Ben refuses to answer any of my calls, and I go a little bit out of my mind; I send him dozens of text messages, leave at least ten voicemails, and get hung up on more times than I can count. My texts to Jeremy and Mason are met with variations of the ever-unsatisfying “maybe you should just give him some space.” My one message to Alex is met with a brief phone call the night after the party.
“Garen has no idea what he’s talking about,” he babbles to me before I can speak. “I-I don’t like Ben that way. I never have. I’m straight, alright? I’ve been saying it for years, but none of you listen, and Ben’s the one who kissed me, not the other way around. S-So it’s not fair for everyone to say I’m gay just because he kissed me. Ben doesn’t even know what Garen said, which is just as well, because it’s not true. I would tell you guys if it was true, alright? Everyone’s fine with you being gay, and they’re fine with Ben being gay, and they’re fine with Garen being gay, and I’m sure they’d be fine with me being gay, but I’m not. So please just forget whatever ‘we’re totally cool with it, man’ bullshit you were planning to say, because I’m getting enough of it from Jer and Mason.”
It takes me a while to process everything he says, but even his following silence is nervous enough for me to know he’s lying.
“I know that Ben kissed you first,” I say eventually. “You were really drunk, too.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees cautiously.
“And Garen was being a complete asshole that night. I still haven’t talked to him. Did you know he was snorting cocaine in the kitchen right before the kiss?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. He was completely high. I don’t think anyone really took what he said to be true. I guess… you know, if you say you’re straight, you’re straight. You’d know, right?” I say. The relief in his sigh is almost embarrassing.
“Thanks,” he says. “Just… don’t mention it to Ben? Even if it’s not true, I don’t want him to think it might be. He’d get weird around me, and I’m not gonna mess up a six year friendship over something so… stupid.”
My phone chimes in my ear. “Of course. Listen, I have to go, I’m getting another call. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
“Yeah. Good luck with Ben,” he says, and I can tell it pains him to say that. Poker is definitely not Alex’s game. I hang up and check my messages with shaking hands. It’s a text, not a call, but my heart still jumps. It’s from Ben.
I’m sorry for not calling you back, but I have a lot to think about. This isn’t me breaking up with you. It’s just me needing some space so I can figure stuff out. Please give me some time to myself. I love you. See you Monday. Xoxo, B.
Whether he says he’s breaking up with me or not, it sure as hell sounds like it. I can’t handle this, being left like this for the second time in less than a year. It took so much out of me to move past it when Garen abandoned me; I won’t be able to do it again, if Ben decides that the kiss with Garen was worth ending things over.
After that, sinking into myself is so much easier than actually trying to function, so I resort to my “relationship fuck-up standby mode”; the hall between my bedroom and the bathroom is the only place I’m willing to walk. Even going down to the kitchen to eat takes a backseat (possibly a trunk seat, maybe even a seat out of the car, on the side of the road), and the only food I have in my bedroom is a granola bar I stuffed in my track bag a week ago. By the time Friday evening rolls around, I haven’t really eaten anything in almost three days. In a way, I’m grateful when Garen knocks on my door and comes in with a McDonald’s bag in his hand. In a different way, I still want to punch him in the face.
“Go away,” I say, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the growl of my stomach. Garen ignores me and sits down on the edge of my bed, digging in the bag to unearth two cheeseburgers and a large container of fries.
“Peace offering,” he says, and I snort.
“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than this to make me stop hating you,” I say. The way he flinches appeases me enough that I don’t want to kill myself for unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite of it. He watches me eat for a few minutes, occasionally helping himself to a fry. I nod to the other burger. “If you’re hungry, just eat that, for God’s sake.”
He shrugs and brushes the salt off his fingers. “I shouldn’t, really. I’m leaving in about five minutes to go out to dinner.”
I frown slightly. Now that I’m actually looking at him, he does look like he’s going out. He’s wearing jeans and combat boots, like he does every other day, but the boots look like they’ve been polished, and under a black leather motorcycle jacket, he’s wearing a dark green button-down that make his eyes look supernaturally beautiful. I shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts and ask neutrally, “With James?”
He blinks. “James left yesterday. You’d know that if you came out of your room once in a while.”
I feel a little guilty for not even noticing, but hey. It wasn’t my idea to invite him in the first place. I cram the last bite of cheeseburger into my mouth and chase it with a few fries. Once I have swallowed, I ask, “So, who are you going out with?”
“I have a date, actually,” he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable. I shove him off the bed, and he hits the floor hard. “Travis! The fuck was that for?”
