“Freya is going to cook for us in her apartment. I’ve never been so excited for anything in my entire life.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, softly gripping my arm just above the elbow. The pain that shoots up to my shoulder is subtle, but it’s enough to make my stomach turn. I swallow down the excess saliva in my mouth as Rex asks, “What do you think is going to happen?”
I close my eyes and picture exactly what I want to happen. “I’m finally going to kiss her, and just when I can feel him getting jealous, I’ll watch Julian kiss her.”
“Sounds hot,” he says, keeping me distracted. “Then what?”
“I don’t care,” I slur. “As long as I’m with them.”
Rex stills, and I wait with my eyes clenched shut, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he says, “You really like them, don’t you?”
I nod.
“Good for you, Chopper. Maybe if these two keep you busy enough, you’ll stop getting yourself nearly killed every night.”
I know what Rex is implying. That with someone who really loves me, I’ll stop being so reckless. I’ll plant my feet on the ground and stop running straight toward death.
I wish he was right. I wish I could feel love like that, but I know the moment either of them give me one ounce of true devotion or affection, I’ll have to prove to them, myself, and the universe that I am an unlovable and unworthy lost cause. I won’t quit until they see the truth, that I was born with grief in my veins, made to fill the gaping holes in someone else’s chest. A placeholder. A replacement.
My parents had me just a few short years after the death of my oldest brother, and while I never knew the guy a day in my life, his death still hung over me like a shadow. I was expected to be the joy in replacement of the grief, and that’s just too much fucking pressure on one kid.
Archer, the happy kid.
Archer, the wild kid.
Archer…so much like Preston.
But with all those expectations, I had no space to just be fucking Archer. The sometimes sad, overwhelmed, erratic, scared, and flighty kid.
Well now, I guess…the sad, overwhelmed, erratic, scared, and flightyman.
“Just fucking do it, Chunks,” I grumble sadly, so at least the scorching pain in my shoulder could overpower this pathetic feeling in my chest.
“Just think about that threesome you’re about to have tomorrow night,” he says just before he jerks my arm upward. My shoulder tries to protest, giving him enough resistance that he has to grunt and put his back into it. All the while, blinding white pain makes my vision short-circuit and my stomach roil and clench as an inhuman, animalistic cry of agony slips through my lips.
At the eventual pop, the pain crescendos, and I’m left with a vibrating buzz and heat blazing through my skin. Grabbing the bin Rex set on the floor near me, I retch violently as tears fill my eyes.
“Who’s Chunks now?” he jokes, shoving me playfully on my now appropriately located shoulder.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, my voice echoing in the trash can.
“Get some sleep, Chopper. You can crash on my couch tonight.”
Once my stomach is empty, I set the bin down and lean back against the couch. He shuts off the light as he disappears down the hall. I stare up at the dark ceiling, my skin crusted with salty tears and sweat and blood.
I am such a fucking mess. What the fuck has gotten into me?
Not only did I nearly lose a match tonight, but ever since, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I can’t stand the sound of my own voice in my head.
My phone lights up on the coffee table, so I reach over and pick it up.
It’s a text in the group chat from Freya.
Freya: I can’t sleep. Either of you up?
I quickly type my reply.
Archer: I am.
