Despite whatever claims he made about us still being friends, it’s another month before I see Ben again, and even that’s an accident. Or a set-up. Or both.
My phone chimes from the cup-holder of Bree’s car. Flying in the face of every rule I had to promise to obey in order to get my driver’s license – barely a week old now – I answer the call, shifting to hold the steering wheel with one hand. “Hello?”
“Hello, Freckles.”
I almost swerve off the road. “James?”
“You know any other dapper Southern gentlemen?” is the reply. I can practically hear the smirk mixed in with his drawl. “Listen, I’m in Lakewood for a little while. Visiting Garen, seducing the townsfolk, that sort of thing. I’d like to see you. What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, driving?” I say. Or, at least, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Whoever’s in the car behind me probably can’t tell that, though. “I’m headed to The Daily Grind to pick up my paycheck.”
There’s a brief, slightly awkward pause, then James says, “Perfect. That’s where I am now. I’ll see you soon.”
The call cuts off before I can protest. I contemplate turning the car around, but I can already see the parking lot. Sighing, I flick my signal on and turn into the lot. There are only a few cars, so I park as close to the door as I can. Maybe this thing won’t take that long. A few steps into the shop, however, I freeze.
James is sitting at one of the tables against the wall; Alex is at his side, and across the table, someone in a hooded sweatshirt is sitting with his back to me. I don’t need him to turn around for me to know it’s Ben, which is probably a good thing, since he doesn’t seem capable of moving right now. James raises a hand and gives a short wave, like there’s any possible way I could miss him. There are only three other people in the entire coffee shop, not counting the two behind the counter. I hold up a finger briefly to signal that he should hang on, then head back into the staff area. Jerry isn’t in his office, but this week’s paychecks are stacked neatly on his desk, under a post-it note that simply reads, “take yours.” I find mine, fold it in half, and stuff it in my pocket. I leave the office to discover that James seems to be scolding Ben, who is sitting up perfectly straight, his entire body stiff. If only to buy myself a minute before I have to go back over, I set about making myself a cappuccino. Miranda, one of the full-timers I only work with on weekends, swats me with one of the hand-towels.
“You know, you’re only supposed to be back here when you’re working,” she says.
“So I’ll work. What can I get you?” I say over her head to the next customer in line.
“Medium latte,” he says, then, glancing at the dessert case, adds, “and one of those lemon scones.”
“Coming right up,” I say, turning to the espresso machine.
Miranda bumps me out of the way with her hip. “It’s your day off, Travis. Shoo.”
“Miri, please let me stay here,” I drop my voice to something barely above a whisper. “See the guy in the sweatshirt, the one who looks like he’s about to die because he’s just that uncomfortable?”
She spares him a brief glance. “Yeah? So?”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” I say, and her eyebrows shoot up. “We broke up about six weeks ago. Haven’t seen each other since. The blonde across the table is Alex, who’s secretly in love with my ex, but currently also secretly sleeping with the dark-haired guy next to him. That guy’s James, the best friend of Garen. As in, the Garen who used to perform here on Friday nights, the Garen who is now in rehab, the Garen whose dad is divorcing my mom right now, the Garen who I used to date. So please just let me stand back here for a minute while I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.”
Miranda just sort of blinks at me for a moment. Finally, she shrugs and finishes making the latte. “You’re going to go back into Jerry’s office and take a big, long drink from that flask he thinks none of us know he keeps in his top drawer. And then you’re going to get your ass back on the other side of this counter, because – teenage angst, or not – you’re still not working today.”
“You have no soul,” I hiss as she shoves me back around the front of the counter. As if forgetting himself, Ben catches my eye and quirks a brow. I give a somewhat spastic shrug. “That uh… that’s Miranda. She works here.”
“Kinda figured that,” Ben says. Am I just imagining the way his voice shakes a little when he speaks?
James gestures to the only remaining chair, the one next to Ben. “Have a seat.”
I drop wordlessly onto the chair and take a too-long sip of my cappuccino, burning my mouth just so I don’t have to say anything yet. James, however, seems willing enough to speak. “Garen tells me you haven’t been in to see him.”
I practically spit out the mouthful of cappuccino. “Did he neglect to mention that he said he’d quit rehab if I so much as stepped into the building?”
“No, he mentioned it,” James says with a shrug. “I’m just surprised you listened. I figured you’d show up anyway.”
“I have no reason to,” I say flatly.
“He’s your friend.”
“He held a gun to my head. He’s not my friend.”
Next to me, Ben jumps, accidentally kicking the table hard enough to upend Alex’s mostly empty coffee cup. He immediately begins sopping it up with paper napkins clutched in shaking hands. “Sorry. Sorry, he told me he did that. I knew. But it was weird hearing you say it, too.”
Panic tears a hole in my chest. When were they together? Did Ben go to see him in LRC? Am I the only one who hasn’t?
“Alright, he’s not your friend. He’s still your stepbrother,” Alex says slowly.
“Bill filed for divorce a month ago, so, no, he’s not going to be my stepbrother for much longer,” I say, trying to convince myself that I’m imagining the way Ben’s hands ball up into white-knuckled fists. “I have nothing to say to him, and he’s got nothing to say to me.”
“They took him off suicide watch after about a week, but it took until about two weeks ago for the withdrawal symptoms to subside,” James says, as if I haven’t even spoken. “Every day, he’s in individual therapy for an hour, group therapy for two. He even has an initial diagnosis.”
“What, ‘dickhead’ is an official diagnosis now?” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“His doctors think he has borderline personality disorder,” Ben says quietly, and I can’t help but turn to him, feeling myself boiling over.
“So, you’ve been going to visit him, too? Best fucking friends again, is that how it is?”
