Page 44 of The Art of Drowning

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us that we wouldn’t see each other again so soon. Not that it would be hard. All these years and Callum had practically been in my back yard. But after our explosive reunion at the funeral, putting on the brakes seemed like the sensible thing to do. Even if it sucked.

While we talked, I’d scroll his social media and ask him questions about some of the photos. Callum out with friends. Callum and some guy draped all over him. The kissing selfies were the worst. I hated them.

“Who’s this guy?” I took a screenshot and sent it to him while we chatted.

“That’s Jake.”

“Like… Jake from State Farm?” I choked on a laugh. Maybe I was being unfair, but the guy was in khakis and a polo shirt. The joke practically wrote itself.

“No, like Jake from college. We were on-again off-again for sophomore year. He’s settled down now with a husband and a couple of kids.” Callum took a breath. “Jake and I knew it would never work in the long run, but we were both running from different things.”

Part of me hated Jake on sight because he had Callum. He got time with him that I didn’t. Freedom. Touch. Attention. He got to hold his hand and talk to him and do all the things with him that I missed out on. And part of me was glad that Callum hadn’t been alone. That he’d found people to love him even if it was temporary.

“Are you mad?” Callum’s voice was soft, like he was worried about what the answer would be.

“No, Cal, I’m not mad. Okay, I am. But at Sam. Not you. Never you.” I took a deep breath and raked my hand down my face. Times like this made me rethink the whole pet rock thing because it sure would be nice to have something to curl up next to me. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I didn’t wait. I didn’t… there were other people, Damien.”

I rolled over and sat up, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Callum, of course there were other people. For both of us.” Mostly. Because I still hadn’t told him that I hadn’t been able to bottom since him. He was the only one I let have me like that. The only one I’d let myself be vulnerable for. There’d been toys and my fingers on occasion, but no other person had been inside me. I hadn’t even tried. Hadn’t wanted to.

“Hmmm, nope. I don’t like that.” Callum tried to put some humor into his voice, but it sounded hollow. Like the joke was more the truth than anything he’d spoken so far tonight.

“We don’t have to like it, Callum, but we both have pasts. And they’re not something we can wish away.”

“Do you think he knew that we’d start talking again?” Callum’s change of subject caught me off-guard. Clearly he was done thinking about our respective pasts and how unchangeable they were.

“I think Sam knew exactly what he was doing.” Whenever I thought about Sam, it stoked the fire of rage inside me. “I think Sam was a selfish jackass. I think he manipulated people because he could. I think he would have kept getting away with it, but then he got sick. And most people, when faced with death like that, they want to atone for what they did. They think, like hey, I was pretty lousy to some people in my life. And still he kept manipulating things. Then he died and I don’t think he was particularly sorry about any of it.”

“Do you need him to be?” Callum asked, sounding steadier now.

“I don’t need Sam’s apology because he’ll never earn my forgiveness, if that’s what you’re wondering. I know it sounds harsh.”

“No. No. It… I wish…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He was my brother. And when we were kids, everything was so good, you know. And then it was like he woke up one day and a switch had flipped, and I spent years trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

Callum paused and cleared his throat. I could tell the conversation was starting to wear on his emotions. He was only a couple hours away. I could go to him and hold him through this, instead of lying around at home. Alone.

“I always wanted to fix things between us,” Callum continued. “But I don’t think that’s what he wanted. At all. Ever. Ugh.” He sniffled. “I hate this so much. I’m so pissed at him, but he’s not even here for me to be mad at.”

“I know.” I didn’t know how to tell Callum that I couldn’t mourn Sam. That I’d mourned his friendship years ago and had all but written him off as a person. That I’d gone through life as though he’d actually died when he cut me off. For me, Sam had been dead for years and there was nothing left for me to mourn.

“Can I make a confession?” Callum asked a few minutes later once he’d collected himself.

Our conversations sometimes went like that. They’d get too emotional, too strained, and we’d go quiet for a while. Not willing to end the call, but needing a moment to breathe. So we’d stay on the line and just listen to the other person go through the motions of living until they were ready to talk again.

“You can tell me anything. Always.”

“I don’t miss him. I’m not sure I ever will. He… he hated me, Damien. The way he’d look at me when no one else could see. He hated me down to my bones. How am I supposed to miss that?”

“You’re allowed to have your feelings, Callum. You’re allowed to grieve the brother you had when you were a kid and not be sad about the man who died.”

“It makes me feel like a bad person.”

“It’s not like you killed him. Emotions don’t dictate if you’re a good person or not.”

Callum sniffled again, and I wished I was there to pull him close to me and run my fingers through his hair.

I sat up in bed, realizing that I could be there if I wanted to be. There was nothing keeping me away except for some idea that we’d had about not seeing each other in person again so soon. But that was a dumb idea, and I think it was pretty much born out of us not wanting to feel guilty for having sex right after the funeral.