I spoke to her with so much authority on love. What it means and how it feels. Thinking I’d had it all figured out, when in reality, I had no fucking clue what was coming for me. Both of us were falling for the first time way back then, convinced it’d last forever, and for them it will.
Their first love made it out alive, but mine didn’t.
10
VICE
“THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS” - CONAN GRAY
Me
Can we talk about everything tomorrow? I need some time.
I love you.
I send the text,slipping my phone into my pocket as I begin walking back in the direction of August’s house. Leo didn’t press about where I’d spent the night, didn’t bring up the conversation we’d had before I ran away.
I think he was so happy to have me in his home, happy to see me having a conversation with Darby, and to watch my reaction to his baby girl, he didn’t want to ruin the moment. I’m thankful for that. I needed to feel normal, even if just briefly. Maybe that’s the real reason why I ended up at their front door.
Everett’s always been the confrontational type. He believes in laying things out on the table and taking care of them immediately. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, he always speaks his mind, and he makes sure those around him know how he feels.
It’s a strength, but it isn’t what I need right now.
I know I’m disappointing him, I know I’m scaring him, and I know he feels helpless. Being unable to help myself is hard enough without knowing that it’s hurting him too. Call it twin telepathy, or the forced proximity of living in his house, but we’ve been feeding off each other’s pain and sorrow, and I don’t think it’s healthy for either of us.
Somehow, I think Leo sensed that, too, so he gave me the escape I needed today. I love my brothers equally, but I’m more deeply connected to Everett, and I don’t think it’s always a good thing. With Leo, I can express myself without the worry that every emotion I’m experiencing is going to be absorbed and reflected back onto me.
Everett is a caretaker by nature. His purpose is to make everyone else around him feel safe—to make them smile and to help them feel whole. I’m not capable of giving him that right now, and I hate that he feels like he’s failing me because of it, so maybe space is better for us.
I love you too.
He doesn’t respondwith anything else, and I can’t remember the last time I initiated that expression. Sometimes, I don’t want to love anyone at all, because people I love tend to die. My family is exempt from that absence of feeling—love. It’s innate. I have to love them, but sometimes I fear that my love is dangerous. A death sentence. So, I don’t often say the words.
I don’t run back to August’s, feeling entitled to my own breath for the first time in a while. It’s not triumphant, it’s no breakthrough, but for the first time in recent memory, I don’t feel like I’m choking. I’m sober, and I’m breathing.
I stroll, letting the sun beat down on my face and the sea air caress my skin. I don’t like to look at the ocean. I don’t want tosee waves violently break and crash against the shore. It reminds me that life is painfully fucking short.
But I can’t ignore the bone-deep peace that the smell of it brings, the calming rustle of palm leaves in the wind, the sound of birds above my head. Home will never truly be home again, because I don’t think I’ll ever dig my toes into the sand or feel the current against my shins as I sit atop a surfboard. I’ll never again watch the sun sink below the horizon, because waves and sand and the color blue are tainted with death for me now.
I don’t know how my brothers do it—I certainly don’t know how August does it, if he even does. All I know is that I can’t look out at the Pacific and not think of the last breath Zach ever took, the last thought in his head, and if it was of me. Of my shortcomings and my betrayals that—at the time—I felt so secure in. I was confident I wasn’t capable of hurting him, and I’d been cut so thoroughly that, when I finally healed those wounds, I didn’t care if my treatment methods caused him pain.
I thought he was indestructible, until I saw the look on his face when he uttered those final words and slammed the door. Left me standing in my kitchen, in his brother’s T-shirt, with tears streaming down my cheeks.
You are impossible to love.
Sometimes,I consider tattooing that sentence on my forehead so everyone can see my shame.
I’d take back that entire morning and the night before it, the venom I spewed in his direction. But I wouldn’t take back the choice I’d made months prior. Despite all the destruction it caused, I can’t bring myself to regret the love I experienced, and maybe that’s the worst part.
By the time I make it back to August’s house, I’m thoroughly drained, my brain so sunken in a pit of despair I can hardly make sense of my surroundings. I suddenly realize that I have no idea if I should just walk in, or if I need to knock. I don’t even know if he’s home.
If he is home and hears me trying to open the door…that’ll be awkward, so I resolve to rapping my knuckles against the wood instead.
Sure enough, August swings the door open a second later. He’s still dressed casually, though not wearing the same thing he wore earlier. He looks like he’s showered. He looks beautiful, despite the worn and tired expression on his face. Wordlessly, he steps aside to let me in. I kick off my shoes before standing helplessly in the entryway.
August leans against the banister with his arms crossed. “Everett was here. Then he left. Said you didn’t want to see him.”
“I just wanted more space,” I murmur. “Do you think I could stay one more night?”