“For being a completely bi-fucking-polar! Four days ago, you were doing your damnedest to make sure my relationship with Ben would implode, for reasons I still don’t understand. You claim you never even liked me, and that I was a shitty lay, but you don’t seem to want me to be happy with my boyfriend. And now you’re going out on a date? With whom?”
“Why would you assume it’s someone you know? It’s not you, it’s not your boyfriend, it’s not Alex, and James went back to New York. That pretty much covers all of the gay or bisexual people you know,” he says as he rubs his elbow in what is probably an overly dramatic way. I continue to glare at him until he rolls his eyes and adds, “I met a cute guy at the Starbucks near the train station when I dropped off James yesterday. His name’s David, he goes to Yale, and he’s a history major. We’re going to some Italian place he likes, over by his school. Satisfied?”
“Not really,” I say flatly, “but I hope you have a great time on your date while I’m waiting for my boyfriend to stop hating me.”
“Look,” Garen says, standing up and brushing himself off, “I’m sorry for the other night. Sometimes I do stupid shit, especially when I’m drunk, and I know I shouldn’t have said anything to Ben. I’m really sorry, and if I thought it’d help, I’d apologize to Ben, too. But it won’t. He’ll be mad for as long as he wants. Now if you don’t mind, I’m getting picked up soon, and I really don’t feel like hanging around my bitter ex-boyfriend anymore. I should be home around ten, unless I get laid, in which case, I’ll be home whenever the fuck I feel like it.”
I stare at the doorway for a few minutes, even after he’s gone, but once I finally stand up, I don’t want to stop moving. My skin feels too small to hold the rest of me in. I’m restless, but what can I do? Garen is gone – not like I really want to hang out with him anymore anyway – and Bree is at her boyfriend’s house. Ben doesn’t want to talk to me, Corey’s on a date with Shelley, Alex is afraid I’m going to think he’s gay, and Jeremy and Mason probably hate me for kissing Garen behind Ben’s back.
I’m alone. More alone than I’ve been in ages. At least when Garen left, Ben and the others adopted me into their group. At least when I was struggling with Bill moving in, Corey, Faye and the others were there to stick by me. The last time I felt this alone, I was fifteen and swallowing a bottle of Valium.
There are only two options, really, and one is so much more inviting than the other. I kick open my closet door and dig around for the tin with my razors in it, but I can’t find it. Last time I used them, on Valentine’s Day, I’d fallen asleep on the floor in front of the window, and had woken up to my Mom knocking on the door. I’d hastily thrown the tin back in the closet, and it had clattered onto the floor somewhere in the back. But the floor is bare now, at least of what I’m looking for.
What the fuck? Had Mom gone snooping and taken them from me, to try to make me stop? Had Bree figured out I still had them, and hid them for my own good? Had Ben snuck in here one of the times he came over, and stolen them just in case I got the urge again? I sink to the ground, cursing, but it’s not like being pissed is going to make them magically appear. I sigh, grab my running shoes, and start to lace them up.
There have always only been two choices for me; a razor or a run. They are the only two things that can make me forget myself. They are the only ways I know to get my skin buzzing and my blood pumping. It feels good to finally hear the pounding of my sneakers on the sidewalk, to have to focus on my breathing instead of everything else. It’s been so long since I needed to run just to forget, not because I was trying to get away. This isn’t about escaping a wedding, or a confrontation I know I can’t have. This is just about me. Being me. Forgetting me.
I manage to disappear for almost two hours, making it all the way through Lakewood and the next town over before I head back. Once I’ve returned from my oblivion, I lurch to a stop at the end of the driveway. There’s a car parked in front of the garage, but it’s not the Testarossa, which Garen for some reason seems to have left in New York, or Bree’s Subaru. It’s Bill’s Mercedes. Fuck.
I trot up to the front door and open it cautiously. “Hello?”
“Travis? Honey, it was the trip of a lifetime! Absolutely fabulous!” Mom declares, swooping down on me instantly to envelop me in a hug.
Bill claps me on the shoulder in a horribly affectionate way. “Nice to see you again, Travis. It’s also nice to see that you and your sister didn’t trash the house while we were away.”
“Where is Bridget, anyway? We went to the most gorgeous perfumery in Nice, and I bought her some genuine French perfume,” Mom gushes.
“We got you some gifts, too,” Bill adds with a laugh. “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about—”
“Bill, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” I interrupt. He has to know before Garen gets home. He can’t just have this sprung on him after all this time.
