26. Chapter 26
Asher
Somehow, I manage to find my way to my parents’ house. Dad opens the door when I ring the bell. He’s got his headphones plugged in—on a work call, no doubt, and he sends me barely more than a glance.
Last time I showed up at my parents’ house, I had to admit I was out of the money they’d sent me that week.
I barely managed to dodge their questions about what I’d been spending it on.
Of course, I’d spent it on drugs, and I think they suspected as much, but if so, they denied their suspicions. Or maybe they just didn’t care.
I trudge up the stairs to my old boy’s room, wrench my clothes off, and collapse into bed.
Hours pass before I wake up. Part of me wishes I wouldn’t wake up at all.
“Ash?”
There’s a knock on my door. I give a muffled groan in reply, and my visitor pushes the door open.
It’s Ethan.
I should have known. I’ve slept through hours of nightmares, waking up momentarily to look out the window and see Dad’s car come and go.
So many thoughts have gone through my mind between my brother’s call and this moment that I only now remember he’s the reason I’m here in the first place. He’s the reason I?…?why Noah and I?…
“Dad said you were here.” Ethan drops the gym bag he’s carrying and sits on the side of my bed. “You look like shit. Are you sick or something?”
“Um?…?yeah.” I might as well let him think I’m sick. It’s better than the truth.
“I just arrived.” He sighs heavily and brushes a hand through his hair, and it strikes me that we don’t look all that alike anymore.
While I’ve kept the lean build I got after puberty hit, he’s put on a lot of muscle, and his hair’s shorter, trimmed at the sides and longer at the top.
He gives me an odd look. “Hey, are you okay?”
I can’t bring myself to answer. I just can’t escape the fact that we haven’t exchanged more than two sentences since he left for college. He came home for Christmas last year, and we sat at the dinner table having family-fun time, or more like awkward-as-hell time.
He never asked me any questions like this back then. Why now?
It doesn’t help that I’m constantly on the verge of crying. It doesn’t help that I see Noah’s face and hear his voice in every waking moment. When I’m asleep, I dream about him and all that we did, all I experienced with him. The good times, the bad times, and the utterly horrifying ones.
Waking up drugged and bound. Thinking I was about to die.
Bathing at knifepoint. Listening to Noah’s deepest, darkest secrets and caressing his cheek.
Holding a knife to his throat. Him holding a knife to mine. Our lips touching.
His venture into the woods. My grief. Oh god, my grief?…
Maybe he’s already done it. Maybe he’s gone far into the forest with his hunting rifle, so far no one will ever find him, and his body will rot and become one with the forest?…
Maybe I should never have left. I can’t stand to have his death on my conscience, but at the same time, can I really be responsible for what he does with his life, or how he ends it?
I can barely even breathe, so how can I stand to bear that burden?
“Ash?” Ethan reaches for my arm, and I try to pull away, but he’s too quick. Like Lilith, he grips my wrist hard and studies the half-healed marks on my skin, as well as the faint needle marks in the crook of my arm. “What the fuck? Did you do this?”
He shifts closer and rips the cover away from my torso, and he exposes the knife mark by my ribs. The scab is almost gone, and underneath, it’s raw and itchy.
“Ash?…?What the fuck happened to you?”
I pull the cover back over myself. “Nothing.” I feel like I succeed in keeping my voice steady and detached, but my eyes must be betraying something my tone does not.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I bristle. “Why wouldn’t I? Last time you even said a word to me unprovoked, you told me I was just a shadow.”
He sighs and lays a hand on my knee. “That’s not what I said.”
I roll my eyes, or at least I try to, but I bet the expression doesn’t come across right with how miserable I feel. I can’t stand to argue with him about what was or wasn’t said. I don’t want to do anything. I just want to crawl into myself and not even look at him anymore.
Looking at him makes me remember all the fun we had as kids. We fought sometimes, sure, as brothers do, but we’re so close in age that we were more like twins than brothers, and I would have done anything, anything, to keep him that way.
If only he’d let me. If only he hadn’t shut me out and then ruined everything we’d ever been. Everything I’d been. He exposed the weakest parts of me. He made me see why I’d always felt different, why I’d always felt othered.
I know you’re stupid, Ash, but you can’t be that stupid.
You were just an accident—a shadow of the son they truly wanted.
Ever since that day, I’ve tried to escape that feeling of being worthless and unwanted, but nothing has helped more than for a few precious moments, like when I’m high or when I’m entangled in bed with Noah. No matter what I do, the feeling always returns, more vicious and biting than before.
“Talk to me, Asher.”
“Why?” I try to sneer, but it comes out as more of a sob.
Why can’t I at least be angry with him properly?
He ruined everything, but I ruined it more.
I could’ve been in Noah’s arms right now.
I could’ve been safe. I could’ve been wanted.
He wanted me, but in a way, he wanted me too much.
He made me suffer, but he was there when I needed him, and he gave me things no one has ever given me before.
He saw me for who I am, and he wanted me through all my faults and shortcomings.
