37 - Milo
Milo
JASPER SAT CROSS-LEGGED a few feet away, taking photo frames out of their packaging and stacking them neatly on the carpet. The job I received was much harder. I stared at the spread of prints between us, a collection of pictures, old and new.
He’d said it wasn’t a big deal and that we didn’t need to replace the one I’d ruined, but I needed to fix it. If I could do something like this, maybe he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t good enough for him.
“Picked your favourites yet?” he probed.
My fingers rubbed anxiously over the handful of pictures I’d taken off the floor. I was doing such a bad job. He leaned forward to take a look, and I hid them close to my chest, nearly crumpling them.
He smirked. “Let me guess, you only picked ones with us in them?”
“No.” My shoulders sagged. “This one is of you and Blane.”
I tilted the photos toward him, unable to make eye contact.
“Wow, a whole photo.”
My cheeks blazed with embarrassment.
“The best ones just happen to be of us,” I said defensively.
“Right, right.”
I stole a glance at him, catching the heat and amusement in his eyes. My heart tried to strangle itself, squeezing and beating erratically. He enjoyed this—enjoyed knowing the truth behind every word.
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
“I didn’t say anything.” He raised his hands in surrender.
“Yeah, you did.” I glared. “With your face.”
He was full-blown grinning, shaking his head as he continued to sort through frames.
Every photo was stupid, really—dim-lit bars, faces obscured by a mixture of smoke from tobacco and marijuana, and sloppy smiles. Some photos were from parties in the basement at Mom’s, and others were clearly taken at two in the morning outside a McDonald’s.
I shivered, remembering being plastered and running through sprinklers in the grass outside the restaurant, my brother not far behind. I felt the glare of street lamps behind my eyelids as though I was there again, my chest tightening with longing for a simpler time.
I noticed it more and more. Anywhere I went, he’d go, too. It made me wonder if he’d been mad about the suicide attempt at all, or if what he was really mad about was the fact I hadn’t offered to take him with me.
We sorted through pictures in silence. I’d hand him one, and he’d secure it in the frame. Then it was onto the next one, over and over, the quiet leaving room for all of my intrusive thoughts to rush in.
“The lease will be up soon,” I said abruptly.
His brow furrowed. “Yes, it will.”
Inside these walls, it was just the two of us. I liked it that way. There were only four months left on the lease, and then we’d move back in with Mom. I’d be home, where I was safe, and all the shitty events attached to the apartment would become distant memories.
So why didn’t it make me happy?
The answer was that I was unashamedly greedy.
The fact that he had to go to school and work was unbearable as it was, and the thought of moving into a space where I’d have to share even more of him pissed me off.
If we woke up and discovered the rest of the population had mysteriously disappeared, I’d be in paradise.
But I couldn’t ask him to stay here. It was that same overbearing greed that had been the ruination of every other relationship I’d had, and this time, I was putting in double the effort not to let it rear its ugly head.
“Mom wants us to come over for dinner this week.”
The words made me stall, a few pictures slipping out of my hands.
“Oh,” I said quietly.
He searched my face. “Are you up for it?”
I wasn’t. I might never be.
“What if she knows?” I panicked.
“Knows what?”
The world knew us as brothers, and the thought of being perceived filled me with dread. As quickly as he’d suggested it, I’d already begun imagining all of the different ways it could go wrong.
“We don’t have to say anything,” Jasper offered.
“You want me to be a secret,” I accused.
“Do I look like I’ve ever cared about what other people think?”
My mouth opened and closed.
“Exactly, so shut up.”
My stomach twisted. I wanted to believe him so badly, but no amount of reassurance would ever be enough. I always needed more.
Until I made people sick of me.
“We’ll be fine,” he added reassuringly.
We. Because my life hadn’t ended when I swallowed an entire bottle of pills. Because even though I fought him every step of the way, he was always waiting for me to come out the other side.
Still, I couldn’t let it go.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said, insecurity leaking into every word. “She has to love you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He sounded offended.
“You’re her blood,” I said shakily. “I’m not. She doesn’t have to love me.”
She would find out about us and be disgusted, but she’d still have to love her son. Her real one. If she disapproved, Jasper might end things before they even had a chance to begin. Someone I loved would be slipping through my fingers all over again.
Jasper’s face softened, and he scooted closer to me. His fingers ghosted over my knee tentatively before settling on a familiar squeeze meant to tether me to him, and I fucking hated how easily it worked every single time.
He grabbed my head and pushed me into his chest, peppering my hair with aggressive kisses.
I squealed and wriggled in his arms, my complaints muffled against his shirt, and my heart couldn’t decide if it was breaking or mending.
I only fought for a moment before going lax in his arms, both of our breathing laboured as he held me tight.
“No,” he murmured. “She doesn’t have to love you. But that’s what makes it so special, Milo. She chose you. We both did.”