Chapter Sixteen #2
Tristan doesn’t say anything, because we both know what I’m talking about.
There are a lot of ways to kill yourself, but a gun is well and truly the most effective.
It’s easy to make an impulsive, devastating decision, which is one more reason I want them well away from my family.
Even when you’re unsuccessful, Tristan and I have both seen the kind of physical damage that a last-second flinch can leave behind.
Surviving something like that doesn’t normally mean you get your life back.
Nope. Not happening on my watch.
It was nice to shoot in a controlled environment, though. Bringing back some of my only happy childhood memories, as fucked up as that is. I felt calm, and distant from the issues in my real life. Except for that brief moment when we walked in and the clerk first looked at me, though.
“Don’t you get uncomfortable going to places like that?” I ask when I can’t take the quiet anymore.
His brow furrows as he thinks about it. “What? You mean because I fuck men? Well, a man.”
“Classy, as always,” I reply.
“You know what I mean. I don’t really think about it.
But I guess that’s my privilege. This kind of place is normal for me, and I’m not going to change what I do based on what some conservative asswipes think about my sex life.
I’m not hiding who I am. And maybe if I keep acting like myself, it’ll open their minds to other people who don’t blend in as much as I do.
Or maybe it won’t. It’s worth a shot, though. ”
He pauses, studying me from the other side of the car.
“Does it make you feel weird? You grew up here. If anything, you fit in more than I do.”
I chew on the words. He seems to be so effortlessly at home in any situation he falls into. I’ve spent nearly every day of my life in this fucking county, but I keep finding more and more things that trip me up sometimes. Make me wonder if I still have the welcome I used to.
“It feels like my life is divided into a before and after, sometimes. Silas, I mean. Like he had such a profound effect on everything about me, that I’m a different person now, and everyone can see it.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Tristan asks, pulling some Big Red out of his center console that immediately fills the car with the smell of cinnamon as he chews.
My answer is fast, but not as fast as I’d like. “No.” I take a breath. “I’m a better version of myself with him, I know that. It’s just weird sometimes. And when shit goes down with my dad, I can’t tell which version of me he’s fighting.”
Now it’s Tristan’s turn to snort, rolling his eyes as he answers. “I think he’s fighting the version that’s throwing punches. That man does not contain hidden depths. He seems to be taking whatever you’re putting up for him to see without a lot of critical engagement.”
Yeah, maybe, I think, but hold my tongue.
“Do you think you’d still be queer, if it wasn’t for Silas? I’m not gonna lie, it’s been kind of nice watching you really get into the whole community aspect of it. It’s not something I ever would have considered at your age. And now I’m too old and grumpy to make new friends.”
That makes me roll my eyes, but I don’t take the bait.
“Oh, I was definitely fucking queer before Silas,” I say, shaking my head at my own stupidity.
“I just couldn’t see it. I wasn’t spending a whole lot of time on self-exploration, I guess.
I was busy just getting to the next day.
But when I look back now, it was all right there, waiting for me to wake the fuck up.
It wouldn’t change if Silas, you know…” I trail off, unwilling to even say the words.
Unwilling to even think them. Like it would tempt the universe to fuck me over.
“Good. So then, did you really change? If you were bisexual all along and just too hard-headed to realize it? Or does dividing the world into some kind of before and after situation really feel necessary?”
I chew on his words for a minute before I answer. My pulse has ticked up a little, and I don’t like the way this conversation is going, but I feel obligated to at least reply to Tristan after he dragged me all the way out here as a pretense for this little heart to heart.
“Maybe it hasn’t changed. Maybe I just have more to lose now.”
Tristan nods slowly, still chewing that gum, his face set in the grimace he always seems to make when he’s dishing out his little pearls of wisdom.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
“What?” I reply, blinking.
“You said you have more to lose. I’m assuming you mean Silas.
But also I’m guessing there’s more. The acceptance you got from your family.
Well, most of them. The identity you seem to be cultivating.
This new life you’ve been building for yourself that doesn’t revolve around cleaning up your parents’ messes. What are you going to do about it?”
I make a few noises, but I don’t think any of them qualify as words. The point he’s trying to make is lingering at the edge of my consciousness, but I either can’t or don’t want to really see it.
