Fucking Kit is addicting. I already know I'm not going to be able to get enough. But my favorite thing? Touching him. Just being able to fucking touch him again. The feel of any part of him under my hands is my favorite thing.
Nothing in this world has ever grounded me the way he does. I always knew he took comfort from me being there, but I didn't realize just how much I needed it too until I couldn't touch him anymore.
Kit
It's another hot day. If we hadn't just taken a shower, I would be dragging Bowen back down to the lake. But I think if I see him wet one more time today, my brain will completely fry. Then I'll just be a mumbling weirdo that whispers “abs,” and “happy trails” every ten seconds.
Instead, we're sitting on the hammock like a swing, and I'm perched back against his chest. Bowen's fingers have made their way up under my shirt, and he's caressing me in tantalizing sweeps that I'm sure are meant to be calming, but I'm a fucking fiend, apparently.
I'm also sore. And in a fuzzy headspace. Maybe my brain is already fried. He scrambled my brain cells and made me think like a sex-starved man. Ew. God.
“Tell me about the cabin,” I blurt. His fingers stop their movement for a long moment of silence, and I wait for the shutdown I expect to happen. I'm about to tell him never mind, but I relax when the touch starts up again.
“Which cabin?” He mumbles, nuzzling into the side of my head.
“Well…both?” I ask sheepishly. “But…but I meant in general. If you haven't noticed, I didn't do the best job at keeping in touch.” My laugh is dripping in self-depreciation. “It was too hard. My parents called to make sure I was alive. Most times, I sent them pictures of where I was instead of calling back.” I shrug. “I didn't even know they wanted to sell the property.”
“I don't think it was in their plans.” Bowen sighs, splaying his fingers out on my stomach. The porch creaks under his foot as he uses it to sway us back and forth. “I didn't ask if I could come here. I just…” He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I drove here from the hospital. I never left.”
He doesn't have to spell out what day he's talking about. I know, because it was me in the hospital bed. What he's saying makes my ears ring. “You came here?”
It's his turn to laugh, belittling and raw around the edges still. Even after years. “It didn't feel like a choice. I got in my truck and drove. This is where I ended up, and then I refused to leave. Your Dad offered me the property for a laughable amount and a promise a year ago. I accepted.”
“What promise?” I ask, my eyes burning. It's hard not to let guilt seep in and smother me. Not when I can picture Bowen here, alone. Suffering, just like I was. I could have been here for him, had I been stronger. Fought harder. Not been the boy who turned to alcohol to cope.
We ended up on different isolated paths, and it took two years for them to merge again. I place my hand over his and close my eyes. “Tell me.”
“He made me promise not to give up. On myself.” His hold tightens, and he murmurs, “on you,” into my hair. The implication that Bowen could have ever reached a low that deep makes me breathless. I scramble off of him and suck in a deep breath. He's watching me with careful eyes.
I hate that look. I don't want to be looked at like he's waiting for me to bolt again. Like me leaving is inevitable. “Show me,” I say, turning and moving towards the stairs of the porch. “I want you to show me this time.”
I walk into the small cabin with my heart lodged in my throat. Even though I know what to expect, it's still jarring to walk into a space I spent years seeing and have it be completely different.
The space smells like burned wood, cigarette smoke, and Bowen. It's such an intense scent, and I suck it in through my nose, moving into the room. The bunk beds are pushed together, stuck in the far corner. There's a few metal shelving units by the tall work table Bowen had been hunched over earlier. Besides that, there's not much left in here. Just…wood.
Everywhere.
The walls of the cabin themselves are what I saw first earlier, and I'm pulled to them now. Starting right next to the door. My brows pull together, looking at it. The lines are deep and dark. Jagged where the others I saw were more precise. I can still make out the dock, trees, and a massive bird over what would be the lake. It's beautiful in a haunting way.
“Was this your first one?” I ask quietly, looking over to see Bowen tense by the door. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and his jaw is locked. He's not looking at me, but he gives his downturned head a nod.
I graze my fingers over the burned ridges of scene after scene. Each gets more detailed, sharper lines and better skill. The number of hours he had to have spent here. Burning his memories into the walls that saw us grow up.
Brett is everywhere. Smiling, hugging, making silly faces, being alive. Alive and perfect. Bowen captured him perfectly. I sniff, trying to keep the dam up when I stop in front of one of the three of us. I'm smiling, Bowen is looking at me, and Brett is laughing. I can almost hear the belly laugh.
By the time I get to the last burned wall, my heart is in fiery little pieces.
“These are incredible, Bowen. Like pictures.”
He doesn't respond, but he's watching me now through his lashes.
“Can I…look at the rest?” I ask softly. My fingers itch to snatch up one of the pieces I glimpsed earlier. I can see them in my periphery. They're all over the fucking place.
Bowen snorts. “You mean the ones of you?”
“I'm sure they're not all…”
“Every single one,” he says, cutting me off. His gravelly voice makes my stomach swoop. I look away and walk to the nearest one.
