Letter Eighteen #2
I thought for a second. “No. I’m used to being the most important person in his life, so it would be difficult for me to see someone else take my place.”
Michael grabbed my hand again. “Elliot, you’ll always be the most important person to him. That’ll never change. And anyway,” he added, “for all we know, Nic’s had lots of girlfriends over the years. Maybe that’s why he comes home late so often and goes out of town all the time.”
Stomaching turning, I tried yanking my hand free of Michael’s a second time, but he wouldn’t let me.
“What?” he asked, laughing at the horrified expression on my face. “You think Nic hasn’t gotten laid since your mom left seventeen years ago? Come on.”
My skin crawled. “Hey, you want to know why Bree got so mad at me in the first place?” Michael lifted his eyebrows and waited. “Because I told Tinsley about that time we practiced kissing on each other.”
“Jesus,” Michael said, tossing his head back against the sofa. “I almost forgot you hooked up with my sister.”
“I didn’t hook up with her. We only kissed.”
“Yes,” Michael said, “but it’s Bree. You kissed Bree, Elliot.”
I laughed at the look of revulsion on his face.
“I miss this,” he said suddenly, squeezing my hand. “I miss us.”
“Me, too.”
“We can hang out at my place, too, you know. It doesn’t have to be over here.”
“It does, though.”
“Why?”
“Casey’s not letting me go off on my own anymore—not after what I did to Sienna.”
“He’s not letting you?” Michael huffed out a laugh, head shaking. “You know what I find interesting? How—if literally anyone else says you can’t do something?—you do it, anyway. But if Casey says it? You listen.”
“What other choice do I have? If I don’t listen, he’ll tell my dad.”
Michael snorted. “No, he won’t.”
“Okay, you’re probably right. But he’d see me walking away from school, and he’d follow me. And even if I did manage to slip past him, you’re the first person he’d go to when he couldn’t find me.”
“I’ll give you that. Still, I can’t believe you’re basically letting him ground you without putting up a fight.”
Michael had a point. And, believe me, Casey, I had considered it. Running off. Going wherever I wanted. Forcing you to come after me. Find me. Make me go home.
Honestly, the idea thrilled me beyond belief. But then I remembered how hurt and disappointed you’d been by all the lying when you’d trusted me to uphold our deal. Running off would only cause you to trust me less.
“Who says I haven’t been fighting him? Haven’t you noticed I take my tea upstairs while you guys watch basketball? I’ve barely spoken to him in weeks.”
Michael stopped to consider this.
“Anyway, he isn’t grounding me, Michael. I hurt Sienna, and he got in trouble with my dad. He’s just being extra cautious.”
“Believe me,” Michael said, releasing a bitter laugh. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“You should’ve seen him when he broke Greer’s hands, Elliot. I wanted to make that asshole pay for hurting you, but not like Casey did. It made me question everything.”
“Like what?”
“My feelings for you, I guess? I love you, but I didn’t go postal like he did. I didn’t try to kill that guy.”
Despite everything, my heart skipped. “He only did it because he thinks he’s my protector.”
“That’s bullshit. I mean, he definitely wants to protect you. But he also wants to keep you here—locked inside this house with him—where he can personally make sure no other guy ever touches you. In fact, he’s pretty worried about you and me. He worries I’ve touched you already.”
“How do you know that?”
“A few weeks ago, while we were watching a game over here, he started questioning me. He asked if we’ve ever fooled around—if I’ve ever bitten you—and you should’ve seen his face. If I’d said yes? I’m pretty sure he would’ve lost it.”
Because you would’ve caught me in another lie? Or because you hated the idea of me fooling around with Michael? Him specifically?
“He knows what I like,” Michael said, “and he suspects you, of all people, wouldn’t mind that sort of thing.”
“How does he know so much about what you like, anyway?”
“We’ve been with the same girl, Elliot—and she told him stuff.”
“So what he said before was true? You’ve never been with her at the same time?”
Michael shook his head. “Never.”
“Why wouldn’t you share a bed with him?”
“Because it would be weird.”
“Why? You’re friends. I share a bed with my friends all the time.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, eyebrows raised. “You also made out with one of them in your bed.”
“So you think he might try to make a move on you? Is that what it is?”
“No. I mean—I don’t know. I might’ve thought that at one point, but not now. He’s different now.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just—he used to flirt with me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How?”
“He’d make comments—like the one he made about my clothes that time. Then he asked about my scar once…and he touched it.”
