7 - Jasper
Jasper
I WAS RIGHT to take Milo’s other set of keys.
All he had to do was admit that he needed me, and I’d come running.
But apparently, being a massive pain in my ass was easier.
Everything that came out of his mouth either lacked context or meant the exact opposite.
It was infuriating, and yet, here I was.
I adjusted my backpack as I climbed the stairs up toward the third floor, wishing I’d had time to stop for a change of clothes before heading over. But it had been hours since Milo stopped texting me back, and I’d been trapped at the bar all night because last call meant nothing to people.
My heart was pulsing in my throat by the time I reached his door, and I hastily shoved the key into the lock, letting myself in. “Milo?”
I didn’t see him, but every light was on, which meant he was still here. Hopeful and annoyed, I rubbed my temples, kicked off my shoes, and locked the door behind me. I knew he was scared of the dark, but did he need every single light on?
Passing the kitchen, it was obvious he hadn’t bothered to eat.
Oliver must have left him boxed mac and cheese and instant ramen as options to feed himself, even the pot ready to go on the stovetop with water inside.
All Milo would have needed to do was turn the stove on.
My gut twisted. He was starving himself again—another reason I needed to keep a close eye on him.
I turned off the lights in every room I passed through.
When I reached his bedroom, I let my backpack fall to the floor and pressed my ear to the door.
There was no noise I could make out as I held my breath to listen closely, and I prepared myself for the worst as I turned the knob.
Adrenaline spiked hard. If he were dead, I was going to strangle his corpse.
And if he wasn’t? I’d strangle him for real.
At least that way, I’d know where the hell he was.
All the air left my lungs when I opened the door, my resolve deflating completely.
Milo sat curled on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets.
He was little more than a face peeking out of fabric, all messy, bleach-blond hair, pale skin, and the bridge piercing he’d had since the day he turned eighteen.
His muted-blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, his face puffy with evidence of his time spent crying.
“Why do you have to be such a goddamn brat?” I rasped, unable to bring myself to give him the attitude he deserved for putting me through this shit.
My body moved without conscious thought, straight to his bedside. I peeled the blankets off him, needing to see him, to confirm he hadn’t done anything worse. He didn’t fight me or speak as I took my time inspecting him for damage.
“Look at me,” I ordered, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Do I need to strip you to check, or are you honestly okay?”
His eyes held a world of shame when they met mine, as though he wanted nothing more than to hide from me.
I hated that look. It was the last thing he should feel with me.
Hadn’t I done everything to prove that there wasn’t a single thing he could do, no matter how depraved, that would make me look at him differently?
I knew he couldn’t have taken any pills while I was gone because I’d methodically confiscated all of those before I left him with Oliver.
Cutting was usually his next preferred method of self-harm, and though I couldn’t see any obvious injuries, that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
Sometimes, Milo was sneaky. He would cut himself in harder-to-see places, high up on his thighs, or closer to his shoulders.
I slid my hands under the sleeves of his shirt, fingers tracing the raised scars on his arms. They were evidence of brutal slashes without any after-care, ones that would have needed stitches if he hadn’t set out to irreparably damage himself.
I forced myself not to linger, afraid I might fall apart too.
He recoiled a fraction under my well-meaning hands, and it was nearly my undoing.
Although I had half a mind to strip my brother naked and inspect every inch of him to be thorough, I didn’t. I refused to make it seem like I didn’t trust him. Not right now, when he needed someone to believe in him.
“I’m fine.” He finally spoke to me. Now that the initial panic had subsided, it was open season.
“Fine? Fine with ignoring my texts all night, leaving me staring at my phone like an idiot?” My voice came out harsher than intended. Worry always sounded like anger in my mouth.
“I decided I didn’t need you,” Milo shot back, glaring at me with a childish pout.
“Don’t lie to me, Milo.” My mouth twitched. It was almost cute that he thought I was that stupid.
“I’m not. The night is practically over.” He pointed to the digital clock on his nightstand, the insufferable child. “See? I managed.”
“You’re sitting here with every single goddamn light on, crying your eyes out.
” I rolled my eyes as I settled on the bed next to him and rested my hand on his thigh.
I tried to convince myself that I was only comforting him, not myself, by moving my thumb in gentle circles, but it was a losing game.
“You think that’s not needing me?” I added softly.
The exhaustion was written all over his face, from his cracked lips to the massive eye bags he was sporting.
I almost regretted having taken away all of his pills, including the prescription ones for sleeping, but it had to be done.
I needed to keep him safe from himself, and sleep would claim him eventually, even without them.
“No,” Milo answered, bitter and soft. “Not really.”
Satisfaction unfurled in my chest, overshadowing my worry.
Being needed by Milo was all I ever wanted.
We weren’t teenagers anymore, and now I had the power to do what I couldn’t before.
