “Enough, Michael. You’ve done enough damage tonight.”

The man lowered his hand, muttering curses, and stumbled toward the couch. Moments later, the sound of his snores filled the house.

Clara turned to Jude and Dave. “Go to bed,” she said softly. Her voice trembled now, not from anger, but from exhaustion.

That night, Jude lay awake staring at the ceiling, his fists clenched under his pillow. “He’s never going to change,” he whispered to Dave, who shared the same worn-out mattress beside him.

Dave turned to him, eyes glistening in the dark. “Maybe… maybe we can.”

Jude didn’t answer. But deep inside, something bitter began to take root.

Years passed, and the twins grew into teenagers. They shared the same face but not the same heart.

Jude was restless, impulsive, always chasing something he couldn’t name. He skipped classes, made friends with the wrong crowd, and carried a smirk that dared the world to challenge him.

Dave, on the other hand, was quieter, thoughtful, often staying behind after school to study or help teachers. Where Jude found thrill in rebellion, Dave found comfort in discipline.

At home, their father hadn’t changed much. He still spent his evenings at the bar, his voice echoing down the street long before he entered the door. Their mother still tried to keep the family together with patience that bordered on sainthood.

But the tension between Jude and his father had grown sharper, like two blades constantly clashing.

One evening, Michael came home earlier than usual. Jude was in the living room, his legs on the table, flipping through a magazine.

“Look at you,” Michael scoffed, tossing his cap onto the couch. “Skipping school again? You think life’s a joke?”

Jude rolled his eyes. “At least I’m not wasting it like you.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You watch your mouth, boy.”

“I’m not a boy. I’m just another man you’re trying to ruin.”

The words cut through the air like glass. Michael lunged forward, grabbing Jude by the collar. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Yeah,” Jude spat, his voice shaking with anger. “At least I’m not a drunk!”

It was Clara who stepped in again, voice trembling but firm. “Michael! Let him go!”

He released Jude, breathing heavily. His hands shook—not from fear, but from something darker. Regret, maybe. Or shame.

Dave watched from the hallway, his heart pounding. He wanted to scream at both of them to stop, but the words never came.

That night, Jude stormed out of the house and didn’t come back until dawn. He smelled like smoke and liquor. His mother wept quietly, while Dave sat beside her, helpless.

The following year brought more cracks into the family’s fragile walls.

Jude dropped out of school, claiming it was pointless. “What’s the use?” he’d said. “Dad never finished either, and he’s still living.”

“Exactly,” Dave replied one evening, frustration clear in his tone. “He’s just living. Barely. You really want that?”

Jude didn’t answer. He just stared at the streetlights outside their window, his expression unreadable.

Meanwhile, Dave poured himself into his studies. He got a part-time job at a grocery store, saving every bit he could for college. Their mother beamed with pride when his acceptance letter arrived—one of the few bright moments in years.

But Jude’s bitterness deepened. Every time he saw Dave smiling with their mother, something inside him twisted. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly—it was guilt, masked by resentment.

He started spending more time with the wrong friends. Nights out turned into mornings lost, and the thrill of rebellion became his only comfort.

One rainy evening, he stumbled home past midnight, soaked and shivering. His mother was waiting by the door. “Jude,” she said softly, “this isn’t who you are.”

“Who am I, then?” he muttered. “Your perfect son like Dave?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “No, Jude. You’re my son too. You just have to stop running from yourself.”

He turned away, anger rising in his chest. “You’re only saying that because you don’t want to admit Dad ruined me.”

She reached out to touch his arm, but he stepped back, shaking his head. “He’s the reason I’m like this,” he said. “It’s all his fault.”

And with that, he disappeared into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

From that night on, Jude carried that belief like a badge of pain—every mistake, every bad choice, every failure he blamed on the man who had failed him first.

Meanwhile, Dave was thriving. College opened a new world for him. He met mentors who believed in him, friends who shared his drive, and for the first time, he saw what life could look like when built on effort and hope rather than anger.

He still called home every week. His mother’s voice was his anchor. But whenever he asked about Jude, her sigh told him more than words ever could.

“Your brother’s… struggling,” she would say softly. “Pray for him.”

Dave did more than pray—he believed. Somewhere deep down, he believed Jude could still find his way back. After all, they were twins—two halves of the same story.

But back home, Jude’s path was darkening.

He lost his job at the mechanic shop after getting into a fight. His friends began to drift away. And one evening, when he caught his reflection in the cracked mirror of his room, he barely recognized himself.

The hollow eyes. The unshaven face. The resentment that had hardened into bitterness.

He punched the mirror, glass shattering into tiny stars. Blood dripped down his knuckles, but he didn’t feel the pain.

“Dad ruined everything,” he whispered to the empty room. “Everything.”

Down the hallway, his father coughed in his sleep.

And Jude, staring at his bleeding hands, felt a twisted comfort in blaming him—because if it was all his father’s fault, then maybe he didn’t have to change.

That night, as the rain poured again, Dave sat in his dorm room reading a message from their mother.

> “Your brother isn’t home again. I’m worried.”

He stared at the words for a long time, heart heavy. Then he whispered to the quiet room:

“Jude… please don’t lose yourself.”

Far away, in the same storm, Jude stumbled through the streets, drenched and broken, the sound of thunder echoing the turmoil inside him.

Two brothers. Two paths. One family torn between love and loss.

And though neither of them knew it yet, their choices in the days to come would determine which of them truly escaped their father’s shadow—and which one would remain trapped in it.