I wasn’t worthless and unwanted to him. I might be a little broken, but he was too, and together, we were whole.
The worst thing is I know he will forgive me if I turn back. He’ll welcome me back into his arms and lead me into the basement, where we’ll continue to chip away at each other until our bodies are all worn out, until his blood is mine and my blood is his.
Can I live like that? I don’t know, but unhealthy love is still love?…?isn’t it? Besides, I can’t live like this either.
I know what would make me feel better though. I could call Joshua right now and buy from him the substance that would make me feel a thousand times better. Maybe I will. I haven’t decided yet.
“Hey,” Ethan tries again. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually.”
“Yeah?” I mutter.
Something vulnerable flashes across his face, and he shakes his head. “I, uh, I got a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I’m about to add as if I care , because right now, I don’t. I can’t.
He scratches the back of his head, gaze fleeting. He never acts like this. I don’t know what the hell is up with him.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” he continues.
“Talk to me? Go ahead,” I mutter, looking away, doing everything but acknowledging his effort, because he hasn’t acknowledged mine, and now my life has fallen apart, even worse than when I was addicted to drugs, even worse than when my wrist was bruised by chains.
Worse than when I was in the deepest dredges of withdrawal.
It was hell, but if so, this is an even deeper part of hell. The ache is more painful, and the memories?…?The memories are worse, attacking me with Noah’s face, his touch, and his soft voice that soothed my insides.
Nothing is soothing them now.
Somehow, I think Noah put a pause on the last phase of my withdrawal—the one where you start feeling all the shitty emotions you tried to repress through doing drugs.
Now it’s all rushing back, and I’m left in the dark, with no Noah to brace the storm of emotions, no Noah to pull me close and tell me it will be okay.
I realize minutes have gone by where I’ve just stared into nothing, and Ethan is still here, still sitting by the side of the bed, looking at me with a concerned crease between his brows.
“Never mind,” he mumbles. “I’ll tell you later.”
Fine. I don’t even care. I doubt it will make me feel better, anyway. Nothing will.
“What have you been up to, little brother?” he asks then, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Who did this to you?”
I shake my head, but I can’t keep the tears away anymore, the well of emotions too intense to bear. “No one.”
Noah.
Basement.
Love.
Pain.
I break down, a crying mess—an embarrassing fuckup of a little brother who always gets himself into trouble.
The failing student, the junkie. I’ve let everyone down.
But what more could they have expected than for me to look for love elsewhere, end up in someone’s basement, and form the most messed-up connection our brains could conceive of?
“Hey.” Ethan nudges closer to me, trying to hold me, but I remain unresponsive to his embrace, so he pulls back.
I hide my face in my hands, trying to stifle my cries. I had no idea I had this many tears inside me, this much pain just waiting to burst out. Sometimes, it feels good to cry, but not now. I don’t think I’ll ever feel good again.
I want to tell the truth to my brother, but I can’t. What Noah did is the kind of stuff you get arrested for, and even though Ethan doesn’t care about me, he’d care enough to call the cops on the man who robbed me of my freedom.
Aside from that, I don’t think I could tell him the truth even if I tried. Words don’t obey me, and my mind is shattered and torn.
“Are you having the junkie sweats or something?” Ethan asks. “Is that it? Are you in withdrawal?”
I look up at him, sniffling, wiping my nose with my sleeve. “Yeah,” I choke out, relieved at the excuse he dumped into my lap. “Yeah. I am.”
“So you’re trying to quit?”
I nod miserably. “Yes.” I wish that were the extent of my troubles.
Ethan sighs. “Well, you’re doing the right thing. I just wish you hadn’t started that shit in the first place.”
“Me too.”
If I hadn’t started doing drugs, I wouldn’t have ended up with Noah in the first place. My life could have taken a different trajectory if I’d just been better. A better student, a better son. A better brother.
“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Ethan says. “Just smoke weed like the rest of us. Stay away from that other shit.”
I nod, wiping my face again. His sternness makes me want to dry my tears and square my shoulders.
I shouldn’t have laid myself bare in front of him like this, but I couldn’t help it.
In the past, when I was on drugs, I could easily pretend nothing was wrong, that nothing affected me. Sober, it’s another story.
Maybe it’s time to acknowledge that I’ll always be a fuckup; I just have to become better at hiding it from others.
“Hey.” Ethan reaches out to ruffle my hair.
That single affectionate touch makes me want to start crying again, but I press the tears back down.
“There’s a party tonight at Joshua’s. I’m meeting some of my buddies there.
You should come. Might make you feel better.
No junkie shit, though, just booze and some weed, tops. ”
I stop sniffling and look up at him. “Okay.”
Ethan wants me to join him at a party. He wants to hang out with me. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
If I can keep to just drinking and a bit of weed, maybe I can show him I’m not as hopeless as he thinks. I can do it; I have to. It’s the only shot I have at feeling better.
He smiles and pats my thigh. “We leave at ten.”