“Yes,” I whispered to my brother.
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
Silence again. Solitude. I loathed it. I loved it.
Contradiction.
“I didn’t either.” My brother’s voice was older but still familiar. I hadn’t seen him in six years.
Six years.
I didn’t know what he looked like anymore.
I only knew his voice.
I couldn’t let myself have any more than that.
“I lit it on fire,” my brother said and I could hear his soft chuckle. I didn’t laugh Perhaps he was stronger than I was. Being able to laugh in the face of all this ugliness.
“I kept it.”
I kept it.
I couldn’t throw it away. What did that make me?
“It doesn’t mean anything, Lay.”
“Yes it does,” I argued softly. The fight was gone. He knew it. I knew it.
“Throw it away.”
“I can’t.”
My brother said nothing else. We sat on the phone, a hush between us. I watched the flickering flame wondering if my life wouldn’t be easier if I just…
“I’ve met someone,” I said quietly.
“Me too,” my brother admitted. I didn’t know anything about Matt’s life. I never asked. He never volunteered any information.
We didn’t have that kind of relationship.
Ours was that of two people using one another to hold onto their last shreds of humanity.
“Will you tell her?” I asked him, though I knew what he’d say. His answer was mine.
“No.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier—?”
“You’re not him,” my brother broke in.
I smiled. He was a fool.
Such a na?ve, sweet fool.
“Liar.”
I watched her. Always watched her. I was bewitched. Entranced.
I was going under.
I had kissed her once.
Held her hand twice.
That was it.
And I was ready.
For everything.
For anything.
She was my lack of reason. My painful heart. She was my inevitable demise.
Because of her, I would lose my soul.
“Where have you been, Elian?” Margie looked upset. I knew why. I hadn’t spoken to her about things between us. I had meant to.
But I had been swept away.
I was out of control, fixated. Focused.
On other things.
“I’ve been around, Marg,” I said tiredly, swiping at the fret board on my workbench. Wood shavings scattered on the floor with each vigorous brush.
“I tried to call you.”
Tate looked up from across the room and smirked. I knew how much he enjoyed being right.
I should never have shat where I ate.
I was an idiot.
I dropped the sandpaper and picked up my pack of cigarettes. I inclined my head towards the rear entrance of the studio. “Come on, let’s go have a smoke.”
Margie brightened a bit. “Okay, let me go grab my lighter.” She hurried back to the front of the shop.
Tate started to get to his feet but I gave him a look. “You can have yours later,” I told him.
“Oh. Gonna let her down all gentle like, huh? Is this about that chick?” Tate whispered.
“Shut up,” I warned just as Margie returned.
We walked outside and I immediately lit up. The smoke billowed out in front of me. It had started to rain. Margie huddled underneath the awning but I stepped out into the downpour, not caring in the slightest that I was soaked in only seconds.
“You’ll get sick, Elian,” Margie scolded.
I ignored her. “We need to talk, Marg. About what happened two weeks ago.”
Had it only been two weeks?
Margie sucked on her cigarette and blew it out in an angry breath. “Don’t you dare tell me it was a mistake.”
“I wouldn’t, Margie. But it’s over. That part of our relationship anyway. I hope we can still be friends.”
I had always been adept at doing this. Ending things.
No hurt feelings.
Soft. Gentle. Tender.
People liked me. I counted on it.
But I was fumbling this. I was going to make it worse.
Because I had changed.
Two weeks.
That was it.