“Actually, we’ve only gone to see him once, last Friday, you monumental douchebag,” Alex says in a tone of extremely forced calm. “So, do you want to maybe shut the fuck up so we can tell you what’s going on with him?”
“I don’t even know what borderline person—”
“It’s a personality disorder,” Ben says, in that same horrible quiet voice, “and it apparently just makes him unstable as fuck. He says that they keep telling him it’s why he can sometimes be so self-destructive or temperamental or manipulative, why he goes from loving someone to thinking they’re shit in a matter of minutes. And why he’s so, you know, reckless, I guess, with drugs and sex and stuff.”
“So, is it… I don’t know. ‘Borderline personality’ kind of sounds like ‘dissociative identity.’ Does this mean he’s actually got like, multiple personalities?” I ask uncertainly.
Alex shakes his head. “He said it’s not like that at all. He’s always Garen, all the time, just sometimes he’s really screwed up. Apparently, it’s also the reason why his relationships tend to be—”
“Dude, I know exactly how his relationships tend to be. You really don’t have to explain it to me,” I say. Garen went from proposing to breaking up with me in a matter of days. He came back to Lakewood for me, then spent the whole next night telling me he had never loved me to begin with. He dated Dave twice. “Are they going to medicate him?”
Therapy, hospitalization, medication. These are the monsters I’m most familiar with.
“No. He’s a drug addict, so I really don’t think anybody’s too eager to give him pills right now. If they do put him on something, it might be a low dose of antipsychotics or mood stabilizers, but right now, he’s only focusing on therapy,” Ben says.
Alex shrugs. “He says the LRC hosts a lot of outpatient meetings, too. His doctor says that, once he gets out, he should start going to Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous and stuff. It’ll help him stay sober, and I guess…”
He trails off awkwardly, his eyes fixed on his owns hands. After a moment, I clear my throat so he’ll look at me. I prompt, “You guess what?”
“I guess it’s just important that he has a support system in place,” he replies in a strange monotone that sounds a lot more like Ben than usual. “After everything that’s happened, nobody expects you to join that support system, but it might be nice if you were willing to give him another shot.”
“I’ve given him enough shots, Alex,” I say. “Every time I give him a shot, he finds some way to use it to ruin my life. Or the life of somebody I love.”
Next to me, Ben makes a small noise in his throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You’re not the only person Garen hurt, Travis,” James says, his voice softening a little. “I love that man more than anyone does, except maybe his own parents. He’s like my brother. A real brother, not like how everyone wanted to force you two to be brothers. Garen and I are best friends, for life, and if you don’t understand that it kills me to see him like this, you’re not as smart as I think you are. If I can forgive him for doing this to himself, anyone can forgive him for anything else.”
“Just think about it,” Ben says abruptly, standing suddenly and straightening his coat. “Look, I’ve got to get going. My dad’s probably going to want me back at the bookstore sometime this evening, and I have some shit to do before that.”
“O-Okay,” I say, actively winning the award for world’s biggest moron, “it was nice seeing you again.” Oh my god, why are these words coming out of my mouth?
Ben rotates slowly to face me, and when I peek up at him, he looks like he’s in pain. “I still have some of your stuff at my house. Your jacket. A couple books.”
Like I’d even be able to stomach taking back anything that’s been in his house for this long. Like I could survive wearing a jacket that smells like him now. “Just keep it, I don’t care.”
“I do,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “Just come home with me, alright?”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely. God, when he says it like that…
I stand and have followed him halfway across the coffee shop when Alex says tightly, “Ben, please don’t do this.”
“Shut up, Alex,” Ben retorts. I glance back to see Alex staring at me, looking a little shell-shocked. Once we have passed into the parking lot and the door has swung shut behind us, I can see him round on James, snapping, if not yelling at him.
“What’s Alex’s deal?” I ask, as if it hadn’t even occurred to me that he’s just getting jealous once again. The thing is, he’s getting jealous of something that doesn’t exist, that might not even happen.
Ben lets out a hard, frustrated sigh and glances at the keys in my hand. “Just Al being Al. Since you’ve got your car with you, wanna just follow me back to my house? It’ll be easier that way.”
I am endlessly grateful for the drive back to Ben’s, even if it only takes a few minutes. It’s enough to let me clear my head, get me to calm myself down. Breathe, Travis. You’re just getting your stuff back. You’re finalizing the break-up, like you should have done a month ago. This will be good for both of you. Closure.
For once, the driveway isn’t empty. Ben’s mom’s car is parked in front of the garage, and Ben pulls up behind it. I park on the other side of the driveway, taking care to leave enough room in case Ben’s dad comes home before I leave. By the time I cut the engine and have gotten out of the car, Ben is already standing in front of me, blinking down at the asphalt.
“Your stuff’s in my room.”
“Cool,” I say, like an idiot. “Do you want me to come in? O-Or I could wait right here. Or I could, you know, I could go in, but I could stay in the rec room, instead of going into your room. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or make things weird. So, I can—”
Moving so suddenly that I can’t help but flinch, Ben curls a hand around the back of my neck and yanks me down to his height, whispering, “Jesus Christ, shut up.”
I’m not sure which one of us kisses the other first – probably me – but in half a second, I am spinning him around so that he is pinned to the side of my sister’s car, the better to devour every second of this kiss. Once he has slipped his hand up a few inches to knot it in my hair, once my hands have made their way down into his back pockets to grip his ass… everything goes to hell. It’s impossible for me to hide how much this just hurts, how much I need this. When his lips brush against the hollow of my throat, I can’t stop myself from whispering, “I love you. Ben, I love you.”
