Gabe
I use the tip of my index finger to blend the pencil lead. I’ve been drawing for hours because today is the day that my life gets turned on its head with the arrival of my stepbrother.
God, that word feels weird. Stepbrother.
I lean back and take a look at my drawing. It’s the fort Jason and I built in the woods when we were twelve. We made it with sticks and an old tarp we found lying on the side of the road. The thing was filthy, but we loved it.
If I ever couldn’t find Jason in the park, I always knew where to look. That was our spot.
Our safe place.
The screen door screeches open, and I nearly jump through the roof. Without even a knock, Doug barges into the trailer with Mom close behind.
My body turns cold.
Jason walks in a moment later.
It’s like a punch to the gut.
I prepared myself for this—looked at my reflection in the mirror, trying to convince myself that I hated him.
But now he’s standing right in front of me.
He’s taller than when he left—still skinny, but he’s got that ropey muscle that tall, scraggly guys have. His hair is still that crazy strawberry blonde color, but he’s got the sides shaved.
Tattoos.
He always wanted tattoos—talked about it all the time.
And there they are, peeking from under his shirt, covering his collarbones and arms. There’s a scorpion on his forearm and what looks like two stems crossing over his neck with wilted petals.
Who knows what’s underneath the shirt…
His faded jeans and ripped-up white tank top with the words Eat Shit surrounded by big red lips are a sight to behold.
We lock eyes, and for a split second, I see the Jason I loved in his eyes, and I’m transported back in time.
“I grabbed some of my dad’s whisky.” Jason hands me a flask, a sly grin on his face. I love it when he’s bad. He looks like the Cheshire Cat, all smirks and eyebrow waggles.
“Your dad’s gonna kill you if he finds out.”
Jason huffs a joyless laugh. “He’ll beat my ass no matter what I do. If it’s gonna happen anyway, I might as well have a little fun along the way, right?”
I wish Doug were nicer to Jason.
The wind blows, causing the tarp that covers our fort to billow, and I quickly plant my foot on the edge to keep it from blowing off.
“We need more rocks to hold this thing down,” Jason says.
I nod, then grab a few nearby to place at the corners of the tarp. I take a seat and notice Jason is lost in thought.
He looks at the flask—stares at it.
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I wish I did. It’s so hard to talk about the shit that rips our lives apart. Between my dad and his…why does everything have to feel like this?
Jason takes a big swig from the flask, barely grimacing as the smell of it alone makes me gag. He holds the flask out to me. “Have some.”
After a moment of hesitation, I take a swig. Not because I want to, but because he wants me to. Because he doesn’t want to drink alone, and I don’t want him to either.
BUT FUCK ME!
“Oh, god!” My whole body shudders, and Jason cackles, kicking his feet and pointing.
“You make me laugh.” He holds out his hand, and I pass it back to him.
“That’s ass! Why do you drink that?”
“‘Cause it’s fuuuun.”
I spit on the ground. “It’s gross. We should smoke weed.”
“Weed makes me think too much.”
Jason’s laughter dies down, and his gaze lands on the flask again. Life leaves his eyes, and he shakes his head.
“You okay?” I ask.
“No. I’m thinking again. Which means I need more of this.” Another swig down the hatch.
I know he’s sad—things are bad at home, and Doug takes it out on him.
And he doesn’t even know half of it.
Things are about to explode if Mom and Doug keep this up.
What would make him feel better?
It hits me.
I smile and ask, “Sleep outside tonight? It’s warm.”
That’s our thing. We sleep in the fort to escape it all sometimes. Life feels like a fantasy out here in the woods—just him and me and nobody bringing chaos into our lives—nothing but the wind and the sounds of the forest.
He turns to face me, and my stomach tingles. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him all day. “Yeah.”
He closes the flask, and his hand lands on the ground next to mine.
Our pinkies touch.
Well…almost touch.
So I move closer.
They touch.
Jason and I stand in the trailer, motionless. His eyes glance to the table where I placed the drawing. He looks at it, and that look from before morphs into a scowl right before my eyes.
When our eyes meet again, his are dark. Mean. My hackles rise, and those horrible things he said echo in my mind.
I clench my fists and scowl right back at him.
“So, where should I put my stuff?” he asks, never taking his eyes off me.
“Here.” Mom hurries over and takes his duffel.
She leads Jason to the one bedroom in the trailer. We squeezed a second bed in when we found out Jason was coming. The room is basically two mattresses with less than six inches between them.
I slept on the couch throughout my childhood, and the thought of doing it again makes me nauseous.
Jason peeks into the room and says, “Wow,” in a deadpan voice.
“I know it’s tight,” Mom says in an apologetic tone. “Wish we had more space.”
Jason sighs. “Yeah, me too.”
Doug releases a frustrated grunt. “You know, we moved really quickly to get another bed for you. The least you could do is thank us.”
“Doug—” Mom shakes her head, chastising Doug with her eyes.
As mad as I am at Jason, it’s hard to deny what an asshole Doug is.
Mom sure knows how to pick ‘em.
Jason takes a breath, visibly trying not to say something in response to Doug.
“I appreciate you letting me stay,” Jason says to Mom and only to Mom.
“It’s cramped. I know it’s not the best, but I think it’ll feel cozy once you get used to it.”
Jason looks at me, and my whole chest tightens when his blue eyes meet mine.
“You think it’ll feel cozy, Gabe?” he asks in a taunting tone, and a cold chill goes down my back. I don’t know what Jason’s heard about me.
Mom looks at me, her eyes pleading with me to respond.
“What? You’re not even going to talk to me?” Jason asks with a snarky tone.
All I can do is stare, my chest heaving as I continue clenching my fists.
Mom lowers her eyes in defeat and explains, “Gabe…well, Gabe…he…”
“He stopped talking after everything happened,” Doug blurts while rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Jason stares at me, his face completely still. There’s no emotion. Blank.
He blinks and asks, “What?”
My body recoils. It’s too much. The shame and guilt are unbearable.
Before Mom can continue, I scribble down what I need to say on the drawing, my hands shaking as I write it all out. I crumple it into a ball, storm in his direction, and pause. I stand before him, my body tense and shaking, then toss the crumpled ball in his lap.
Without breaking eye contact, I back away, then turn and exit the trailer.
I take a few steps outside before Mom yells, “Gabe, wait.”
Without looking at her, I put up my hand to stop her from following me.
He doesn’t get grand explanations of how fucked up I was after it all happened.
And he doesn’t get to know what really happened, either.