Another big, cinnamon-scented sigh comes out of Tristan before he gives me a leveling expression.
“Look, I’m not going to pussyfoot around anymore.
You are becoming self-destructive.” He looks me in the eye and enunciates every word like I’m a child.
“You’ve always been a little off the rails, which I can definitely fucking empathize with, but recently its stepped up a notch.
I get it. I like to drink and fight and fuck as much as the next guy.
Probably more than the next guy, let’s be honest. But when that stuff becomes the thing you need just to feel normal, you have a problem.
There’s a difference between indulging your baser urges and being crippled by them, you hear me? ”
Getting scolded has never been one of my favorite pastimes, and normally kickstarts my anger faster than anything else.
The urge to do the complete opposite of whatever that person wants me to do is all-devouring.
And especially now, with the words Tristan’s saying making it feel like he’s peering directly into the most raw part of me.
I take in one deep breath after another, resisting the urge to call him an asshole and start a fight so we can stop fucking talking about this.
I’m sure he can tell, but as always, he’s unperturbed.
“I’m not giving you a hard time. Remember when my cunt mother showed up to suck me back into her web of misery?
I’m telling you, I get it. I get how it feels to be immediately transported back in time into a much more fragile, scared, and angry version of yourself, while everyone around you expects you to keep acting like an adult.
My point is that you have to stay one step ahead of that feeling, or it’ll consume you.
So find some way to work it off. Come here and shoot.
Take up fucking boxing once your hand is healed.
Run a triathlon like a masochist. Read stories at the peds unit.
I don’t give a fuck. But you have to put that energy somewhere, or it’ll just keep eating at you. ”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can speak.
“And no, drinking doesn’t count. Neither does riding your bike, unfortunately, as long as you and Silas are still fighting about it. That’s just more fuel for the fire.”
This time, the mention of Silas’s name clicks, and I put two and two together.
I turn to look at Tristan, my expression sharp.
“He talked to you. Didn’t he?”
Tristan’s face remains impassive.
“What do you think?” he asks.
There’s a pulse of anger, but I try to release it before it can take hold, and in its wake I crumple in on myself.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice quiet, guilt creeping in from all sides. I can’t stop myself from bringing up a thumbnail to chew on, because what’s one more bad habit right now, really?
My whole mission most of the time is to make things easier for Silas, and it looks like I’ve been doing the opposite recently. “Fuck, I’m an asshole. I should never have put him in this position.”
Tristan holds one hand up like a stop sign.
“Don’t do that. He’s your fucking partner.
He’s supposed to worry about you and hurt when you’re hurting.
That’s normal. You running around pretending to be king shit of mental health and ignoring your issues because you think he’s the only one allowed to have problems—that’s what’s fucking you both over.
Come on, you know this. It’s common fucking sense. ”
Oof, this is just one dick-punch of embarrassment after another. “Yeah,” I say, because I can’t muster anything else. Then I think about it for another few seconds and pull on my big boy pants. “Thank you, Tristan. I know I need a kick in the ass sometimes.”
He reaches over and ruffles my hair like we’re in the after part of an anti-depressant commercial. It’s cheesy and embarrassing, and I yank my head out of his reach even while he grins at me.
“Good talk,” he says, reaching to give me another condescending pat before I slap his arm away.
“Yeah, yeah, can we go? I’m hungry.”
This time, he actually does start to pull out of the parking lot.
“Sure. I’ll buy you some food. But you have to promise me to keep your face out of a liquor bottle for at least a week, until you and Silas sort your shit out. Promise me that and I’ll get you the most disgusting, overstuffed cheeseburger we can find.”
“I can buy my own food, Tristan, I’m not destitute. Well, not anymore.” He stares at me. “Fine, fine, I promise. Let’s go.”
A little voice in the back of my head reminds me of what Micah said at the hospital, that unburdening myself to Tristan doesn’t count as a big enough step in the right direction.
As if I can afford therapy after the amount I spent on Silas already.
Or, frankly, think about it without immediately getting angry.
I don’t need therapy. This is enough. I feel lighter already, and I’m going to apologize to Silas as soon as I get home.
Everything will be fine.