Jasper
I STARED BEGRUDGINGLY at the IV drip connected to my train wreck of an older brother, elbow resting on the arm of the visitor’s chair, my knuckles pressed against my cheek.
I’d lost my shit earlier on the nurse when she blew a vein on the first attempt, leaving his already sickly skin with even more marks.
A fresh bruise had spread around the failed insertion site, adding to his growing collection of tiny puncture wounds from emergency room visits.
This morning, he hadn’t been doing well. I’d known something was wrong when he started stumbling around, dizzy, slurring his speech, and complaining about feeling queasy. Then he fainted right there in the kitchen and scared the living shit out of me.
Who would have thought that barely sleeping, eating, or drinking anything other than alcohol would catch up to you after downing an entire bottle of pills and vomiting for twenty-four hours straight?
Stupid, reckless, stubborn brat.
I clenched my fists, internally reciting the earful I was going to give him as soon as he was conscious.
I’d done everything I could, just short of force-feeding him. I thought I was doing the right thing by taking him out for coffee and getting him to eat something small, even if it was just a donut. But it wasn’t enough; I should’ve done more, and maybe then he wouldn’t have collapsed.
I was royally fucking this up.
The most important person in my life was falling apart, slipping through my fingers, and I couldn’t stop it. I’d do anything to keep him alive, no matter how heinous, so why did it feel like nothing was working?
He begged me to be here. I hadn’t bothered telling him that I was already desperate to get out of the house before he’d asked me to stay.
Things between Mom and Dad were becoming unbearable.
My only reprieve was Dad’s out-of-town work schedule, long stretches where I didn’t have to watch their marriage rot in real time.
Moving out wasn’t just about keeping Milo safe. It was about escaping.
We both needed this to work.
I glanced toward the curtain that separated us from the hallway, hoping the footsteps I heard would stop here so we could get answers and go home.
“So,” the nurse drawled, poking her head around the curtain. She stepped inside, inspecting the IV pole and then my sleeping brother, her lips tightening as she looked over her own shabby needlework. “Good news: you won’t have to stay long.”
“It’s nothing serious, right?” I asked, impatience creeping into my voice.
“He’s extremely dehydrated,” she explained. “From what you described, it’s likely related to all of the vomiting and not keeping up with fluid intake after his initial release. We’ll get fluids into him, and you’ll be good to go in a few hours.”
I ran both hands through my hair. I should have been stricter. I kept trying to walk the tightrope between comforting him and being the hard-ass he needed. Too little, and he spiralled. Too much, and he shut me out.
“Thanks,” I muttered, still pissed about the botched IV.
“I’ll come check on you guys in a little bit,” she said, sounding uncomfortable.
Good.
Once she was gone, I turned my attention back to Milo.
He stirred, and I dragged my chair closer to the bed.
I brushed the hair away from his face, my chest tightening around everything I’d been swallowing for the last couple of days.
I needed to do more—I just didn’t know what exactly that more was.
“You had one fucking job last night,” I scolded softly.
His head tilted toward my hand, and I sighed, running my fingers through his hair. Even in his sleep, he seemed to seek me out. At least, I liked to pretend it was me, and not just the warmth of another body. I missed that feeling of closeness, of being inseparable, like two sides of a coin.
I wanted so much more for him than all of this shit.
“I didn’t faint on purpose,” Milo mumbled, eyes still closed.
Awake.
“You didn’t do anything to prevent it, either.” I leaned back, pulling my hand away as though it’d been burned and instead rubbing my temples, the beginnings of a migraine taking hold.
He pulled the sheet over his head, offering a muffled apology. I tried to remember the last crisis this bad, but it always felt impossible while we were in it. How was I supposed to save him when I was barely keeping my own head above water?
Unlike Milo, I kept my shit locked down. He knew I had struggles of my own, but they paled in comparison to his, so I never brought them up. Where he was a bleeding heart, I kept mine buried.
Being the asshole came easily to me. I’d seen enough people walk all over him. I kept telling him to be meaner, but he could only manage it when he was pushed to the edge. Sometimes, I had to help him get there. He needed to choose himself the way I always chose him.