I could protect him and provide for him in a way that helpless teenage-me never could.
This was my chance to make up for being too scared to act back then.
There were days when I wanted to go back to those times, if only because then I’d known where he was and what he was doing at all hours.
The time he’d spent out on his own since we became full-fledged adults was nothing short of heart-attack-inducing, knowing that he struggled to advocate for himself to the point where he could hardly make a phone call or place an order at a restaurant.
“Do you want me to stay?” I pressed, adjusting my glasses.
He started turning away from me, his body shifting towards the wall, hiding his face to avoid being honest. But two could play at that game. I stood and stepped away from the bed to look out his window at the moonlit sky, rolling my shoulders and sighing as if I was about to leave.
“Stay.” He grabbed a handful of my sweater to keep me from walking even further away.
I raised my eyebrows and gave him a lazy smirk, untangling his hand from my sweater. “Lay down, then.”
Milo was like a little kid being told to go to sleep after staying up way past his bedtime. He tucked himself back in and stared up at me expectantly, watching as I moved to turn off the lights.
“Don’t—”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Shut up and lie down.” I flipped the light switch and let my eyes adjust to the darkness before returning to his bedside to sit on the carpeted floor.
“Play with my hair?” he asked quietly, braver in the dark. The request was almost nostalgic. It’d been years since he asked me to play with his hair.
“Sure,” I murmured affectionately, reaching out to cup his cheek. My fingertips skimmed his skin almost reverently, feeling the cool spots where tears had dried. I reached up into his hair and threaded my fingers through the strands, gently massaging his scalp.
It was quiet for a while, but I knew he wasn’t sleeping. Even in the dark, I could still make out the way he stared at me—wide-eyed and distant, as if he were seeing right through me. I wanted to bring him back to Earth, to ground him in this moment with me.
“Where’d you go, loverboy?” I whispered, resting my chin on the edge of the bed.
His eyes darted from side to side before focusing back on me, the muscles in his face relaxing. “Nowhere.”
“That’s right, you’re right here with me.”
Milo sniffled, and his body began to shake as fresh tears flowed freely down his face.
The sight of him made a combination of sadness, rage, and helplessness swirl together inside of me.
I hated the way people kept hurting him.
I hated the way he’d let them. I hated how he did everything in his power to avoid relying on me, the only constant in his life.
The one he’d had since Mom adopted him. The one who’d always be here.
“Jas?” Milo’s voice cracked.
“Yeah?” I cleared my throat, voice thick with emotion.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“I know.”
“Stay with me.”
“I am, I’m right here,” I assured him, fighting for my life to maintain composure. “I’ll do anything you need.”
“Move in with me.”
God help me.
I imagined how bad it would be if he asked anyone else to move in. If he’d asked someone like Oliver, I knew he’d take advantage of his vulnerable state. I couldn’t let someone like him step in. Not when I was right here.
“Right now? Milo, you realize this is a one-bedroom apartment, right?” A strangled laugh escaped me as I tried to read every micro-expression on his face in the dark.
“I could fit you in the storage closet,” he joked sadly, even his laughter marred by heartbreak.
The desperation in his suggestion, even when phrased humorously, tugged at my heartstrings.
Heat flooded behind my ribs as I considered his plea.
Was I insane for picturing moving myself into a glorified cupboard to keep him safe?
Maybe. But the idea of anyone else being the one he turned to made my panic rise like a tide.
It wouldn’t be easy moving out of Mom’s place. She still needed me, and it would break her heart if I suddenly got up and left her alone with Dad.
But Milo needed me right now.
“How big is the closet again?” I laughed, as if it were a joke. But I was already mapping out where I’d throw my mattress.
“I’m just kidding,” he backtracked. “That’s too much. Mom needs you, too.”
“It’s not.” I tightened my grip on his hair, holding him firm without causing pain. It was a warning not to downplay what he needed from me. “Not if it’s what you need.”
I was sick of him acting like anything he could need from me was too much. Nothing was too much if it kept him from hurting himself. I knew his seamless string of girlfriends always ended with them thinking he was too much to handle. And maybe he was too much for them—but he wasn’t too much for me.
“I feel like I’m asking for too much,” he explained, but I wasn’t having it.
I withdrew my hand from his hair and gripped his chin instead, squeezing it with pressure that bordered on punishment, silently urging him to ask for more.
“I don’t want to see you hurting.” I frowned. “If this is what you need right now, I’ll do it. Even if it hurts someone else.”
There was shock in the slight lift of his brows, his swollen eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He searched my face, looking for a lie that wasn’t there. I meant it. If it came down to the wire, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep him alive.
“I don’t want to burden you.” He squeezed his eyes shut, always hiding.
I sighed, releasing him and pressing my forehead against his. “You’re not a burden, Milo. You never have been. Especially not to me.”