I frown, the quiet confirmation hovering in the dark space around us. The kiss was a one-time occurrence, triggered by something in the atmosphere. A mistake never to be replicated.
Despite the fact that this truth is reverberating in my skull, I’m still irritated by the quiet guilt stirring somewhere inside mefor my short replies and unintentional coldness. No matter the situation, I hate behaving like that with anybody.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I say, raising my voice slightly so it fills the tent a little more than I wanted it to. ‘I didn’t mean to be so… snipey, as you put it.’
‘It’s okay, I get it. I have kind of got in your way this weekend.’
That’s an understatement.
‘Well, it’s not too late to give up the stick,’ I say with a smirk in my voice. ‘You know, if you have any regrets.’
I still when I pick up on the unintentional meaning behind my words, the kiss springing to mind again. But he responds without pause.
‘I don’t have any regrets.’ The sleeping bag rustles, and I swear I feel his eyes on me.
What? I pull my sleeping bag closer and dig my face into it. That doesn’t make sense? He must regret it, to an extent. The guy just said he was sorry about it. Pick a side!
I shake the thoughts out of my head. Maybe I’m the only one thinking about the kiss now. Or is there a chance he’s plagued with the memory of it like I am?
‘Really?’ I ask, my voice muffled.
‘Really.’ His voice is firm, it leaves no room for debate.
‘Well, it’s still up for grabs, then,’ I mutter, trying to drive the topic back to the drumstick.
There’s a pause.
‘The drumstick, I mean,’ I add, panicked. But he stays silent.
I shuffle a little, trying and failing to get comfortable. Unfortunately, I’m now very awake.
‘What do you think your brother’s reaction would be if you gave it to him?’ I whisper over my shoulder.
‘I don’t know, honestly. It would just be nice to do something special for him.’ He clears his throat. ‘It’s not really been the best time, recently.’
‘What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. You don’t have to tell me. But you know… it might help. Talking about it.’
The tent is quiet. I feel him shift next to me. Although it isn’t my right to know his business, I felt so safe opening up to him earlier – and a tiny bit of me desperately hopes that he might feel comfortable enough with me to share as well.
He seems to be considering his next words. I don’t dare move a muscle.
‘Prepare yourself,’ he murmurs with a light laugh. ‘It’s pretty sad. Lame, I mean. Whatever you want to call it.’
My head whips over my shoulder toward him. ‘I know it definitely isn’t lame and I don’t even know what it is yet,’ I whisper fiercely.
I hear a rough sigh in the darkness and sit up to peek over my shoulder at him. His hand flies up and flutters at me, motioning at me to lie back down.
‘This might be easier if you don’t look at me.’
‘Elliot.’ Something in my chest cracks open. ‘I’m sorry. You really don’t have to tell me anything, honestly. We can consider this conversation closed.’
‘No, no. It’s fine.’ His voice is low and calm. Tired.
I lie back down next to him, facing the top of the tent. I feel a tiny nudge from the sleeping bag and imagine him nervously tugging at his hair.
‘Alright, well. For starters, I’m not exactly proud of how I’ve dealt with this situation. But to cut a long story short… Max, my younger brother, has struggled with his mental health his whole life. OCD and depression mostly. And I always did my best to support him and look out for him. You know, as much as abrother can anyway. My parents are great, but I always wanted to go above and beyond, you know, to make sure he felt looked after. We used to talk all the time, I’d push for updates and check-ins and everything. I tried to do what I could.’
I hear him swallow and wait for him to continue.