“Miss you so much,” he murmurs, and I shudder, pressing my hips against his and ducking to catch his mouth with mine once more. I make a slightly strangled noise as he slips a hand between us to pop open the button on my jeans. He shaky breath ghosts over my lips, and I can feel his hardness against my leg, but when I actually stop to look at his face, his eyes are empty. Completely, disturbingly empty. I make an attempt to shrug away from him and say, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he mutters, leaning back in. “Just kiss me, Travis.”
That’s when the warning sirens start to blare inside my skull. I slide my hands back out of his pockets and take a few steps back, leaving him slumped there against the side of the car. He reaches for my wrist, tugging on it just a little too insistently. “Trav, just come back.”
“Stop,” I order. “Just let go of me for a minute. I-I need a few seconds to just think, okay?”
When Ben speaks again, his voice is rougher. “Think about what? I’m really not understanding the problem here. We both want this to happen again, we’re both consenting adults. There’s no issue here.”
The issue is that this is not him. This is not the Ben McCutcheon I fell so hard for. This is the drawling, bitter guy I met in January, the one who stuck his hand down my pants while telling me that my boyfriend used to fuck him. This is all wrong.
Shifting slowly so that I’m leaning next to him, rather than standing in front of him, and flinching away from his hand when he reaches for me again, I say “You broke up with me.”
“I’m aware,” Ben says, almost coldly. “I was sort of there when it happened.”
“I know, but… what I mean is that nothing has changed. You really, really broke up with me. I used to think that the only thing that mattered in a relationship was whether or not people loved each other, but that... that's not true, is it? Because you love me, I can feel it when you kiss me. You're still as in love with me as I am with you. But it doesn't matter, because you don't want to be with me anymore. Just like how it doesn't matter that Garen still loves me and I still love him – and I tried not to, Ben, I swear I did. But that's just, that's all completely irrelevant, isn't it? Because I don't want to be with him, and he isn't capable of being with me. See, when it comes down to it, love doesn't mean anything unless you want to be with someone in the shitty, boring, pathetic day-to-day. And obviously we love each other enough to do this, whatever it is you want me to come to your room and do with you. I love you enough to make love to you, right inside that house, and you love me enough to want me to. But when it's over, I'll go home and we'll both just be alone again. You know that. You're not stupid. So tell me why you really want me here. Tell me what I'm doing here, when we both know I won't be here in the morning.”
“You could be,” Ben whispers, slipping an arm around my neck, “I wouldn’t stop you from—”
“Cut the shit, Ben. Why do you suddenly want to have sex with me again?” I demand.
He lets out a frustrated sigh that ends up sounding more like a growl than anything else. “Because it’s the only way I can convince you to go see Garen!”
Of all the excuses I was expecting, that’s at the bottom of the list. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, whether you want to believe it or not, Garen’s getting better. He really is. He seems to be figuring his shit out, and I think he honestly wants to stay clean, but if he gets out of the LRC and has to face you, he’s just going to freak out and relapse. He can’t handle it. S-So, if you went to see him while he was still there, if you visited him so he could get his setback out of his system now, he might be okay again.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say flatly.
“It’s true,” Ben argues. “But you’re stubborn as fuck, and I knew you wouldn’t agree to see him if I asked you when your guard was up. I was hoping that if we had sex, you’d be… I don’t know.”
“No, tell me,” I say sharply. “If we had sex, I’d be what?”
“You’re not like the rest of us, okay, Travis?” Ben says finally. “I mean that in the best way possible, but the rest of us can fuck somebody and not have it mean anything. I did that with Ethan and Garen. Garen and James have done that with practically everyone. But you… were actually in love with Garen when you slept with him. You stopped Alex from blowing you because you didn’t have feelings for him. And—”
“—and I was in love with you when I slept with you,” I finish. “I still am.”
Ben flinches. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” I say. “I’m done with all this ‘hide what’s really going on’ bullshit. I’m still in love with you, and you know it, which is probably why you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. I’m still in love with you, which is why I’m going to agree to visit Garen in rehab. Even though this was a shitty, stupid fucking trick, and even though I kind of hate you for doing this to me, for trying to manipulate me, I’m going to do it.”
“Thank you,” Ben says quietly. I just sort of shrug. After a moment, he reaches for me again. I’m not sure if he’s trying to say ‘thank you’ without actually having to get the words out, or if he just assumes he should attempt to follow through with his offer of sex in exchange for a promise to visit Garen, but either way, he kisses me again, and I am, of course, too stupid and weak to resist it.
From about a dozen feet away, someone clears their throat, and Ben and I spring apart. When I glance up, his mom is standing at the edge of the driveway, her dark brown hair knotted at the nape of her neck and her jeans covered in dirt. Her gardening glove-adorned hands are planted on her hips, and she is staring at us with a slightly accusatory expression. It’s not like this is the first time she’s caught us making out, so I can only assume that the look on her face is because she knows that we’re supposed to be broken up. I cough. “Hi, Mrs. McCutcheon.”
“Hello, Travis. I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Hillary. Though, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”
Ben shrugs. “I told him he should swing by to pick up some of his stuff. He—”
“It’s so hot out,” his mom interrupts. “Why don’t we all go inside for some iced tea?”
“Mom, no, that’s so awkward,” Ben protests, but Hillary silence him with a look, and the three of us make our way up to the front door. I know enough to toe off my shoes just inside the front hall, and I try not to notice the slightly pained look on Ben’s face as he watches me follow his mom to the kitchen.
Hillary retrieves a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, fills three glasses, and says, “Benji, didn’t you say you were going to get Travis’ things out of your room?”
Ben just blinks very hard for a few minutes, like he’s trying to have a conversation with her through use of his eyelids. She simply raises her eyebrows in response. Ben widens his eyes a little, but when there no response, he scowls and heads for the staircase that leads down to the rec room. I accept the glass that Hillary pushes towards me, but before I can thank her, she begins speaking again.
“I like you, Travis. Please don’t assume that what I’m about to say is any indication that I don’t. You’ve made my son so happy, and I was thrilled that he finally found someone who could do that for him, but… it’s very rarely a good idea to get back together with someone who you’ve broken up with once. I don’t want Ben to get hurt, and if—”
“We’re not getting back together,” I say softly. “He was just… I think it was more of a kiss goodbye than anything else.”
“I’d be more inclined to believe you, if he hadn’t given up Juilliard for you.”
I freeze, absolutely certain that I’ve heard her wrong. The tension in her jaw, though, the slightly critical glint in her eyes leads me to believe that no, I’ve heard her exactly right. “What do you mean?”
Hillary’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He turned down Juilliard? But he, that was his first choice!”
“They sent his acceptance letter in March, and he wrote to them in early May to let them know he wouldn’t be attending. Eight percent of all applicants get accepted, and he turned them down,” she says, shaking her head slightly, as if she still can’t convince herself that this makes sense even after almost three months.
“Where’s he—”
“Yale,” Ben says, reappearing at the top of the basement stairs and making Hillary and I both jump. “And, you know, most moms would be pissing themselves if their kid decided to go to Yale.”
“I’m proud of you, Ben, you know that. I would be proud of you if you went to Yale, I’d be proud of you if you went to community college, I’d be proud of you even if you never went to any college. It’s not about that. I’m just worried that you’re giving up your dreams so that you can stay closer to your boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now, I suppose.”
My face bursts into flame, and Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m not staying in Connecticut because it’ll keep me close to Travis. I’m staying because music isn’t my dream, it’s just something I’m good at. And the fact that I could go to Juilliard doesn’t mean I should.”
“I just think the timing’s a little suspicious!” Hillary says sharply. “Do you think I didn’t notice that this decision came right after Garen returned to town? I don’t want you to give up goddamn Juilliard just because you’re afraid you might lose Travis to another boy.”
“It wasn’t because Garen came back!” Ben explodes. “It was because he ended up in the hospital.”
And suddenly, I’m more lost than ever. Thankfully, this seems to be news to Hillary as well, because she plants her hands on her hips once more and demands, “What does that mean?”
“Mom, you have no idea how heartbroken he looked when he couldn’t play guitar because his fingers were broken. Not being able to keep up with his music was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Worse than getting kicked out, or finding out that his ex-boyfriend was dating his best Lakewood friend. It was killing him not to be able to play guitar, and I don’t feel like that. If I broke my fingers, I wouldn’t be practically killing myself if I couldn’t play piano for a few weeks. I mean, I love piano. And I love guitar, and the drums, and—okay, so, I don’t really give a shit about the clarinet, but the point is, I love music, and I know I’m talented, but I won’t die without it. And I don’t think I should go to Juilliard just for the sake of going to Juilliard, especially when there has to be someone out there who cares about music the way Garen cares about music. It would be wrong for me to go to that school if I don’t have a passion for music.”
I clear my throat. “Look, obviously I don’t really have a say in this whole thing, but I just…” God, this is so awkward. Why can’t his mom just leave the room? I take a few small steps towards Ben and drop my voice a little. His mom can definitely still hear, but at least this gives me some semblance of privacy. “I’m going to care about you whether you go to school in New Haven, or New York, or fucking New South Wales, Australia. If my drug-addicted ex-boyfriend, my homophobic mom, and my own crippling insecurities and psychological issues can’t stop me from loving you, I really doubt that a two hour train ride will.”
Ben can’t help but crack a small smile at that; he reaches out and brushes his palm over my cheek, murmuring, “That’s sweet of you to say, Travis, but it’s not about that. I really did make this decision for me, for what I think will make me happiest.”
“That’s all your father and I want for you, Ben,” Hillary says. “We want you to be happy.”
As much as I wish I didn’t feel this way, the idea of Ben being happy elsewhere, with someone other than me, conjures a dull ache under my ribs. I clear my throat again, if only to cover the sound I’m sure my heart is making as it cracks a little more, and take the stack of items from Ben’s other hand. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” Ben says quickly.
“No, I probably do,” I say. It’s obvious now that his excuse of needing to work at his dad’s shop later was a lie, but I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I don’t get out of here soon. “Listen, I’ll do what you asked me to do. And if you want, I can call you sometime this weekend and—”
“Tomorrow. Go tomorrow—you just have to be there by nine in the morning to sign in, and then they’ll walk you through everything—and then call me when you get home tomorrow night. I want to know how it goes,” Ben says.
I nod, say goodbye to Hillary, and head for the front door. I don’t realize Ben is following me until I’m actually opening the door to Bree’s car and dumping the stack of returned possessions into the passenger’s seat.
“Travis, wait,” he says.
“What?” I groan. “Please, Ben, just let me go back to me house to wallow in my misery and try to prepare myself for the unabashed horrors I will be experiencing tomorrow.”
“I know, I know, you can leave in a minute. I just wanted… I want to thank you for agreeing to see Garen. You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” he says.
I sit down heavily in the driver’s seat and start up the engine, shutting the door but rolling down the window to say, “Yeah, I’m just fucking fantastic.”
“You are,” Ben says, and he leans through the window to kiss me, a brief touch of lips and then nothing. When he pulls away, I want to lean right out the window and pull him back in, just like he did to me the first time I told him I loved him. But everything is different now – not necessarily that much worse, but sure as hell not any better. Instead, we share a sad smile, and he heads back up to the house while I shove everything off the passenger’s seat, onto the floor, and back carefully out of the driveway.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
My phone chimes from the cup-holder of Bree’s car. Flying in the face of every rule I had to promise to obey in order to get my driver’s license – barely a week old now – I answer the call, shifting to hold the steering wheel with one hand. “Hello?”
“Hello, Freckles.”
I almost swerve off the road. “James?”
“You know any other dapper Southern gentlemen?” is the reply. I can practically hear the smirk mixed in with his drawl. “Listen, I’m in Lakewood for a little while. Visiting Garen, seducing the townsfolk, that sort of thing. I’d like to see you. What are you doing right now?”
“Uh, driving?” I say. Or, at least, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Whoever’s in the car behind me probably can’t tell that, though. “I’m headed to The Daily Grind to pick up my paycheck.”
There’s a brief, slightly awkward pause, then James says, “Perfect. That’s where I am now. I’ll see you soon.”
The call cuts off before I can protest. I contemplate turning the car around, but I can already see the parking lot. Sighing, I flick my signal on and turn into the lot. There are only a few cars, so I park as close to the door as I can. Maybe this thing won’t take that long. A few steps into the shop, however, I freeze.
James is sitting at one of the tables against the wall; Alex is at his side, and across the table, someone in a hooded sweatshirt is sitting with his back to me. I don’t need him to turn around for me to know it’s Ben, which is probably a good thing, since he doesn’t seem capable of moving right now. James raises a hand and gives a short wave, like there’s any possible way I could miss him. There are only three other people in the entire coffee shop, not counting the two behind the counter. I hold up a finger briefly to signal that he should hang on, then head back into the staff area. Jerry isn’t in his office, but this week’s paychecks are stacked neatly on his desk, under a post-it note that simply reads, “take yours.” I find mine, fold it in half, and stuff it in my pocket. I leave the office to discover that James seems to be scolding Ben, who is sitting up perfectly straight, his entire body stiff. If only to buy myself a minute before I have to go back over, I set about making myself a cappuccino. Miranda, one of the full-timers I only work with on weekends, swats me with one of the hand-towels.
“You know, you’re only supposed to be back here when you’re working,” she says.
“So I’ll work. What can I get you?” I say over her head to the next customer in line.
“Medium latte,” he says, then, glancing at the dessert case, adds, “and one of those lemon scones.”
“Coming right up,” I say, turning to the espresso machine.
Miranda bumps me out of the way with her hip. “It’s your day off, Travis. Shoo.”
“Miri, please let me stay here,” I drop my voice to something barely above a whisper. “See the guy in the sweatshirt, the one who looks like he’s about to die because he’s just that uncomfortable?”
She spares him a brief glance. “Yeah? So?”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” I say, and her eyebrows shoot up. “We broke up about six weeks ago. Haven’t seen each other since. The blonde across the table is Alex, who’s secretly in love with my ex, but currently also secretly sleeping with the dark-haired guy next to him. That guy’s James, the best friend of Garen. As in, the Garen who used to perform here on Friday nights, the Garen who is now in rehab, the Garen whose dad is divorcing my mom right now, the Garen who I used to date. So please just let me stand back here for a minute while I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.”
Miranda just sort of blinks at me for a moment. Finally, she shrugs and finishes making the latte. “You’re going to go back into Jerry’s office and take a big, long drink from that flask he thinks none of us know he keeps in his top drawer. And then you’re going to get your ass back on the other side of this counter, because – teenage angst, or not – you’re still not working today.”
“You have no soul,” I hiss as she shoves me back around the front of the counter. As if forgetting himself, Ben catches my eye and quirks a brow. I give a somewhat spastic shrug. “That uh… that’s Miranda. She works here.”
“Kinda figured that,” Ben says. Am I just imagining the way his voice shakes a little when he speaks?
James gestures to the only remaining chair, the one next to Ben. “Have a seat.”
I drop wordlessly onto the chair and take a too-long sip of my cappuccino, burning my mouth just so I don’t have to say anything yet. James, however, seems willing enough to speak. “Garen tells me you haven’t been in to see him.”
I practically spit out the mouthful of cappuccino. “Did he neglect to mention that he said he’d quit rehab if I so much as stepped into the building?”
“No, he mentioned it,” James says with a shrug. “I’m just surprised you listened. I figured you’d show up anyway.”
“I have no reason to,” I say flatly.
“He’s your friend.”
“He held a gun to my head. He’s not my friend.”
Next to me, Ben jumps, accidentally kicking the table hard enough to upend Alex’s mostly empty coffee cup. He immediately begins sopping it up with paper napkins clutched in shaking hands. “Sorry. Sorry, he told me he did that. I knew. But it was weird hearing you say it, too.”
Panic tears a hole in my chest. When were they together? Did Ben go to see him in LRC? Am I the only one who hasn’t?
“Alright, he’s not your friend. He’s still your stepbrother,” Alex says slowly.
“Bill filed for divorce a month ago, so, no, he’s not going to be my stepbrother for much longer,” I say, trying to convince myself that I’m imagining the way Ben’s hands ball up into white-knuckled fists. “I have nothing to say to him, and he’s got nothing to say to me.”
“They took him off suicide watch after about a week, but it took until about two weeks ago for the withdrawal symptoms to subside,” James says, as if I haven’t even spoken. “Every day, he’s in individual therapy for an hour, group therapy for two. He even has an initial diagnosis.”
“What, ‘dickhead’ is an official diagnosis now?” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“His doctors think he has borderline personality disorder,” Ben says quietly, and I can’t help but turn to him, feeling myself boiling over.
“So, you’ve been going to visit him, too? Best fucking friends again, is that how it is?”
“Actually, we’ve only gone to see him once, last Friday, you monumental douchebag,” Alex says in a tone of extremely forced calm. “So, do you want to maybe shut the fuck up so we can tell you what’s going on with him?”
“I don’t even know what borderline person—”
“It’s a personality disorder,” Ben says, in that same horrible quiet voice, “and it apparently just makes him unstable as fuck. He says that they keep telling him it’s why he can sometimes be so self-destructive or temperamental or manipulative, why he goes from loving someone to thinking they’re shit in a matter of minutes. And why he’s so, you know, reckless, I guess, with drugs and sex and stuff.”
“So, is it… I don’t know. ‘Borderline personality’ kind of sounds like ‘dissociative identity.’ Does this mean he’s actually got like, multiple personalities?” I ask uncertainly.
Alex shakes his head. “He said it’s not like that at all. He’s always Garen, all the time, just sometimes he’s really screwed up. Apparently, it’s also the reason why his relationships tend to be—”
“Dude, I know exactly how his relationships tend to be. You really don’t have to explain it to me,” I say. Garen went from proposing to breaking up with me in a matter of days. He came back to Lakewood for me, then spent the whole next night telling me he had never loved me to begin with. He dated Dave twice. “Are they going to medicate him?”
Therapy, hospitalization, medication. These are the monsters I’m most familiar with.
“No. He’s a drug addict, so I really don’t think anybody’s too eager to give him pills right now. If they do put him on something, it might be a low dose of antipsychotics or mood stabilizers, but right now, he’s only focusing on therapy,” Ben says.
Alex shrugs. “He says the LRC hosts a lot of outpatient meetings, too. His doctor says that, once he gets out, he should start going to Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous and stuff. It’ll help him stay sober, and I guess…”
He trails off awkwardly, his eyes fixed on his owns hands. After a moment, I clear my throat so he’ll look at me. I prompt, “You guess what?”
“I guess it’s just important that he has a support system in place,” he replies in a strange monotone that sounds a lot more like Ben than usual. “After everything that’s happened, nobody expects you to join that support system, but it might be nice if you were willing to give him another shot.”
“I’ve given him enough shots, Alex,” I say. “Every time I give him a shot, he finds some way to use it to ruin my life. Or the life of somebody I love.”
Next to me, Ben makes a small noise in his throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You’re not the only person Garen hurt, Travis,” James says, his voice softening a little. “I love that man more than anyone does, except maybe his own parents. He’s like my brother. A real brother, not like how everyone wanted to force you two to be brothers. Garen and I are best friends, for life, and if you don’t understand that it kills me to see him like this, you’re not as smart as I think you are. If I can forgive him for doing this to himself, anyone can forgive him for anything else.”
“Just think about it,” Ben says abruptly, standing suddenly and straightening his coat. “Look, I’ve got to get going. My dad’s probably going to want me back at the bookstore sometime this evening, and I have some shit to do before that.”
“O-Okay,” I say, actively winning the award for world’s biggest moron, “it was nice seeing you again.” Oh my god, why are these words coming out of my mouth?
Ben rotates slowly to face me, and when I peek up at him, he looks like he’s in pain. “I still have some of your stuff at my house. Your jacket. A couple books.”
Like I’d even be able to stomach taking back anything that’s been in his house for this long. Like I could survive wearing a jacket that smells like him now. “Just keep it, I don’t care.”
“I do,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “Just come home with me, alright?”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely. God, when he says it like that…
I stand and have followed him halfway across the coffee shop when Alex says tightly, “Ben, please don’t do this.”
“Shut up, Alex,” Ben retorts. I glance back to see Alex staring at me, looking a little shell-shocked. Once we have passed into the parking lot and the door has swung shut behind us, I can see him round on James, snapping, if not yelling at him.
“What’s Alex’s deal?” I ask, as if it hadn’t even occurred to me that he’s just getting jealous once again. The thing is, he’s getting jealous of something that doesn’t exist, that might not even happen.
Ben lets out a hard, frustrated sigh and glances at the keys in my hand. “Just Al being Al. Since you’ve got your car with you, wanna just follow me back to my house? It’ll be easier that way.”
I am endlessly grateful for the drive back to Ben’s, even if it only takes a few minutes. It’s enough to let me clear my head, get me to calm myself down. Breathe, Travis. You’re just getting your stuff back. You’re finalizing the break-up, like you should have done a month ago. This will be good for both of you. Closure.
For once, the driveway isn’t empty. Ben’s mom’s car is parked in front of the garage, and Ben pulls up behind it. I park on the other side of the driveway, taking care to leave enough room in case Ben’s dad comes home before I leave. By the time I cut the engine and have gotten out of the car, Ben is already standing in front of me, blinking down at the asphalt.
“Your stuff’s in my room.”
“Cool,” I say, like an idiot. “Do you want me to come in? O-Or I could wait right here. Or I could, you know, I could go in, but I could stay in the rec room, instead of going into your room. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or make things weird. So, I can—”
Moving so suddenly that I can’t help but flinch, Ben curls a hand around the back of my neck and yanks me down to his height, whispering, “Jesus Christ, shut up.”
I’m not sure which one of us kisses the other first – probably me – but in half a second, I am spinning him around so that he is pinned to the side of my sister’s car, the better to devour every second of this kiss. Once he has slipped his hand up a few inches to knot it in my hair, once my hands have made their way down into his back pockets to grip his ass… everything goes to hell. It’s impossible for me to hide how much this just hurts, how much I need this. When his lips brush against the hollow of my throat, I can’t stop myself from whispering, “I love you. Ben, I love you.”
