Chapter Nineteen – Logan #2
Those words strike a chord in me, and I frown at nothing in particular. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I did, and maybe, because of that, I fucked myself up good for the future.
He goes on, “So, besides you being angry, how’s the rest of it going? Are you actually dragging yourself to class, or are you skipping already?”
My brother knows me well. “I’ll have you know I only skipped two days’ worth so far, and I only skipped because…”
Deacon groans. “Because why? Let’s hear whatever excuse it is.”
My brother and I haven’t really spoken too much since classes began. He’s been off doing his own thing, while I’ve been here, doing mine. We’re not the kind of siblings who talk every day. In all honesty, talking to him just reminds me of what I lost, so I was all for the radio silence.
But today, it’s different. Today I don’t mind it. It’s nice to hear my brother’s voice.
With a sigh, I mumble, “There’s… a girl—” Deacon bursts out laughing, something totally out of character for him, and even though he’s not in the room with me, I scowl at him as if he is. “What the fuck is your deal?”
“Sorry, it’s just,” he pauses, “having girl problems is such a… well, it’s a you problem. It doesn’t matter where you are, you always have girl problems. Thought maybe, after everything that happened, you’d be careful when it comes to girls.”
“I was,” I quickly hiss out. “I was good when it comes to girls for a long fucking time.” Let’s not forget it’s been over a year since I was kicked out of the band. I’ve handled myself just fine… until now, I guess.
Deacon says, “Tell me about this girl, then. Or girls. Whatever it is. Knowing you, you probably got a whole fan club already.”
The old me definitely would have a fan club, a whole gaggle of girls who chased after me. Girls who would be ready for a random message at two in the morning asking for them to come over, girls who would hustle to do just that.
“Believe it or not, it’s just one.”
“My brother and just one girl? That doesn’t seem right. Are you feeling okay?” Very out of character, him joking. “Seriously, though, what’s going on? Did a girl finally turn you down?”
“It’s… complicated.” As I say it, I wince. How cliché. I hate it. I really do.
“Of course it is. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
I tell my brother about Wren, how I met her at a club before the semester began, how I took her home.
I don’t get into the details of what we did that night, but it’s pretty clear that we fucked.
I then go on to say she’s in one of my classes, and I made the mistake of sitting near her and being in a group with her for a semester-long project.
I tell him she was in the throes of a bad breakup with a long-term boyfriend, but I don’t say that she basically confessed to me that I was her first.
Doesn’t feel right, telling my brother that much. That information is for me and me alone.
“She… caught me in the cemetery earlier in the week. For some stupid reason, I went there with a guitar.” I swallow hard. “She caught me playing Pray for Me.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out the word. “What the hell were you doing, playing any of our songs in public like that? What if she puts it together?”
“It wasn’t in public, it was a fucking cemetery. It’s dead during the day. And she won’t. She was too shocked to see it was me. She probably doesn’t even know the song.” Wren doesn’t strike me as a Black Sacrament fan.
“Still, that was stupid.”
“I know that,” I growl out. “I don’t plan on doing it again. It was the first time I… the first time I actually sat down and played anything.”
“You have a house, so why didn’t you just play in the privacy of your own home? Why risk it?”
“I don’t fucking know. It felt fitting, being surrounded by dead people.”
Deacon’s voice is hard when he reminds me, “You did this to yourself, you remember.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I haven’t forgotten that.”
I sit there in silence for a while, until my brother speaks again. “So this girl, she’s got you real fucked up. You like her, or what?”
“What would be the point? It isn’t like she could ever know the real me.”
My brother is quiet for a while, and I start to wonder if maybe he didn’t hear what I said—I did say it under my breath. But eventually he tells me, “Pope isn’t the real you. Pope’s an asshole. You don’t have to be.”
“You say that like it’s easy to be someone else. You don’t know what it’s like, not really.”
“No, I don’t, but I know you. You’re my brother, so I know there’s more to you than Pope, more to you than your lyrics and the mask you used to wear. If this girl is bothering you that much, then you need to figure out why. Maybe… maybe you’re just scared she’ll like you for you.”
