Me: Dude.
Me: If you regret it just tell me.
Me: I looked for you tonight. Where are you? It's been four days Kit.
Me: Kit! Fuck. Who are you even staying with? Do you have someone else?
All say delivered. Not read. He doesn't even care enough to read them. Yet here I am, grabbing my keys and getting into my truck.
The most popular bars are definitely busier tonight than they were yesterday when I came out. It's a Saturday night. Most of the people look like they're around our age, freshly legal to be there. Living, eyeing each other, wondering who they may be able to bag that night. They don't look like they have the weight of the world on their shoulders. They look free and thriving, and it makes me want to fucking punch something because there is a boy amongst them somewhere who is dying.
I search, I check the bar. The bathrooms. The alley. I walk down the street to the next bar. I ask the bartender if they've seen him, showing a picture. I check with bouncers. Drive to another bar. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Nothing.
Anxiety is buzzing so loudly in my head when I slam my fridge door closed hours later. I think I manage to chug the beer in a solid twelve seconds. The second one goes down just as easy. I burp, getting a glass from my cupboard and reaching for the full bottle of whiskey on the top shelf. The burn is welcoming, and I barely even wince against it.
My phone sits in front of me. Quiet. Black screen. Free of notifications. I pick it up and toss it full force at the fucking wall. I leave my empty glass where it sits and grab the bottle, drinking straight from it.
There's a picture of Brett and I from our senior year hanging on the fridge. Kit is right between us.
I step closer to it, taking another swig and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“He always was between us, wasn't he? Fucking prick.” I turn to stalk off, but then turn right back around, pointing an accusing finger at the still, smiling face of my twin. “Fuck you for being better than me, Brett. Fuck you for always knowing how to talk to him.” Another drink. A snort. “He may have wanted to ride my cock, bro, but he loved you. Loved you so much, he's killing himself to get back to you. And where will that leave me, huh?”
I hiccup, set the bottle down. When I look back at the photo, the image swims in my vision. A distorted version of his bright smile, the way he's got his arms wrapped around Kit’s shoulders, pulling him in. The way Kit is adoringly exasperated. I remember the way I brushed my hand against his while we stood there.
That's how it went. That's how it goes. I may have had my head shoved so far up my ass I couldn't see what was right in front of me back then. But now my eyes are wide open, and I don't have a clue what to do. Brett is still between us.
He can't even look at me.
I pick the bottle back up and take another swig. Brett would have known what to do. Brett would have had the right words to say.
“He likes you, you know?”
His voice comes out of nowhere, pulling me back from the edge of sleep. I roll over to face his side of the room, even though all I can see is a vague shape in the dark.
“Kit?”
He sighs. “Yeah, man. Kit.”
It was rare that Brett sounded so…reserved.
“I know, dude. I think everyone knows.” I snort, trying to cut the serious thread between us. But Brett doesn't laugh, and the too many beats of silence has me frowning.
“You like him too, right?” he finally asks, and I don't have an explanation for why I stop breathing. “Bowen?”
“What? Dude.” I try to laugh it off again, but it falls flat even to my ears that are currently ringing.
“I've been waiting for you to tell me, but you've been taking too long.” He sighs, and there's a rustling sound like he's rolling over. I can't see him, but I know he's facing me now. Like we're kids again, whispering in the dark so our mom doesn't hear us.
“Brett,what are you talking about?”
“Oh please, Bowen. It's the way you look at him.”
“The way I look at him?”
“Yeah, dude. Like…like he's…gravity, man. He's this vital, constant. The center of it all. The reason, man. You are constantly by him. Touching him. Smiling at him.”
I laugh a real laugh this time. “Dude. Didn’t anyone tell you that drugs are bad?”
