My Perfect Brother Stole My Face

Summary

My brother and I were born with matching port-wine stains.

Mine is a jagged, dark violet mask that crawls across my right cheek, pulling at the corner of my eye. Growing up, the kids at school called me "The Phantom." My brother, Austin, has his on his calf. In a world of jeans and cargo pants, no one ever knew it was there.

My parents always looked at me with a mixture of pity and exhaustion. "We just don’t have the money for the lasers, Cade," my dad would say, his eyes fixed on the TV to avoid looking at my face. "You’re a man. Looks don't matter as much for you.