“Sure, sure,” he says agreeably. “Just give us a minute. Now, our hotel was right near this fantastic sweet shop. We brought home a tin of chocolate biscuits, and I want you to try one.”
“Bill,” I say, and when he doesn’t stop unzipping one of his suitcases, I say louder, “Bill!”
“It’s in the biggest suitcase, dear. Remember, we wrapped it up in my sweater so it wouldn’t get dented,” Mom tells him.
“That’s right,” Bill says, snapping his fingers.
I must say his name another half dozen times before, in a split-second of desperation, I say, “Dad.”
As much as it pains me to say the word, as much as it disgusts me to think of Garen’s father as my own, it gets his attention. He straightens up quickly, sparing Mom the briefest glance before he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you wanted to talk. What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you alone,” I say. “Mom, can you just give us a minute?”
“Of course, dear,” she says, though she looks a little offended as she retreats to the kitchen, muttering about putting on a pot of coffee.
“Is something wrong?” Bill asks.
I step a little closer and drop my voice, just in case Mom is listening. “Garen came back.”
Bill’s spine goes rigid. He stares at me, wide-eyed, then glances at the stairs almost involuntarily. “When? How long was he here?”
“He was here when I got home the day of the wedding. I-I think he must’ve showed up during the reception—”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s here,” I say, then add quickly as he heads for the stairs, “but not right now. I mean, he says he’s back. For real. For good. But he’s not home right now. He went out.”
“Where did he go?” Bill demands.
“He said he had a date with some guy he met when he was out for coffee. They’re at some Italian place near the Yale campus. H-He said he’d be back around ten.”
Bill looks at the clock on the wall – quarter after ten already – and makes a slightly animalistic noise. “Why didn’t you call me, Travis? He’s my son! I had a right to know!”
“What’s going on?” Mom asks, returning from her brief field trip to the kitchen. Apparently any reference to Garen is enough to raise her hackles.
Reluctantly, I turn to her and say, “Garen came back after the wedding. He’s been staying here all week.”
She throws her hands into the air in exasperation. “My God! First he disappears for months. Then he sends that horrible hick here, just to make a scene at my reception. And now you’re telling me he’s come back, despite the fact that his father specifically told him not to come back? I’ve told you a hundred times, William, that boy is—”
“Don’t you dare, Evelyn,” Bill snarls. “Don’t you dare tell me that you expect me to kick my son out a second time. I lost him once, and it was my own damn fault then, but I’ll die before I lose him again.”
“So you’ve forgotten, have you, that he raped his brother?” Mom says shrilly.
That is too much. I hate Garen, too, but he’s not a rapist, and he certainly didn’t rape me. “For Christ’s sake, Mom! He never raped me, he never molested me, and he never did anything I didn’t want him to. He was my boyfriend! And besides, I’m seventeen, so everything we did was completely legal.”
“It is not legal to have sexual relations with your stepbrother!” she counters.
“Alright, first of all? I’m pretty sure it actually is. And second of all, he wasn’t my stepbrother until five days ago. When we were together, he was just the son of your boyfriend, which isn’t that big—”
“We are not having this fight again,” Bill says to both of us in a low, deadly voice. “It is not up for debate. Garen is my son, and he will stay for as long as he likes. End of discussion.”
In an almost amusing punctuation to his declaration, headlights flash against the front windows, and we all turn in unison to see a black Lexus pulling into the driveway. Oh, wonderful. Yes, this is the perfect time for Garen to come back, right when we’re playing yet another round of “Is He A Rapist?”
Mom sucks in a deep breath and hurries back into the kitchen. I want to follow her, but if I do, I’ll have to actually talk to her. She’ll ask me why I didn’t call them, why I let Garen stay, what Ben thinks about this whole thing. Mom may hate Ben from the very depths of her soul, but she’d rather I married Ben than ever looked at Garen again. So, at the risk of having to partake in that painful conversation, I stay where I am, watching Bill grow increasingly anxious. When five minutes have gone by and Garen still hasn’t come inside, I give up on patience and throw open the front door.
I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Because Garen is making out with some guy on the porch.
“Fuck my life,” I burst out, turning on my heel and storming over to collapse on the bottom stair, glaring at the floor. This is truly ridiculous. First, I have to watch my boyfriend kiss another guy. Now, I have to watch my exboyfriend kiss another guy. Great.
“Um,” says Garen’s date, and I turn my glare towards him. He’s not even that good-looking, to be honest. He has a straight nose, golden brown eyes, and a chiseled jaw, so in a way, he’s ruggedly handsome. But there is something… angry about him. His face seems almost twisted, like he spends most of his time scowling. It makes me uncomfortable to look at him for too long.
