Page 66 of Mine

“And you ask, you know, ‘What’s wrong? Why are you sad? What’s going on?’ And it’s nothing. They can’t tell you. They can’t articulate it. They’re just teenagers. When Trev gives them money, when we take them to a concert, do anything out of the ordinary for them, they brighten for, like, a second and a half, and then they go right back to reading their manga and posting on their blogs and snarling. Maybe, and I’m just throwing it out there, maybe that was me. It’s just a thought.”

Dr. Armstrong was studying Landry’s face.

“I mean, who died and made it necessary for me to be happy and smiling every hour of every day?”

“Landry,” he said gently, “I understand what you’re saying, but son, you had such inflated highs and terrible lows. You went into a rage once that took your father and I both holding you down and my nurse giving you a sedative to calm you. That is not my imagination.”

“Sure. And maybe I can still flip out a little sometimes, but so can all of you.”

“Landry—”

“I live with him.” He pointed at me. “Day in, day out, I wake up in bed with him in the morning and I go to bed with him at night. I have quirks, I need specific, what?” he asked me. “What would you say?”

“Structure,” I told him. “You need your routine. As long as there’s that, you’re fine.”

He shrugged and smiled at Dr. Armstrong. “I don’t like change. I don’t like people I don’t know around me, or close to me, and I definitely don’t like anyone around Trevan.”

Everyone was back to looking at me.

“I know I’m a little messed up. I know that he does a lot to keep things smooth and calm, and I do stupid things like buy boots.” His voice went out on him.

“It doesn’t matter,” I assured him.

The tears were there suddenly. “I was such a brat.”

“Yeah, so, who cares?” I grinned at him. “Come here.”

He charged back to me, flung himself down into my arms, and buried his face in my shoulder. “I love you.”

“Yes, I know,” I soothed him, rubbing his back, releasing a deep breath and squeezing him tight as he squirmed around in my lap. “Stop fidgeting.”

“I told you I didn’t do drugs.”

“And I believed you.”

“I know you did, but I thought if you knew what a fuckin’ brat I used to be, then you’d know it wasn’t gonna change and then you for sure wouldn’t want me.”

“Oh for crissakes, Lan, I love you no matter what, no matter what stupid-ass shit you do. I’m not going anywhere, and one of these days you’ll stop testing me and you’ll just know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t test you. I just do stupid crap. I know you love me. You’ve shown me, and when you make me do what you want—that’s the best.”

I grunted.

“Remember that time you locked me in the bathroom at Tim’s party because I was dancing on the coffee table and I was gonna strip?”

“I remember.”

“And when I screamed myself hoarse, you used his bungee cords to tie me up and then carried me out over your back?”

I nodded, mortified that he had just related that story, but what could I do?

“Yeah.” He shivered hard. “That was awesome.”

I squinted at him.

“And when we got home you tied me to the bed and—”

“Hello,” I cut him off. “TMI, baby, okay? Seriously?”