Page 23 of The Art of Drowning

“From time to time, I have to give his face a refresh, but he’s been with me through a lot of shit. I know… it’s weird.”

“It is weird, but in a good way. I mean… some people are weird and they kill people because they’re weird. But you’re just pet rock weird and not serial killer weird. So it’s fine. I’d rather snuggle with Crudinski than Spike, but you do you, I guess.”

“Crudinski?” Damien pronounced the name slowly and purposely, like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“My cat. His real name is Cobra Bubbles, but I call him Crudinski. Or Monster. Or Bubby. Or approximately fifteen other things. But right now his name is Crudinski.”

“What is it with cat owners having fifteen names for their cats?”

“It’s the secret cat owner law. No one tells you until you get a cat, but it’s mandatory to give them as many ridiculous nicknames as you can.”

“Clearly.” Damien’s laugh this time was genuine, and it was easy for my foolish heart to imagine walking with him like this all the time. But our hands would be linked and I’d get to stop and put my head on his shoulder from time to time. I’d get to hold him and kiss him and…

“Your street hasn’t changed much,” Damien remarked, making me realize that somehow we’d already made it most of the way back to my parents’ house.

“Nothing around here ever does.” Except some things did. Because Sam wasn’t here now. “Do your parents still live here?”

“Nope. They moved overseas not long after I started college.”

“God, they’re such assholes.”

“Family, am I right?”

“Who fucking needs it?” Guilt sliced through me, hot and sharp. “I mean, I love my parents but…” But they’d chosen Sam. Over and over again. They asked me to be polite and nice and swallow down my own hurt to not upset Sam. They let Sam shoot barbs at me every time I was home, and they always had a way to excuse his behavior. I loved my parents, but they never fought for me and sometimes they asked me not to fight for myself either. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but it had made it easier to only come home for the holidays. And then only for Christmas.

We stopped before we reached my driveway. Every bit of alcohol that I drank had worn off on the walk home so there would be no excuse if I gave in to temptation and kissed Damien. His mouth was a siren calling me home. I wondered if he tasted the same. If his kisses would still make my whole body come to life or if there’d be nothing between us after all this time.

Turning to face him, I shoved my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t reach for him. So I couldn’t pull him close. So I couldn’t cling to him the way I burned to. The way I’d dreamed about.

“I should go,” he said. And I hated him for being right.

“I know.” I nodded, waiting for his inevitable departure.

Damien looked like he wanted to say more but decided against it. I didn’t mind. There were already years of unsaid conversations standing between us. Years of joys and sorrows, of victories that we never got to share with each other. So much lost to time. And there was no way to get those years back.

No way at all.

I knew we both felt it. The yearning. The pull tugging at both of us. And the chasm in between.

I stood there and watched Damien start to turn and something in me lurched toward him as something in him made him turn back around. Like two magnets giving in to the force between them we snapped together. Damien’s hands cradled my face. My fingers curled around his wrist. I was cold from head to toe from the walk. Frozen everywhere except where we were touching.

“We shouldn’t,” I said unconvincingly, unwilling to let go of him. My other hand curled around his waist and the heat of his body seeped into my skin. “We shouldn’t,” I said again, tipping my face upward. He was a little taller than me now. But still perfect.

Damien’s lips brushed against mine. Just once. And it was so soft that it broke something in me. This almost kiss. This reminder of what it was like to feel the whole of the universe expanding in my chest.

And then he pulled away. He stared at me for a moment and neither of us said a word, because what could we possibly say right now? Today of all days.

I stood there and watched Damien walk away, and I kept standing there waiting for him to turn around.

He never did.

TWELVE

damien

THEN

So far I’d been able to throw Sam off the scent that I was anything but straight. Anything but desperately in love with his brother. And it was a fucking miracle that I was able to accomplish that. I was used to telling Sam everything. Every little hurt my parents inflicted on me. Every little fear. Every crush and every victory. Sam was my ride or die, but I’d rather have been shot than have him find out I was crushing on his brother. That I liked him so much it was hard to breathe sometimes. That he lived rent free in my head and I secretly loved when Sam was too busy with extracurriculars to hang out with me because sometimes I could still go to his place and wait for him.