“Hi, Dad,” Garen says evenly. “This is David.”
David, however, seems unwilling to get dragged into the impending family drama. He tugs on Garen’s sleeve and murmurs, “I’m going to head back to the dorm. I’ll call you.”
“Looking forward to it,” Garen says, almost mockingly. We all watch David hurry back to his car. Only once he has peeled out of the driveway and sped off down the street does Garen actually come into the house and hang up his jacket. “How was the honeymoon?”
Bill strides forward, and for one wild moment, I think he’s going to punch Garen out. I am halfway through scrambling to my feet when he throws an arm around Garen’s neck and drags him into what must be a bone-breaking hug.
“I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “I’m sorry, Garen.”
Garen looks stunned. For a few seconds, he simply stands there, letting his father squeeze him. Eventually though, he closes his eyes and raises one arm to hug him back. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. It was a horrible thing to do. I can’t believe I ever… I’m so glad to have you home. I should never have kicked you out.”
Garen laughs a little as Bill releases him. “Well, yeah. But I probably shouldn’t have fucked my stepbrother, so, I guess we’re even.”
I hear a little squeak from the kitchen, but everyone ignores it.
“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” Bill says. “School, for one thing. You’re an entire semester short of the credits you need to graduate, you’ve missed too many classes to even be a student anymore, and you’ve missed the deadlines to apply to almost every college we discussed. I’m… sure we can figure something out.”
“Yeah,” Garen says with a small shrug. “I figured this would all come up.”
Mom clears her throat from the kitchen doorway and says, glaring, “We also need to make some new rules.”
“Like?” Garen says. His eyes are just daring her to continue, but his intimidation is wasted; we all know she’ll talk for as long as she wants to.
“You and Travis are not to be spending time alone together. It’s completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. If I find out you are trying to seduce him, you will never be welcome in this house again. You—”
“Ev,” Bill says coolly. “We can discuss this another time.”
Mom crosses her arms. “I think it’s worth discussing now. God only knows what they’ve been doing while we’ve been away, Bill!”
“We haven’t been doing anything,” Garen says flatly. “Travis is with Ben now, so it doesn’t even matter. We’re over.”
“That remains to be seen,” Mom snaps.
“Yeah, well, open your fucking eyes, then,” I growl, and she glares at me. “He just told you exactly what you want to hear, so I don’t get why you’re—”
Bill clears his throat loudly. “I think this has been a busy night for all of us. Maybe this conversation would be better in the morning?”
“Fine,” I mutter, trudging up to my bedroom. Behind me, I can hear Bill enthusing how great it is to have his son back, and Mom grudgingly agreeing. I slam my door for good measure and flop back onto the bed. Less than a minute later, the door creaks open a few inches, and Garen leans in, tilting his head against the frame.
“My date went well, in case you’re wondering,” he says. I’m beginning to hate the way he can smile and so obviously not mean it.
“Fantastic,” I say dully.
“Mmhm. David gives really good head,” he adds.
I can’t hold back a snort. “Guess that answers the question of whether or not you put out on a first date.”
“Yeah, but you already knew that,” he says with another cheeky grin. He yawns and glances around my room, the utter image of nonchalance. “And anyway, I didn’t get head from him tonight. I’ve known that for what, two years or something? He and I dated before.”
For just a moment, my heart actually stops. I can tell, because my blood freezes in my veins, and the air suddenly seems to be impossible to actually bring into my lungs. “Wait. This is that David? This is Dave, the guy who used to beat you?”
“Don’t worry, T. He promises he won’t do it this time,” Garen laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t believe the words he’s saying. That’s the point. He wants to get beaten up. He wants to date someone who is wrong for him in a horrible, deadly way. He wants to get hurt.
I should’ve realized it earlier. I should’ve known it was too much to be a coincidence that he would suddenly start seeing a guy named David who was a few years older than him. I should’ve realized that Dave’s face was so cruel and hateful because that’s what the rest of him is. I should’ve known.
“Please don’t do this, Garen,” I say hoarsely. “You can’t go out with a guy who hit you. He’s just going to end up doing it again, that’s what his type always does.”
He moves so suddenly that I flinch. In three strides, he is at the edge of my bed. He curls a hand around the back of my neck and leans down to press a hard kiss to my forehead, then inclines his head a little so our noses are almost touching. “I know. I’m counting on it.”
