Page 20 of Moth to a Flame

Motthew:

My grades are just fine. Maybe you need to find a lady of your own so you can worry more about her than my grades.

My stomach lurched. Oh, I’d found a lady all right, and she was certainly giving me something to worry about.

On the road—or maybe just in general—dating had felt like a chore. I had to make the meetup. I had to decide where to go. I had to make the first move. It was just more things I had to do, another item on the never-ending checklist, and sometimes…most times…it was easier to just not. Even if it meant me and my hand had spent more nights together than I liked.

Besides, I hadn’t really found someone I was compatible with—sexually especially. They took one look at the piercings and tattoos and expected something I just wasn’t. Maybe that was on me, but I hadn’t gotten them to attract a mate. I’d gotten them because…well, I liked the pain. It gave my mind something to focus on instead of running the list in my head, at least for a little while. I hadn’t gotten them because I wanted to be “Daddy” or whatever these women wanted. I already had to parent enough people in my life.

I’d been the man of the house since I was little. Dad being the Mothman meant he wasn’t around much, too busy lurking on bridges. He’d swoop in occasionally, pat me on the head, and nine months later, I usually had a new baby brother. Mom…well, Mom did her best, but with seven of us, that best barely cut it most days. It was barely enough to hold us together.

So I’d held us together.

I remembered when Mothigan was eight and miserable as his wings came in. When a young mothman molts for the first time, you don’t understand why every part of you hurts, and the itch gets so bad you think about just chopping your wings off to be done with it.

I understood.

I’d been through mine two years before, alone on the bathroom floor at three in the morning because Dad wasn’t around and Mom had been asleep, and I hadn’t wanted to wake her.

I’d helped him how I could. I’d iced the new skin. I’d driven Mom’s car to the closest store—barely able to see over the dashboard—to pick up honey, which had the best nutrients for the molt. They’d had one tiny jar, so I’d also picked up a couple of two-liter bottles of soda. Not great, but he needed the sugar.

I’d done the same for all my brothers.

I’d started doing deliveries as soon as I could legally drive. Deliveries paid well because being out at night in some supernatural parts of the country was dangerous. I was already nocturnal, and the danger never outweighed the money.

Every extra dollar went somewhere. Some to Motthew’s books, some to Motholemew’s doctors and medicines, some to the small account I kept for Mom that she didn’t know about but knew she would need eventually.

My phone buzzed again.

Motthew:

Speaking of you still on that midnight witch route?

Me:

Something like that

Motthew:

Dude it’s like 3am. You ok?

I stared at the ceiling.

Me:

Yeah. Long night. Delivery got weird

Motthew:

Weird how

If you got in an accident on the bike I swear to god

Me:

Not an accident. Sort of an accident. I’m fine. no ER

Motthew: