“I’ll see you later.” I say to Amber. She looks like she wants to argue with me—but nods, kisses my cheek and disappears. I look at my brother. “Alright—where is he?”
Chapter Twenty Seven
July 2020
Aaron
The back alley of the club is lit by one streetlight and there’s random trash littered all over the small street. Benjamin’s leaning against the brick wall—head back, cigarette between his fingers as he takes a drag. He’s humming the tune of some song I don’t know as he watches the stars—glittering and so fucking beautiful. Like he just fell straight out of the sky.
As if sensing me, his head rolls to the right to look directly at me.
“Ah, fuck. He’s found me.” Benjamin says.
“Hey.” I walk toward him but surprisingly he doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.
“He’s everywhere. I thought I’d finally gotten away.” He keeps narrating—speaking to his audience of empty cans and banana peels.
“You were amazing.” I stand in front of where he’s leaning—trying not to look at his pushed-out hips, his stomach, his waist. He grins around the cigarette between his lips.
“And you were a narcissistic liar.”Ouch. I didn’t come to fight him. I just need to get him home.
“Let’s get you home.” Benjamin blows his smoke in my face, free hand shoving his hair off of his forehead.
“No, thanks. I’ll find better company to take home with me.” This fucking prick. He’s doing it on purpose—trying to piss me off.
“Not tonight—Felix asked me to get you home.” He laughs, staring back up at the stars as if I’m not right in front of him.
“He’s so bossy. Always so bossy. Must be an age thing.” His narrations would be funny if they didn’t makeme feel so damn invisible. I watch his throat work when he swallows. As he lights a new cigarette—as his lashes flutter. I keep trying to get a glimpse of his tongue piercing but I’m unsuccessful.
“Must be. Come on.” I reach for his arm, and his eyes snap to mine. I freeze. I see the warning there. I feel the anger—the tension rolling off of his body.
“Touch me and I scream, Aaron Archer.” My chest aches. I stare down at him, not knowing what to say. “If you wanted to have rights to drag me around and tell me what to do then maybe you shouldn’t have been such a dick.”
I’m done with him acting like an angry kitten with his claws out. He’s being a brat and I just want to help him. Ihaveto help him.
“Listen here—” I start, and I’m realizing I fell into his trap. He wants a fight. His eyes light up, a small smile forming on his face as he looks me up and down.
“I’m listening.” Is all he says.
“I’m not going to stand here and fight with you like you’re some middle-schooler. Let’s fucking go. I want to go home tonight too.” This isn’t the kind of fight he’s looking for.
“Go away, Aaron. I won’t leave with you.”
I hate being mean to him—I hate forcing his hand. But he’s really fucked up and I promised my brother I’d get him home. So—I lunge forward, wrapping a hand around the button on his chest. He stands up straight, eyes on my hand, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Let it go, Aaron. I’m serious. Let it go.” I don’t. I let my skin sear into his—I let the button warm in my palm, ignoring the ache in my chest as it grows hotter and hotter.
“Come with me or I’m taking this and leaving alone.” I hear his breath hitch and after a moment he looks up at me—and he’s crying.
“I hate you.” He whispers. “You’d take this from me too?” I can’t help myself—can’t stop.
My free hand reaches up, holds his cheek, feels him leaning into it. He’s covered in gold—all heat and sweat and smoke.When his eyes peer up at mine again, my knees feel weak. He’s so small all of a sudden. Curled up in my palm—nothing more than a pile of tears as he begs me to let him keep hold of his happiness—his comfort.
“Please, Button. Come home.” Hazel eyes are watching mine, wet and sad.
But as soon as I let go of his necklace Benjamin shoves me as hard as he can, forcing me to stumble a few steps back. We stare at each other, panting, trying to figure out how the fuck we got here. How we went from laying on the concrete, bathing under the sun in silence to a random club—hurting each other more and more.
He looks so much like that sixteen-year-old boy—but nothing like him at all.