I open my mouth to tell him to stop and think about this – for once in his life, actually think about the consequences of one of the fucking stupid things he does – but he is already sauntering back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind himself.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
“Garen has no idea what he’s talking about,” he babbles to me before I can speak. “I-I don’t like Ben that way. I never have. I’m straight, alright? I’ve been saying it for years, but none of you listen, and Ben’s the one who kissed me, not the other way around. S-So it’s not fair for everyone to say I’m gay just because he kissed me. Ben doesn’t even know what Garen said, which is just as well, because it’s not true. I would tell you guys if it was true, alright? Everyone’s fine with you being gay, and they’re fine with Ben being gay, and they’re fine with Garen being gay, and I’m sure they’d be fine with me being gay, but I’m not. So please just forget whatever ‘we’re totally cool with it, man’ bullshit you were planning to say, because I’m getting enough of it from Jer and Mason.”
It takes me a while to process everything he says, but even his following silence is nervous enough for me to know he’s lying.
“I know that Ben kissed you first,” I say eventually. “You were really drunk, too.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees cautiously.
“And Garen was being a complete asshole that night. I still haven’t talked to him. Did you know he was snorting cocaine in the kitchen right before the kiss?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. He was completely high. I don’t think anyone really took what he said to be true. I guess… you know, if you say you’re straight, you’re straight. You’d know, right?” I say. The relief in his sigh is almost embarrassing.
“Thanks,” he says. “Just… don’t mention it to Ben? Even if it’s not true, I don’t want him to think it might be. He’d get weird around me, and I’m not gonna mess up a six year friendship over something so… stupid.”
My phone chimes in my ear. “Of course. Listen, I have to go, I’m getting another call. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
“Yeah. Good luck with Ben,” he says, and I can tell it pains him to say that. Poker is definitely not Alex’s game. I hang up and check my messages with shaking hands. It’s a text, not a call, but my heart still jumps. It’s from Ben.
I’m sorry for not calling you back, but I have a lot to think about. This isn’t me breaking up with you. It’s just me needing some space so I can figure stuff out. Please give me some time to myself. I love you. See you Monday. Xoxo, B.
Whether he says he’s breaking up with me or not, it sure as hell sounds like it. I can’t handle this, being left like this for the second time in less than a year. It took so much out of me to move past it when Garen abandoned me; I won’t be able to do it again, if Ben decides that the kiss with Garen was worth ending things over.
After that, sinking into myself is so much easier than actually trying to function, so I resort to my “relationship fuck-up standby mode”; the hall between my bedroom and the bathroom is the only place I’m willing to walk. Even going down to the kitchen to eat takes a backseat (possibly a trunk seat, maybe even a seat out of the car, on the side of the road), and the only food I have in my bedroom is a granola bar I stuffed in my track bag a week ago. By the time Friday evening rolls around, I haven’t really eaten anything in almost three days. In a way, I’m grateful when Garen knocks on my door and comes in with a McDonald’s bag in his hand. In a different way, I still want to punch him in the face.
“Go away,” I say, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the growl of my stomach. Garen ignores me and sits down on the edge of my bed, digging in the bag to unearth two cheeseburgers and a large container of fries.
“Peace offering,” he says, and I snort.
“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than this to make me stop hating you,” I say. The way he flinches appeases me enough that I don’t want to kill myself for unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite of it. He watches me eat for a few minutes, occasionally helping himself to a fry. I nod to the other burger. “If you’re hungry, just eat that, for God’s sake.”
He shrugs and brushes the salt off his fingers. “I shouldn’t, really. I’m leaving in about five minutes to go out to dinner.”
I frown slightly. Now that I’m actually looking at him, he does look like he’s going out. He’s wearing jeans and combat boots, like he does every other day, but the boots look like they’ve been polished, and under a black leather motorcycle jacket, he’s wearing a dark green button-down that make his eyes look supernaturally beautiful. I shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts and ask neutrally, “With James?”
He blinks. “James left yesterday. You’d know that if you came out of your room once in a while.”
I feel a little guilty for not even noticing, but hey. It wasn’t my idea to invite him in the first place. I cram the last bite of cheeseburger into my mouth and chase it with a few fries. Once I have swallowed, I ask, “So, who are you going out with?”
“I have a date, actually,” he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable. I shove him off the bed, and he hits the floor hard. “Travis! The fuck was that for?”
“For being a completely bi-fucking-polar! Four days ago, you were doing your damnedest to make sure my relationship with Ben would implode, for reasons I still don’t understand. You claim you never even liked me, and that I was a shitty lay, but you don’t seem to want me to be happy with my boyfriend. And now you’re going out on a date? With whom?”
