Page 32 of Edge

***

Damian sat on the bed,back propped against the pillows, leafing idly through a magazine.He looked up when Jory entered and smiled warmly. “Feeling better?You don’t look as pale.”

Jory sat on the bed.“Yeah, thanks.” He fiddled with the duvet. “Okay, so I’ll start atthe beginning. It all links together, so I need to tell youeverything.”

Damian reached out andlaid a warm hand on Jory’s. “I’m ready,” he said softly. “Take itslow.”

Jory cleared his rawthroat. It matched the still-open wound in his heart, the one thatbled red whenever he talked about his family—and Roger.

“When I wasfourteen, my little brother, Lark, his real name was Lawrence,passed away from meningitis. He was eleven years old.”

Damian squeezed Jory’shand tightly. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough for all ofyou.”

“My parentsinsisted it was only a stress headache and didn’t need attention. Idisagreed.” Even after all these years, he could still hear thenote of bitterness in his voice. “I’d read up about all Lark’ssymptoms on the internet and I thought it was more serious. Theydidn’t.” He snorted. “You know, the old thing about never Googlinganything about medical symptoms because you could find out you wereabout to die or were already dead.”

Damian made a small soundof acknowledgment.

Jorycontinued. “One day he was off sick with his headache. I went toschool, like normal. My mum was home with him all day and when Igot home, she was asleep on the couch.” He shifted on the bed. “Iremember the TV show that was on. It was one of ourfavourites. Biker Mice fromMars.” He laughed softly. “Lark loved theshow and no matter how sick he was, there was no way he’d ever missit.”

Jory could still recallthe scent of furniture polish in the lounge mixed with the strongsmell of geraniums wafting in from the tubs on the patio. They’dbeen his mother’s favourite flowers. “I went upstairs to his roomto see how he was.” He knew he was squeezing Damian’s hand tighter,but he couldn’t help it. Damian regarded him with sympathy and ameasure of apprehension.

“It was a warmsummer’s day, the sun was shining, and I thought it would be niceto have a picnic out in the garden after watchingBiker Mice.” Jory closedhis eyes as sadness ripped through him. “Lark was huddled under thecovers. I pulled them off him and told him to ‘Wake up, sleepyhead.Time to see what Mobo is up to.’” He smiled wistfully at therecollection. “He was Lark’s favourite with his bionic arm. I wasmore of a Throttle fan. He had this awesome glove and a laserpistol.”

Damian leaned over andbrushed a strand of hair from Jory’s cheek. He closed his eyes atthe touch, revelling in it. But he wasn’t anywhere near finishedwith his tale of woe.

“Lark didn’tmove, even when I gave him a wet willy. I noticed he was cold, hisface pale, and I knew. I knew right then he was dead. My littlebrother had died alone in his bed while my mother sleptdownstairs.” A shudder rippled through Jory’s body. “I rememberscreaming for her to come upstairs and see what she’d done. Whenshe came into the room, all I could do was scream at her.” He fellsilent, recalling the look of pain and grief on his mother’s face.Her anguished weeping as she knelt beside Lark and begged him towake up.

Damian’s eyes were wetand glistening. “God, how dreadful,” he whispered. “I’m so sorryyou had to go through such trauma. I can’t even imagine how youfelt.”

Jory stood and beganpacing around the room. It was the first time he’d ever toldsomeone else this story. He was glad it was Damian.

“We buriedLark two weeks later. The doctor ruled he’d died of a brainherniation caused by the bacteria he was ravaged with. He’d stoodno chance.” His voice tailed off as his voice caught and his chesttightened.

Damian stood up too andenveloped Jory in a tight hug. “C’mere, you. I can’t turn back theclock, but I can be here for you now.”

Jory’s eyes stung as hehugged Damian. “Thanks,” he managed to choke out. “But that’s onlythe start of this sad fucking story. There’s still more to come ifyou still want to hear it?” He drew back and regarded Damian, whoran his fingers down Jory’s cheek.

“Of course Ido.” Damian glanced down at his watch. “However, I think we’reoverdue to check out. It’s ten am and we have to be out of here byten-thirty. We should get sorted first and continue thisconversation with a fresh pot of coffee and a couple of pastries atmy place. What do you say?” As if on cue, his tummygrumbled.

Jory chuckled despitehimself. “You and your stomach. Yeah, let’s do that.” He’d be gladfor a small distraction before he continued. It would give him timeto collect his thoughts on the short trip to Damian’splace.

***

Fortified by a fresh cupof coffee, an especially tasty ham and cheese croissant, andaccompanied by a soft hug and kiss from his lover, Jory sat onDamian’s old, comfortable sofa ready to tell the next part of hisstory.

They were cosied up, andthere was an air of tranquillity about the place, one of comfortand warmth. It was so different from Jory’s residence. Here, hefelt he could move in and be happy for the rest of hisdays.

“So, afterLark’s death, what happened?” Damian asked as he munched on hispastry. Soft golden flakes stuck to his chin and he brushed themaway absently. “I guess you were all devastated.”

Jory nodded. “Thatdoesn’t even begin to describe it. My folks blamed themselves, ofcourse, and me ranting at them after the initial loss didn’t help.”He stared bleakly down at his coffee mug. “I was hurting so I tookit out on them. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t.”

“You were onlyfourteen years old,” Damian reminded him gently. “A teenager who’dlost his little brother. Discovered him dead in bed. That’s enoughto drive anyone off their rocker.”

Jory passed a hand overhis eyes. “Yeah, but if I’d been a little less angry, perhaps whathappened next wouldn’t’ve happened.” He remembered the year thatfollowed.

Filled with painedsilences, the sobs of his mother behind her bedroom door, theimplacable face of his father as he tried to remain steadfast andsupportive for his wife and remaining son. Seeing his dad in hisoutside workshop staring down at his tools for hours at a time, asif the passion that had once filled him to create his sought-afterwoodwork had all but vanished with Lark’s death.

“My folkswithdrew into themselves and for the next year, we were like thisrobot family going through the motions, keeping life as normal aswe could. I acted out a lot at school, causing them even moregrief.” He leaned back against the couch’s worn cushions and closedhis eyes. “It went on and on until one day, my parents changed.They appeared happier, more settled, and while I was glad they’dchanged, I didn’t understand it. That was when we started seeingmore of Roger.”