9 - Milo
Milo
MY LEG BOUNCED uncontrollably, and the music playing did little to ease my nerves.
I scrolled through my phone obsessively, opening and closing apps, browsing socials without actually digesting anything.
The second wave of nausea since the morning nearly had me vomiting again alongside the vibrations in the car, bile inching up the back of my throat but never quite making it out, still tasting vaguely like acetaminophen.
At this point, I was starting to wonder if the taste was purely psychological, and how long it planned to haunt me.
“Can’t I wait outside?” I tried to reason, locking my phone and nervously playing with the chain dangling from my industrial piercing, ready to crawl out of my skin.
“Not if you want me to stay with you.” Jasper didn’t budge. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get it over with quickly. I have work after we take the mattress back to your place, anyway.”
“Our place,” I corrected quietly, stealing a glance at him before looking at my phone again and pretending to get lost in it.
“Right,” he repeated. “Our place.”
I swore I could see the corners of his lips curl into a smile in my peripheral vision, and my heart soared. It was ours, just like home used to be.
The rest of the drive was quiet for the most part, and as we got closer to our destination, my anxiety spiked. By the time we pulled into the driveway of the corner lot we spent our teenage years in, I was holding my breath.
Jasper turned off the engine and turned toward me, reaching over the center console and gripping my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The pressure was a small comfort, and I was already becoming dangerously reliant on it to function.
“What if she’s mad at me?” I exhaled shakily.
“What? She’s not mad at you, Milo.” He shook his head. “She wants you to be okay.”
“Are you mad at me?” I tilted my head back slightly, fighting the onslaught of tears that began to blur my vision.
Jasper didn’t answer, his thumb stroking my thigh the same way it had the other night. I didn’t move. The silence pressed in, suffocating, and I wanted to crawl inside his skull just to know what he was thinking.
“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed,” he admitted, taking my hand and tracing the scar on my palm, the one that mirrored his own—a symbol of the promise we made as teens. “You think I bled like this just for you to give up on me like that?”
I shook my head vehemently, air catching in my throat.
Jasper gripped my hand and drew me impossibly close, the heat of his breath ghosting over my face and making me light-headed. “You can’t die until I say you can, especially not over some bitch who never deserved you in the first place.”
Shit.
There was nothing I could do to stop the tears once they started. I broke down completely, chest heaving with every ragged inhale. I must have looked horrible. Ugly. Pathetic.
Jasper unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over, unclipping mine with the haste of someone trying to escape a wreck. He pulled me into his arms and tucked my head under his chin, hands hovering over my back, like he was afraid I might break. But I was already broken.
“What are you crying for now?” He cradled me against his chest, and I couldn’t tell whether he was shaking too, or if it was simply the force of the sobs wracking my body.
“I don’t know,” I lied. It was too hard to tell him how his words twisted me up inside. “I can’t help it.”
“God, you’re such a fucking mess,” he said gruffly, pressing his lips against the top of my head.
He was right; I was a mess. I destroyed everything, every relationship of mine destined for failure.
I couldn’t keep anyone around because I didn’t know how to stop myself from hitting the self-destruct button every time the alarm bells went off in my head, signalling something was too good for me to keep.
So why was Jasper so committed to me? Why didn’t he leave me alone and let me die in peace? I wasn’t sure I even cared. If he wouldn’t let me go, then I wouldn’t let him go either, even if it killed us both.
Jasper held me until I finally stilled. When he released me, I wiped at my face furiously with the heels of my hands, trying to pull myself together before we went inside.
I yanked open the sun visor and stared into the mirror, the whites of my eyes marred by broken blood vessels.
My cheeks were tacky with tears, and rubbing them raw only made things worse.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Jasper suggested. “You’re probably going to cry like a baby when we get in there anyway.”
“Nope. I’ll be fine. No more tears,” I insisted with a harsh sniffle, forcing my body into motion as I opened the passenger door.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He smirked.
The sound of the car doors closing carried an air of finality, alongside a heavy dose of dread. Jasper reached the front door before me, holding it open and beckoning me inside. It would only be a few minutes. In and out. I could handle that.
Everything was exactly the way I remembered it.
Directly ahead were the same old wooden stairs that led up to two bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom.
To my immediate right was the living room, but nobody ever did much living in it, so calling it that didn’t feel right.
We did all of our living in the basement—my makeshift bedroom.
But I was too scared to go down there now.
I wouldn’t confront that demon until I moved back home after the apartment’s lease ended.
I didn’t bother to take off my boots, knowing we’d be hauling Jasper’s mattress outside.
It was also a small comfort that made me feel like I could run away at any time, if I really needed to.
The floorboards creaked beneath my weight as I shuffled further into the house, Mom’s silhouette slowly coming into view from the next room.
“Hey honey,” Mom called softly, emerging from the kitchen. “How you doin’?”