“Why would you assume it’s someone you know? It’s not you, it’s not your boyfriend, it’s not Alex, and James went back to New York. That pretty much covers all of the gay or bisexual people you know,” he says as he rubs his elbow in what is probably an overly dramatic way. I continue to glare at him until he rolls his eyes and adds, “I met a cute guy at the Starbucks near the train station when I dropped off James yesterday. His name’s David, he goes to Yale, and he’s a history major. We’re going to some Italian place he likes, over by his school. Satisfied?”
“Not really,” I say flatly, “but I hope you have a great time on your date while I’m waiting for my boyfriend to stop hating me.”
“Look,” Garen says, standing up and brushing himself off, “I’m sorry for the other night. Sometimes I do stupid shit, especially when I’m drunk, and I know I shouldn’t have said anything to Ben. I’m really sorry, and if I thought it’d help, I’d apologize to Ben, too. But it won’t. He’ll be mad for as long as he wants. Now if you don’t mind, I’m getting picked up soon, and I really don’t feel like hanging around my bitter ex-boyfriend anymore. I should be home around ten, unless I get laid, in which case, I’ll be home whenever the fuck I feel like it.”
I stare at the doorway for a few minutes, even after he’s gone, but once I finally stand up, I don’t want to stop moving. My skin feels too small to hold the rest of me in. I’m restless, but what can I do? Garen is gone – not like I really want to hang out with him anymore anyway – and Bree is at her boyfriend’s house. Ben doesn’t want to talk to me, Corey’s on a date with Shelley, Alex is afraid I’m going to think he’s gay, and Jeremy and Mason probably hate me for kissing Garen behind Ben’s back.
I’m alone. More alone than I’ve been in ages. At least when Garen left, Ben and the others adopted me into their group. At least when I was struggling with Bill moving in, Corey, Faye and the others were there to stick by me. The last time I felt this alone, I was fifteen and swallowing a bottle of Valium.
There are only two options, really, and one is so much more inviting than the other. I kick open my closet door and dig around for the tin with my razors in it, but I can’t find it. Last time I used them, on Valentine’s Day, I’d fallen asleep on the floor in front of the window, and had woken up to my Mom knocking on the door. I’d hastily thrown the tin back in the closet, and it had clattered onto the floor somewhere in the back. But the floor is bare now, at least of what I’m looking for.
What the fuck? Had Mom gone snooping and taken them from me, to try to make me stop? Had Bree figured out I still had them, and hid them for my own good? Had Ben snuck in here one of the times he came over, and stolen them just in case I got the urge again? I sink to the ground, cursing, but it’s not like being pissed is going to make them magically appear. I sigh, grab my running shoes, and start to lace them up.
There have always only been two choices for me; a razor or a run. They are the only two things that can make me forget myself. They are the only ways I know to get my skin buzzing and my blood pumping. It feels good to finally hear the pounding of my sneakers on the sidewalk, to have to focus on my breathing instead of everything else. It’s been so long since I needed to run just to forget, not because I was trying to get away. This isn’t about escaping a wedding, or a confrontation I know I can’t have. This is just about me. Being me. Forgetting me.
I manage to disappear for almost two hours, making it all the way through Lakewood and the next town over before I head back. Once I’ve returned from my oblivion, I lurch to a stop at the end of the driveway. There’s a car parked in front of the garage, but it’s not the Testarossa, which Garen for some reason seems to have left in New York, or Bree’s Subaru. It’s Bill’s Mercedes. Fuck.
I trot up to the front door and open it cautiously. “Hello?”
“Travis? Honey, it was the trip of a lifetime! Absolutely fabulous!” Mom declares, swooping down on me instantly to envelop me in a hug.
Bill claps me on the shoulder in a horribly affectionate way. “Nice to see you again, Travis. It’s also nice to see that you and your sister didn’t trash the house while we were away.”
“Where is Bridget, anyway? We went to the most gorgeous perfumery in Nice, and I bought her some genuine French perfume,” Mom gushes.
“We got you some gifts, too,” Bill adds with a laugh. “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about—”
“Bill, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” I interrupt. He has to know before Garen gets home. He can’t just have this sprung on him after all this time.
“Sure, sure,” he says agreeably. “Just give us a minute. Now, our hotel was right near this fantastic sweet shop. We brought home a tin of chocolate biscuits, and I want you to try one.”
“Bill,” I say, and when he doesn’t stop unzipping one of his suitcases, I say louder, “Bill!”
“It’s in the biggest suitcase, dear. Remember, we wrapped it up in my sweater so it wouldn’t get dented,” Mom tells him.
“That’s right,” Bill says, snapping his fingers.
I must say his name another half dozen times before, in a split-second of desperation, I say, “Dad.”
As much as it pains me to say the word, as much as it disgusts me to think of Garen’s father as my own, it gets his attention. He straightens up quickly, sparing Mom the briefest glance before he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you wanted to talk. What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you alone,” I say. “Mom, can you just give us a minute?”
“Of course, dear,” she says, though she looks a little offended as she retreats to the kitchen, muttering about putting on a pot of coffee.
“Is something wrong?” Bill asks.
I step a little closer and drop my voice, just in case Mom is listening. “Garen came back.”
Bill’s spine goes rigid. He stares at me, wide-eyed, then glances at the stairs almost involuntarily. “When? How long was he here?”
“He was here when I got home the day of the wedding. I-I think he must’ve showed up during the reception—”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s here,” I say, then add quickly as he heads for the stairs, “but not right now. I mean, he says he’s back. For real. For good. But he’s not home right now. He went out.”
“Where did he go?” Bill demands.
“He said he had a date with some guy he met when he was out for coffee. They’re at some Italian place near the Yale campus. H-He said he’d be back around ten.”
Bill looks at the clock on the wall – quarter after ten already – and makes a slightly animalistic noise. “Why didn’t you call me, Travis? He’s my son! I had a right to know!”
“What’s going on?” Mom asks, returning from her brief field trip to the kitchen. Apparently any reference to Garen is enough to raise her hackles.
Reluctantly, I turn to her and say, “Garen came back after the wedding. He’s been staying here all week.”
She throws her hands into the air in exasperation. “My God! First he disappears for months. Then he sends that horrible hick here, just to make a scene at my reception. And now you’re telling me he’s come back, despite the fact that his father specifically told him not to come back? I’ve told you a hundred times, William, that boy is—”
“Don’t you dare, Evelyn,” Bill snarls. “Don’t you dare tell me that you expect me to kick my son out a second time. I lost him once, and it was my own damn fault then, but I’ll die before I lose him again.”
“So you’ve forgotten, have you, that he raped his brother?” Mom says shrilly.
That is too much. I hate Garen, too, but he’s not a rapist, and he certainly didn’t rape me. “For Christ’s sake, Mom! He never raped me, he never molested me, and he never did anything I didn’t want him to. He was my boyfriend! And besides, I’m seventeen, so everything we did was completely legal.”
“It is not legal to have sexual relations with your stepbrother!” she counters.
“Alright, first of all? I’m pretty sure it actually is. And second of all, he wasn’t my stepbrother until five days ago. When we were together, he was just the son of your boyfriend, which isn’t that big—”
“We are not having this fight again,” Bill says to both of us in a low, deadly voice. “It is not up for debate. Garen is my son, and he will stay for as long as he likes. End of discussion.”
In an almost amusing punctuation to his declaration, headlights flash against the front windows, and we all turn in unison to see a black Lexus pulling into the driveway. Oh, wonderful. Yes, this is the perfect time for Garen to come back, right when we’re playing yet another round of “Is He A Rapist?”
Mom sucks in a deep breath and hurries back into the kitchen. I want to follow her, but if I do, I’ll have to actually talk to her. She’ll ask me why I didn’t call them, why I let Garen stay, what Ben thinks about this whole thing. Mom may hate Ben from the very depths of her soul, but she’d rather I married Ben than ever looked at Garen again. So, at the risk of having to partake in that painful conversation, I stay where I am, watching Bill grow increasingly anxious. When five minutes have gone by and Garen still hasn’t come inside, I give up on patience and throw open the front door.
I immediately wish I hadn’t.
Because Garen is making out with some guy on the porch.
“Fuck my life,” I burst out, turning on my heel and storming over to collapse on the bottom stair, glaring at the floor. This is truly ridiculous. First, I have to watch my boyfriend kiss another guy. Now, I have to watch my exboyfriend kiss another guy. Great.
“Um,” says Garen’s date, and I turn my glare towards him. He’s not even that good-looking, to be honest. He has a straight nose, golden brown eyes, and a chiseled jaw, so in a way, he’s ruggedly handsome. But there is something… angry about him. His face seems almost twisted, like he spends most of his time scowling. It makes me uncomfortable to look at him for too long.