“Miss you so much,” he murmurs, and I shudder, pressing my hips against his and ducking to catch his mouth with mine once more. I make a slightly strangled noise as he slips a hand between us to pop open the button on my jeans. He shaky breath ghosts over my lips, and I can feel his hardness against my leg, but when I actually stop to look at his face, his eyes are empty. Completely, disturbingly empty. I make an attempt to shrug away from him and say, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he mutters, leaning back in. “Just kiss me, Travis.”
That’s when the warning sirens start to blare inside my skull. I slide my hands back out of his pockets and take a few steps back, leaving him slumped there against the side of the car. He reaches for my wrist, tugging on it just a little too insistently. “Trav, just come back.”
“Stop,” I order. “Just let go of me for a minute. I-I need a few seconds to just think, okay?”
When Ben speaks again, his voice is rougher. “Think about what? I’m really not understanding the problem here. We both want this to happen again, we’re both consenting adults. There’s no issue here.”
The issue is that this is not him. This is not the Ben McCutcheon I fell so hard for. This is the drawling, bitter guy I met in January, the one who stuck his hand down my pants while telling me that my boyfriend used to fuck him. This is all wrong.
Shifting slowly so that I’m leaning next to him, rather than standing in front of him, and flinching away from his hand when he reaches for me again, I say “You broke up with me.”
“I’m aware,” Ben says, almost coldly. “I was sort of there when it happened.”
“I know, but… what I mean is that nothing has changed. You really, really broke up with me. I used to think that the only thing that mattered in a relationship was whether or not people loved each other, but that... that's not true, is it? Because you love me, I can feel it when you kiss me. You're still as in love with me as I am with you. But it doesn't matter, because you don't want to be with me anymore. Just like how it doesn't matter that Garen still loves me and I still love him – and I tried not to, Ben, I swear I did. But that's just, that's all completely irrelevant, isn't it? Because I don't want to be with him, and he isn't capable of being with me. See, when it comes down to it, love doesn't mean anything unless you want to be with someone in the shitty, boring, pathetic day-to-day. And obviously we love each other enough to do this, whatever it is you want me to come to your room and do with you. I love you enough to make love to you, right inside that house, and you love me enough to want me to. But when it's over, I'll go home and we'll both just be alone again. You know that. You're not stupid. So tell me why you really want me here. Tell me what I'm doing here, when we both know I won't be here in the morning.”
“You could be,” Ben whispers, slipping an arm around my neck, “I wouldn’t stop you from—”
“Cut the shit, Ben. Why do you suddenly want to have sex with me again?” I demand.
He lets out a frustrated sigh that ends up sounding more like a growl than anything else. “Because it’s the only way I can convince you to go see Garen!”
Of all the excuses I was expecting, that’s at the bottom of the list. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, whether you want to believe it or not, Garen’s getting better. He really is. He seems to be figuring his shit out, and I think he honestly wants to stay clean, but if he gets out of the LRC and has to face you, he’s just going to freak out and relapse. He can’t handle it. S-So, if you went to see him while he was still there, if you visited him so he could get his setback out of his system now, he might be okay again.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say flatly.
“It’s true,” Ben argues. “But you’re stubborn as fuck, and I knew you wouldn’t agree to see him if I asked you when your guard was up. I was hoping that if we had sex, you’d be… I don’t know.”
“No, tell me,” I say sharply. “If we had sex, I’d be what?”
“You’re not like the rest of us, okay, Travis?” Ben says finally. “I mean that in the best way possible, but the rest of us can fuck somebody and not have it mean anything. I did that with Ethan and Garen. Garen and James have done that with practically everyone. But you… were actually in love with Garen when you slept with him. You stopped Alex from blowing you because you didn’t have feelings for him. And—”
“—and I was in love with you when I slept with you,” I finish. “I still am.”
Ben flinches. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” I say. “I’m done with all this ‘hide what’s really going on’ bullshit. I’m still in love with you, and you know it, which is probably why you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. I’m still in love with you, which is why I’m going to agree to visit Garen in rehab. Even though this was a shitty, stupid fucking trick, and even though I kind of hate you for doing this to me, for trying to manipulate me, I’m going to do it.”
“Thank you,” Ben says quietly. I just sort of shrug. After a moment, he reaches for me again. I’m not sure if he’s trying to say ‘thank you’ without actually having to get the words out, or if he just assumes he should attempt to follow through with his offer of sex in exchange for a promise to visit Garen, but either way, he kisses me again, and I am, of course, too stupid and weak to resist it.
From about a dozen feet away, someone clears their throat, and Ben and I spring apart. When I glance up, his mom is standing at the edge of the driveway, her dark brown hair knotted at the nape of her neck and her jeans covered in dirt. Her gardening glove-adorned hands are planted on her hips, and she is staring at us with a slightly accusatory expression. It’s not like this is the first time she’s caught us making out, so I can only assume that the look on her face is because she knows that we’re supposed to be broken up. I cough. “Hi, Mrs. McCutcheon.”
“Hello, Travis. I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Hillary. Though, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”
Ben shrugs. “I told him he should swing by to pick up some of his stuff. He—”
“It’s so hot out,” his mom interrupts. “Why don’t we all go inside for some iced tea?”
“Mom, no, that’s so awkward,” Ben protests, but Hillary silence him with a look, and the three of us make our way up to the front door. I know enough to toe off my shoes just inside the front hall, and I try not to notice the slightly pained look on Ben’s face as he watches me follow his mom to the kitchen.
Hillary retrieves a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, fills three glasses, and says, “Benji, didn’t you say you were going to get Travis’ things out of your room?”
Ben just blinks very hard for a few minutes, like he’s trying to have a conversation with her through use of his eyelids. She simply raises her eyebrows in response. Ben widens his eyes a little, but when there no response, he scowls and heads for the staircase that leads down to the rec room. I accept the glass that Hillary pushes towards me, but before I can thank her, she begins speaking again.