“The one on your lip?”
“Yeah. He stroked it like you do. And the one from the stabbing—on my neck?—he put his thumb to that one, too.”
“When?”
Michael stopped to think about it. “Not too long after we met. Why?”
So you’d done all this before you knew he was your brother, then.
“No reason,” I said. “Did it…weird you out?”
He shrugged. “Any other guy, I would’ve shoved back and been like, ‘What the fuck, dude?’ But with him…it didn’t bother me. I’ve always felt more comfortable with Casey than I have any other guy in my life, so I—I don’t know—I can’t describe it, really.”
I can, I wanted to say. He’s your brother.
But I didn’t. Instead, I turned Michael’s face to mine and stroked that scar for myself, trying to imagine the moment you did the same.
Were you curious to see what it felt like?
To feel that tiny ridge beneath your thumb?
Or was it the intimacy behind the gesture that appealed to you?
Touching a place on Michael very few people ever got close enough to touch?
Before I could fully register what was happening, Michael pulled my hand from his face and kissed me. I nudged him back. “Michael…”
“He told me what you did.”
“Who?”
“Casey. He said you met with Sienna, told her the earring she found at my apartment was yours, and made it clear I didn’t cheat on her.”
“Well, I couldn’t let her think something awful about you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Michael looked genuinely pained by this.
“I figured she would’ve told you herself.”
“Nope. She used that incident to get her way. She wanted an open relationship, and that’s how she finally talked me into it.”
What a horrible bitch, I thought.
“You were looking out for me,” he said softly. “Like you always do. And you were right—Sienna’s not a good person.”
“Neither am I, Michael.”
He stroked my braid. “You’re one of the best people I know.”
My throat tightened. “That’s not true.”
“Then why I am so in love with you?”
“I think when I stabbed you—and you fell out from the shock—you probably hit your head.”
Michael tossed his head back, laughing so loud I shushed him. “Oh my God,” he said, swiping at the corners of his eyes when he finally stopped shaking from laughter. “I love you so fucking much.”
“Stop saying that.”
“No,” he said, taking my face in his hand.
“When I picture my future, you’re all I see.
Your hair’s down, you’re wearing this hot black dress that makes you look like a total badass, you’re stroking my lip as you tell me goodbye, and I’m so happy.
I’m happy because I know you’ll come back, and we’ll be together, and no matter what’s going on in my life, you’ll make it better. ”
“Stop it,” I whispered.
“Why?”
“Since when do I make anything better? What you described is a pipe dream, Michael. It’s a delusion.”
“You know what your problem is?” he asked, head shaking.
“You’re too busy listening to the little voice in your head that says you’ll never be good enough to pay attention when someone’s sitting right in front of you, trying to tell you that you are good enough. To me? You’re everything. I love you.”
You’re everything. It touched that terrible ache inside me—still tender and throbbing, all these weeks later—created by you. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“I need an explanation. Not any of that perfect bullshit you tried to sell me before—because I know it’s not true.”
He gave me a look. “I never said you were perfect. You’re far from that. I said you’re perfect for me.”
“But think about all the times I’ve hurt you, Michael. All the times I’ve screwed up. All the times—”
“Don’t do that,” he said, gaze flashing bright.
“Do what?”
“Self-sabotage. Destroy. Ruin. For once in your life, will you please allow something good to happen to you? I forgave you, Elliot. I forgave you a hundred times—in a hundred different ways—and I keep forgiving you. You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.
You don’t have to do anything to deserve it.
But, for the record, I love you because you don’t take anyone’s shit.
Because underneath that badass persona you try to give off is someone who cares too much and loves really hard and cries at the sappiest stuff.
For someone as cutthroat as you are—and I do mean that literally—you have the softest heart, and I love how I’m one of the few people who gets to know that about you.
Who gets to see it. Who gets to see you cry and squeal over videos of, like, baby lemurs and shit. ”
I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks. You see, this was exactly the kind of reassurance I needed—after the humiliation of begging Sienna, the humiliation of being rejected by you, and the devastation of Bree saying all that stuff about my dad.
Sometimes, it felt like Michael loved me better than anyone.
Sometimes, he made it possible for me to believe that maybe, deep down, I was good—not good like the rest of you were, but good enough.
And when a person makes you feel like that—like you’re truly loved, despite all your flaws—being with them feels like the right thing.
“What about the pain stuff?” I asked.