“Hi, Dad,” Garen says evenly. “This is David.”
David, however, seems unwilling to get dragged into the impending family drama. He tugs on Garen’s sleeve and murmurs, “I’m going to head back to the dorm. I’ll call you.”
“Looking forward to it,” Garen says, almost mockingly. We all watch David hurry back to his car. Only once he has peeled out of the driveway and sped off down the street does Garen actually come into the house and hang up his jacket. “How was the honeymoon?”
Bill strides forward, and for one wild moment, I think he’s going to punch Garen out. I am halfway through scrambling to my feet when he throws an arm around Garen’s neck and drags him into what must be a bone-breaking hug.
“I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “I’m sorry, Garen.”
Garen looks stunned. For a few seconds, he simply stands there, letting his father squeeze him. Eventually though, he closes his eyes and raises one arm to hug him back. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. It was a horrible thing to do. I can’t believe I ever… I’m so glad to have you home. I should never have kicked you out.”
Garen laughs a little as Bill releases him. “Well, yeah. But I probably shouldn’t have fucked my stepbrother, so, I guess we’re even.”
I hear a little squeak from the kitchen, but everyone ignores it.
“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” Bill says. “School, for one thing. You’re an entire semester short of the credits you need to graduate, you’ve missed too many classes to even be a student anymore, and you’ve missed the deadlines to apply to almost every college we discussed. I’m… sure we can figure something out.”
“Yeah,” Garen says with a small shrug. “I figured this would all come up.”
Mom clears her throat from the kitchen doorway and says, glaring, “We also need to make some new rules.”
“Like?” Garen says. His eyes are just daring her to continue, but his intimidation is wasted; we all know she’ll talk for as long as she wants to.
“You and Travis are not to be spending time alone together. It’s completely inappropriate, given the circumstances. If I find out you are trying to seduce him, you will never be welcome in this house again. You—”
“Ev,” Bill says coolly. “We can discuss this another time.”
Mom crosses her arms. “I think it’s worth discussing now. God only knows what they’ve been doing while we’ve been away, Bill!”
“We haven’t been doing anything,” Garen says flatly. “Travis is with Ben now, so it doesn’t even matter. We’re over.”
“That remains to be seen,” Mom snaps.
“Yeah, well, open your fucking eyes, then,” I growl, and she glares at me. “He just told you exactly what you want to hear, so I don’t get why you’re—”
Bill clears his throat loudly. “I think this has been a busy night for all of us. Maybe this conversation would be better in the morning?”
“Fine,” I mutter, trudging up to my bedroom. Behind me, I can hear Bill enthusing how great it is to have his son back, and Mom grudgingly agreeing. I slam my door for good measure and flop back onto the bed. Less than a minute later, the door creaks open a few inches, and Garen leans in, tilting his head against the frame.
“My date went well, in case you’re wondering,” he says. I’m beginning to hate the way he can smile and so obviously not mean it.
“Fantastic,” I say dully.
“Mmhm. David gives really good head,” he adds.
I can’t hold back a snort. “Guess that answers the question of whether or not you put out on a first date.”
“Yeah, but you already knew that,” he says with another cheeky grin. He yawns and glances around my room, the utter image of nonchalance. “And anyway, I didn’t get head from him tonight. I’ve known that for what, two years or something? He and I dated before.”
For just a moment, my heart actually stops. I can tell, because my blood freezes in my veins, and the air suddenly seems to be impossible to actually bring into my lungs. “Wait. This is that David? This is Dave, the guy who used to beat you?”
“Don’t worry, T. He promises he won’t do it this time,” Garen laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t believe the words he’s saying. That’s the point. He wants to get beaten up. He wants to date someone who is wrong for him in a horrible, deadly way. He wants to get hurt.
I should’ve realized it earlier. I should’ve known it was too much to be a coincidence that he would suddenly start seeing a guy named David who was a few years older than him. I should’ve realized that Dave’s face was so cruel and hateful because that’s what the rest of him is. I should’ve known.
“Please don’t do this, Garen,” I say hoarsely. “You can’t go out with a guy who hit you. He’s just going to end up doing it again, that’s what his type always does.”
He moves so suddenly that I flinch. In three strides, he is at the edge of my bed. He curls a hand around the back of my neck and leans down to press a hard kiss to my forehead, then inclines his head a little so our noses are almost touching. “I know. I’m counting on it.”
I open my mouth to tell him to stop and think about this – for once in his life, actually think about the consequences of one of the fucking stupid things he does – but he is already sauntering back to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind himself.
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