Chapter Twelve
Jules
“I can’t believe you told her I had the shits,” I call out to Zander while looping the tie around my neck. Today is the last day of school, and apparently, the last day of my social life, thanks to Zander.
“You didn’t want to be there, so I fixed it,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste.
We woke up late thanks to our anime-fest last night, and now it’s a race to get out of the door.
Personally, I don’t know why we’re rushing– what are they going to do?
Give us detention on our last day? Zander, on the other hand, has been nothing but twitchy since he realised the time.
He all but commando rolled out of his bed and has been barking orders at me from the moment I opened my eyes.
“Jules, hurry the fuck up!”
“Shush, we don’t have time for chit-chat.”
“Jules, your toothbrush goes on the left side of the sink!”
Honestly, I’d get fewer orders from a drill sergeant, but I’m learning to roll with his quirks– lord knows I have enough of my own.
He’s been here for three months, since the court awarded my Mom custody following that night.
It’s not something I ever imagined for myself, or my Mom– having someone else join our bubble.
But somehow, he just fit right in, and now I can’t ever imagine a time when he wasn’t here.
I still look forward to waking up each morning, and dread going to sleep each night, knowing every day we inch closer and closer to adulthood.
It almost feels like a race against time, and I know Zander has been struggling with the idea of change, too.
He’s mentioned it on more than one occasion, usually when the day gives way to the night, and we’re lying on our bunks waiting for sleep to come. His tired mind relinquishes control over his mouth, allowing his mounting anxieties to free-fall.
He seems to be under the impression that I’m oblivious to the way his tone shifts when he’s uneasy, or that I’m completely unbothered by the feelings of uncertainty that seep through the mattress above.
Nighttime is the only time I get to see this side of him.
When the rest of the world falls silent, and the night sky swallows up the light, that’s when he comes to me; the real Zander.
It’s the only time I feel like an equal in our relationship, but that’s not to say that he makes me feel inadequate– far from it, actually.
Zander has spent the better part of eleven years being my safety net; he’s always assumed the role of my protector, the indestructible one.
I admire his courage and strength, I always have– even at five years old.
But now, at sixteen, it’s finally my turn to give him something back. As much as I wish I could erase all the hurt and suffering that he’s endured, I can’t. So I offer the only thing I know how to give, the thing that I have an endless supply of–
I give him my unrequited love.
I give it to him in the form of late-night talks and movie marathons. Cups of tea and a loving home. Gentle smiles and a hand to hold.
Sometimes, he needs silence; like his feelings need the space around him to be void of people and sound in order to be felt. Other times, when everything seems overwhelming, he fills his days with uninterrupted activities and noise, leaving no room for them to occupy.
I prefer the quiet days; those are the times I feel closest to him.
And, as repulsive as it is, his pain gives me purpose.
The nights when his confessions float in the air are the same nights that I find myself clutching the edges of my own mattress.
I have to urge my body to stay put, and my mouth to stay quiet.
I can’t give him the answers that he reaches for, so I let him exorcise the demons that plague his brilliant mind, in the hopes it will be enough to give him the peace of a good night's sleep.
But I’ve come to learn a hard truth, one that I can’t give voice to or act upon– I want to hold him through it.
I want to climb that ladder and press my body into his, the same way he had done with me that night.
I want him to reach for my presence in the darkness–to seek me out–just so I can let him know that he is not alone.
I want to absorb his pain and make it my own, because to watch someone you love hurting is more painful than hurting yourself.
Since the night at the movies, there’s been a shift between us.
It’s not something Zander seems to be aware of, but I feel it every time I look at him, every time I hear his voice.
It’s in the way I notice little things about him, here and there, that I probably shouldn’t, and the way my heart picks up its pace when I’m the one he walks toward in a room full of people.
“Jules!” His shrill voice shatters my thoughts as he hurries toward me. His hands reach out, gripping the two lengths of the tie hanging on either side of my chest. “You were gonna do it yourself?” I don't miss the hint of disappointment in his words.
“I didn’t think you would want to waste time with us being late already,” I admit, peering up at him.
Since he moved in and we returned to school, it’s become a habit for Zander to knot my tie.
After watching Mom do it day in and day out, he summoned all his patience and tried to teach me himself.
As it turns out, I have about as much finesse in the fine-motor-skills department as a sticky-fingered toddler, which caused Zander to give up on his efforts.
So instead, each morning we stand face to face–close enough that I get to smell the fresh mint on his breath–as he commands the material between his fingers in a series of loops and tucks.
He doesn’t answer me with words, just a quiet “tsk” as he steps further into me, his hands making quick work of the navy material. My heart always picks up its pace at his proximity, and this morning is no different.
“Last day nerves?” He asks. His eyes remain focused on his task as his fingers brush against my neck, turning down the collar of my shirt.
Since the night at the cinema, I've found my mind reaching for something that's obviously only one-way.
His touch feels more tender and intimate, his gaze intense and unwavering, but I know it's just my warped brain distorting everything, reading into every interaction, hoping there's a hint of something similar to my own irrational thoughts.
I use the time to really drink in his maturing features and catalogue the subtle changes each day.
His once-soft edges have started to sharpen; his jaw and cheekbones have become more pronounced over the last few months.
Then there’s the light shadowing of stubble starting to break through the surface of his slightly sun-kissed skin.
It’s almost unfair how blessed he is in the looks department. All things I shouldn’t notice.
“N-no, I just want to get it over with.” Neither of us miss the way my voice cracks with the confession.
School has never been easy; I’ve always been the outcast– the oddball.
It honestly doesn’t bother me, though. There’s no one’s opinion that I care for outside of this house, and to change myself into someone more palatable for my peers would be to disrespect my Mom’s efforts over the last sixteen years.
I won’t do it, I won’t conform to who society thinks I should be, even if it has brought hostility and harassment my way on multiple occasions.
“Make it memorable, Jules. Go out with a bang.”