I scoff. “I’m not scared of anything, bro.”
“Right. That’s why you skipped class? That was you being brave?”
“I’m not five years old. I don’t have to do anything.” I groan and rub my face again. “You know, talking to you was supposed to make me feel better, but I think I feel worse now than I did before, so thanks a fuckton.”
I can imagine him frowning at me as he says, “You did this to yourself.” His tone softens a bit when he adds, “If she just went through a bad breakup, the last thing she probably needs is you, but… after you left the band, I thought the same thing about Angel, and now I can’t see the band without her.
I can’t see us without her. Sometimes things happen.
Sometimes those things are bad, but sometimes they’re good.
The only way to know which one it is, you have to give it time. ”
If somebody would have asked me six months ago whether I thought I’d get girl advice from my younger brother, I would have probably laughed and then flipped them off. But as much as I hate to admit it, he’s not wrong. I suppose there are some similarities in our situations, if you zoom out.
Still, I’m not used to this shit. I don’t like it.
“Look,” Deacon says, “I gotta go, but if you need to talk, you know I’m always here, right? Bishop and Priest are, too. You might not be part of the band anymore, but they’re still your friends. They might not say it, but they miss you.”
I’m not someone who reaches out. It’s why I haven’t spoken to Priest or Bishop in…
fuck, I think since it all went down. I saw them at the bar, when I gave my goodbye to my brother before I went home to Mom and Dad, but I didn’t stay and talk.
After nearly being framed for kidnapping, I was done and I wanted out.
“Sure” is all I can say.
“I’ll tell them you said hey. Talk later.” And then he ends the call, and I’m left sitting there in the semi-dark, wondering if I feel any better than I did when we first started talking.
Honestly? I don’t know. I thought I’d feel… better. Maybe not one hundred percent better, but better. I don’t know what I was expecting, talking to my brother about what’s been going on in my life lately—I don’t really have much experience sharing my feelings and all that sappy shit.
I lean forward, setting my elbows on my knees as my shoulders slump. This fucking funk, man. It’s all Wren’s fault. I can guarantee I wouldn’t feel like this if it wasn’t for her. For a random nerd I shouldn’t give a second thought to, she’s dominated my thoughts ever since the night at the club.
That fucking look she gave me…
Goddamn it.
Friday night is a night I should go out and party, but I’m not feeling it, so when I get up, I head upstairs and shower, toss on some sweats, and make myself something small in the microwave.
Don’t really feel like cooking or ordering delivery.
It’s so unlike me, but I just want to have a night in, alone.
Once my food is done, I throw it on a plate and bring it to the living room. I turn on the TV and find something to watch on one of the many streaming services I have. Seriously, at this point, it’s like I’m paying for cable, but whatever. I couldn’t care less.
My dinner is just one of those little wraps with cheese and pepperoni inside—funny how the picture on the box always makes it seem like the things are stuffed full to the point where they’re overflowing with their contents, but in reality, when you open the plastic packaging, you’re greeted with sadness.
I take my first bite and immediately a drip of grease oozes out and hits me smack dab on the chest. “Shit.” I try to wipe it off as quickly as possible.
Stupid me didn’t put on a shirt after I showered.
Hot grease on bare skin? Not so fun. I can take some pain with my pleasure, but that’s when I’m expecting it. Here and now? Not exactly welcome.
Honestly, this is what I get for eating this shit, what I get for letting a girl get me so wrapped up in her that I can’t think straight.
Night falls outside, and I’m three episodes into some show about the world after a nuclear apocalypse when my doorbell rings.
What the shit?
I get up and peer out of the nearest window. From where I am, I’m able to see who’s standing there, looking out of place, and I genuinely can’t believe it. I mean… what the fuck?
Storming to the front door, I unlock it and throw the door wide open, instantly meeting the eyes of the girl on the other side, a girl who’s been here only once before. Somehow, she remembered. She remembered and she’s here, for whatever reason.
Wren. The girl that’s been plaguing my thoughts for an eternity now.
I meet the girl’s wide eyes and say the only thing that comes to my mind: “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s what she expected me to say.