“I like you, Travis. Please don’t assume that what I’m about to say is any indication that I don’t. You’ve made my son so happy, and I was thrilled that he finally found someone who could do that for him, but… it’s very rarely a good idea to get back together with someone who you’ve broken up with once. I don’t want Ben to get hurt, and if—”
“We’re not getting back together,” I say softly. “He was just… I think it was more of a kiss goodbye than anything else.”
“I’d be more inclined to believe you, if he hadn’t given up Juilliard for you.”
I freeze, absolutely certain that I’ve heard her wrong. The tension in her jaw, though, the slightly critical glint in her eyes leads me to believe that no, I’ve heard her exactly right. “What do you mean?”
Hillary’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He turned down Juilliard? But he, that was his first choice!”
“They sent his acceptance letter in March, and he wrote to them in early May to let them know he wouldn’t be attending. Eight percent of all applicants get accepted, and he turned them down,” she says, shaking her head slightly, as if she still can’t convince herself that this makes sense even after almost three months.
“Where’s he—”
“Yale,” Ben says, reappearing at the top of the basement stairs and making Hillary and I both jump. “And, you know, most moms would be pissing themselves if their kid decided to go to Yale.”
“I’m proud of you, Ben, you know that. I would be proud of you if you went to Yale, I’d be proud of you if you went to community college, I’d be proud of you even if you never went to any college. It’s not about that. I’m just worried that you’re giving up your dreams so that you can stay closer to your boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now, I suppose.”
My face bursts into flame, and Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m not staying in Connecticut because it’ll keep me close to Travis. I’m staying because music isn’t my dream, it’s just something I’m good at. And the fact that I could go to Juilliard doesn’t mean I should.”
“I just think the timing’s a little suspicious!” Hillary says sharply. “Do you think I didn’t notice that this decision came right after Garen returned to town? I don’t want you to give up goddamn Juilliard just because you’re afraid you might lose Travis to another boy.”
“It wasn’t because Garen came back!” Ben explodes. “It was because he ended up in the hospital.”
And suddenly, I’m more lost than ever. Thankfully, this seems to be news to Hillary as well, because she plants her hands on her hips once more and demands, “What does that mean?”
“Mom, you have no idea how heartbroken he looked when he couldn’t play guitar because his fingers were broken. Not being able to keep up with his music was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Worse than getting kicked out, or finding out that his ex-boyfriend was dating his best Lakewood friend. It was killing him not to be able to play guitar, and I don’t feel like that. If I broke my fingers, I wouldn’t be practically killing myself if I couldn’t play piano for a few weeks. I mean, I love piano. And I love guitar, and the drums, and—okay, so, I don’t really give a shit about the clarinet, but the point is, I love music, and I know I’m talented, but I won’t die without it. And I don’t think I should go to Juilliard just for the sake of going to Juilliard, especially when there has to be someone out there who cares about music the way Garen cares about music. It would be wrong for me to go to that school if I don’t have a passion for music.”
I clear my throat. “Look, obviously I don’t really have a say in this whole thing, but I just…” God, this is so awkward. Why can’t his mom just leave the room? I take a few small steps towards Ben and drop my voice a little. His mom can definitely still hear, but at least this gives me some semblance of privacy. “I’m going to care about you whether you go to school in New Haven, or New York, or fucking New South Wales, Australia. If my drug-addicted ex-boyfriend, my homophobic mom, and my own crippling insecurities and psychological issues can’t stop me from loving you, I really doubt that a two hour train ride will.”
Ben can’t help but crack a small smile at that; he reaches out and brushes his palm over my cheek, murmuring, “That’s sweet of you to say, Travis, but it’s not about that. I really did make this decision for me, for what I think will make me happiest.”
“That’s all your father and I want for you, Ben,” Hillary says. “We want you to be happy.”
As much as I wish I didn’t feel this way, the idea of Ben being happy elsewhere, with someone other than me, conjures a dull ache under my ribs. I clear my throat again, if only to cover the sound I’m sure my heart is making as it cracks a little more, and take the stack of items from Ben’s other hand. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” Ben says quickly.
“No, I probably do,” I say. It’s obvious now that his excuse of needing to work at his dad’s shop later was a lie, but I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I don’t get out of here soon. “Listen, I’ll do what you asked me to do. And if you want, I can call you sometime this weekend and—”
“Tomorrow. Go tomorrow—you just have to be there by nine in the morning to sign in, and then they’ll walk you through everything—and then call me when you get home tomorrow night. I want to know how it goes,” Ben says.
I nod, say goodbye to Hillary, and head for the front door. I don’t realize Ben is following me until I’m actually opening the door to Bree’s car and dumping the stack of returned possessions into the passenger’s seat.
“Travis, wait,” he says.
“What?” I groan. “Please, Ben, just let me go back to me house to wallow in my misery and try to prepare myself for the unabashed horrors I will be experiencing tomorrow.”
“I know, I know, you can leave in a minute. I just wanted… I want to thank you for agreeing to see Garen. You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” he says.
I sit down heavily in the driver’s seat and start up the engine, shutting the door but rolling down the window to say, “Yeah, I’m just fucking fantastic.”
“You are,” Ben says, and he leans through the window to kiss me, a brief touch of lips and then nothing. When he pulls away, I want to lean right out the window and pull him back in, just like he did to me the first time I told him I loved him. But everything is different now – not necessarily that much worse, but sure as hell not any better. Instead, we share a sad smile, and he heads back up to the house while I shove everything off the passenger’s seat, onto the floor, and back carefully out of the driveway.
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