“Come on, loverboy.” I tugged at the sheets. “Quit trying to hide.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He peeked out from under the blanket, eyes bloodshot. It gutted me.
“Oh, now you’re going to complain about it?” My voice cracked, even as I teased him.
“I don’t like it,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing.
Despite his protests, we both knew he was a loverboy through and through.
It had gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years, and I’d always been there to pick up the pieces.
I didn’t know when he’d become more important than everything else in my life, but I’d never once bothered to question it.
I chose him over my childhood friend after their breakup, and even now, it wasn’t a struggle to choose him over being there for my mother.
Somewhere along the way, he’d completely rearranged my world and become the one thing I couldn’t let go of.
Maybe I was a loverboy, too.
“Then get your shit together.” I leaned forward, hands clasped. “You need to listen to me. When I tell you that you need to eat something, do it.”
“I can’t—”
“You have to.” I didn’t let him finish. “I told you. You can’t die until I say so, got it?”
“Yeah,” he said, all too hesitantly for my taste.
“And for the love of God, no parties,” I added.
“What? That’s not fair!” He sat up, scandalized.
“No, you need to get better,” I argued. “Fucking look at you. This is the second time you’ve gone to the hospital for dehydration. Not dying involves actually trying to keep yourself alive, Milo.”
He looked away, posture defiant. He was making me out to be the bad guy for trying to keep him from imploding. If guilt was what it took for me to keep him safe, then so be it. He could hate me for it later.
“You asked for my help, Milo.” I hated how desperation bled into my voice. “Don’t give me this shit right now.”
My words elicited a heavy sigh, a guilty look painting his sunken features. I couldn’t feel bad about being so harsh, not when I was uprooting my whole life for him. He owed it to me to make one good decision.
“Fine,” he agreed. “Can I at least invite Oliver over?”
I rubbed my aching shoulders, one after the other, mulling over his request. The fact that he was asking at all instead of just doing it was good. But Oliver?
“You should really give him a break,” I suggested bitterly. “You know that kid’s obsessed with you. Don’t confuse him by inviting him over all the time.”
“He’s fine,” Milo argued. “He’s got a girlfriend right now, so I think he’s over it.”
Yeah fucking right.
If Milo suddenly became interested in Oliver, that girlfriend would disappear in an instant. But even if it wasn’t on purpose, he’d only break my brother’s heart, and that was enough to make me hate him.
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t work tonight. You don’t need him.”
“But Oliver takes care of me,” Milo whined.
Seriously? I took care of him.
“Oh, because he’s done such a great job of that already.” I gritted my teeth, trying not to show how offended I was by his declaration. If I had been there, Milo would never have overdosed in the first place. It wouldn’t have happened with me.
“There was nothing Oli could have done.” Milo wrapped his arms around himself. “You know how I get.”
I did know. If Milo wanted to do something, consider it done. He was impulsive to a fault, and it was a struggle to keep up with him. Still, I blamed Oliver. He should have seen the signs, should have been more diligent.
I was mad at myself for the same reasons. As soon as Milo told me his girlfriend had left, I should have had my foot in the door. I shouldn’t have kept my distance.
“You need to slow down. Let your body heal.” I looked away from him, focusing instead on a wellness poster on the wall. “Whatever Oliver does for you, ask me instead. I told you to rely on me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Milo looked conflicted. He was still fighting me, refusing to let me in fully. I hated how he so easily attached himself to one person after another, depending on anyone but me. Jealousy pooled in my gut like sludge.
“Back rubs?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Will you give me back rubs? Feed me? Pet my hair?” He batted his lashes.
I felt a flash of heat. He was so fucking embarrassing.
“I guess I can do that,” I conceded, pushing my glasses up. “For the record, I pet your hair, like all the damn time.”
With a satisfied glint in his eyes and a childish smile spreading across his face, he settled back down on the hospital bed and stared at me silently.
The sight of him feeling something other than gut-wrenching suffering gave me a shot of dopamine.
I’d do anything to keep him smiling like that—no more tears or broken hearts.
Whatever he needed to feel safe and loved, whatever he needed to stay here in the world of the living with me, I’d give it to him. One way or another, I would show him that the only option was to live.