She looked restless, like she didn’t know what to do with her body, as if she were approaching a wounded animal and desperately trying not to scare it away.
Jasper pressed his chest to my back, guiding me forward. I glanced over my shoulder at him, and his brows were furrowed, a half-smile on his face meant to encourage me. If seeing Mom like this made him struggle, I didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m doing okay,” I croaked, barely able to meet her eyes.
“Come here,” she said softly.
I flew into her arms.
“I’m here,” I promised with a quiet sob, her warmth enveloping me.
“You had me worried sick,” she whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair.
“Sorry,” I managed to say, my eyes burning profusely as she squeezed me as hard as she could. She rocked me gently, the same way she would a baby, and when she finally pulled away, I saw the gloss of unshed tears in her honey-coloured eyes. Mine probably looked the same.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. You know we’re here for you, baby. You come here next time,” she said, voice choked with emotion, and gently squeezed my shoulders. “You come home.”
“I know, I know. I will.” I nodded, trying to focus on my breathing for some semblance of control, needing to show Jasper I could handle my shit for longer than two seconds. It was hard, and I didn’t know how he did it.
Mom looked tired, her features thin and wrinkled from her days working to the bone as a waitress. I was inconveniencing her with my problems, and I wished so badly that I could be a better son like Jasper. He was more stable, more mature. Less dramatic.
“Don’t you worry about me. I want you to be safe, okay? That’s the most important thing right now.” She smiled sweetly, moving to cup my face in her hands.
“We’re just gonna grab the bed for now,” Jasper interjected, wrapping his fingers around my bicep and pulling me toward the staircase. “Get a move on, so I’m not late for work.”
I sighed in relief as he removed me from the emotionally charged atmosphere and guided me up the stairs to his bedroom.
Jasper’s room hadn’t changed, either. The walls were covered in posters, his shelves crammed with books, and pot paraphernalia crowded his nightstand.
The room, for me, was the embodiment of home.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Jasper announced, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It was terrible,” I grumbled, exhaustion creeping in.
“Trust me, I handled the worst of it already.” He nudged his head toward the bed. “Let’s get this down to the car.”
I lowered my head guiltily and started clearing off the bedding. I had a feeling he’d already spoken to Mom before we came over and had already endured her crying over the news that her baby boy was going to move out.
“Haven’t you had this blanket since you were like, fourteen?” I squinted.
“You got a problem?” He reached for it, and I held it at arm’s length.
“It’s got holes in it, dude.”
“So what? It’s still functional.”
I shook my head, tossing the blanket at him and picking up a pillow. It was worse than the blanket—nearly dead and clumped like it had given up.
“Oh my God!” I shouted in disbelief. “You know it’s okay to buy new things, right?”
He folded his arms. “Not when the things I have still work.”
Jesus Christ.
“You’re such an old man,” I teased.
“And you’re a child, so we’re even.”
I held the pillow to my chest, pretending to be outraged and pulling a playful smirk out of him in response that made my heart swell. If I could make him laugh, maybe I’d find a way to breathe again.
We bagged up all of the bedding and tossed it down the bottom of the stairs.
It was quick work to put all the seats down in the back of his SUV and load up the mattress and box spring, with minimal cursing and banter about holding it too high, too low, or going too fast, too slow. It was remarkable for us, honestly.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, disappearing into the house.
I lit up a cigarette by the car, leaning against it, watching as the door closed behind him. A few minutes later, he emerged with his nightstand. It was pretty small, so I assumed he figured it would fit snugly between the bed and the wall in the storage room.
Jasper crammed it in on top of the mattress, closing the trunk and brushing his hands off on his jeans. He seemed pleased with what we were able to fit in the SUV. I was, too. The fewer trips we had to make over here, the better.
“See? In and out. You’re fine,” he assured, patting my shoulder.
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat.
I was grateful that he cut the reunion with Mom short by making it seem like he was in a hurry. I knew he didn’t have to leave for a few hours. But saying thank you didn’t come easily to me, especially not with him.
We weren’t vulnerable together.
Not like this.
“You ready to go?” He looked over at me like he was inspecting precious cargo.
The muscles in my jaw tensed. I wasn’t ready to go yet because after we dropped his stuff off and he left for work, I’d be alone again. And when he returned, I’d still be alone. The bed meant he wouldn’t sit on the floor next to me.
It was childish, but I couldn’t help it. I was scared of having no one next to me, scared of the dark and the things my brain convinced me lurked inside it.
“Yep,” I said listlessly, filing away my rising panic for later.
“Get in the car. I’ll say bye to Mom, so you don’t have to go back inside,” he offered.
I took him up on that, crushing my finished cigarette under my boot and climbing into the passenger seat. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes, letting my thoughts swallow me.
He was too fucking good to me.