12. Ari
TWELVE
ARI
It’s strange being back in New York with Will.
This is the first time we’ve been alone together since the tour started, and the last time I was here, it was because I’d needed somewhere to run to when I left him after our fight.
I think this might be good for us, though.
We’ve reached an understanding in our friendship and I think we’re moving on from the pain we were causing each other.
A lot has changed. Maybe too much. All our interactions are framed with a practiced sort of consideration we didn’t have before.
Both of us on our best behavior, like we didn’t grow up together and haven’t seen each other at our worst. It’s almost impersonal, and as much as I recognize we need that separation between us, I still hope we can get our sense of us back.
The biggest difference, of course, is that I don’t depend on him for everything. Not for comfort, not for direction, not for safety. Not for anything.
I’ve slept alone every single night since I left Raleigh. The first few weeks, it felt impossible. I barely slept at all, and the less I slept, the worse the nightmares were. I almost gave up and came crawling back because I thought I couldn’t do it.
Then Jesse suggested therapy. I didn’t understand how talking to someone could help, but doing the sometimes painful work of processing why I have the nightmares in the first place helped a lot.
So did the medication she prescribed me, which I was resistant to at first, but I was assured that taking non-habit-forming medications for a controlled amount of time, as prescribed by a professional, is very different from what started Jesse on a hard path.
The better I sleep and the less stress I put myself through, the quieter the demons are.
The nightmares haven’t quite disappeared entirely, but they’re less vivid.
When they come, I can breathe through the fear.
Ground myself through the adrenaline drop.
It’s easier to remind myself that I’m not a too-skinny, weak little child anymore.
No one is hurting me. I’m not trapped. I’m not helpless.
It’s still not as easy as rolling over and clinging to Will, of course. And I miss the closeness.
But I can finally see how tangled everything was because of my dependence on him. How I let him comfort me in ways that weren’t fair. Even when I convinced myself that it was mutual attraction, or that he was holding back, it wasn’t okay.
I never meant to blur those lines. But intent doesn’t erase impact. The only thing I can do is be better going forward.
We’ve had some opportunities to talk a little over the past couple months.
It’s been mostly surface-level conversations, but we’ve both had the chance to apologize to each other.
Will seemed surprised when I apologized to him, but he wasn’t the only one who contributed to the problems we were having or how things came to a head.
Having that conversation, however awkward and painful, was good for us. And we’re doing well, all things considered.
The European leg of the tour was amazing.
We didn’t just slip back into the rhythm that has always worked for us, we’re better than ever.
Our new material is hitting harder than expected, and even our older stuff is noticeably improved, sharper around the edges, like something has clicked.
Our stage chemistry is off the charts, specifically between me and Jesse.
Will is keeping his distance, but I catch his eyes on me more often than not.
The way he watches me from across the stage feels like a physical force on my body, the strings of his guitar reaching out to wrap around me and pull me into his orbit.
I hear it in the music, too, and it makes me bold.
I show off more than usual, lean into Jesse’s flirting and the crowd’s screams for more.
I feel stronger on stage than ever before.
Not buoyed by adrenaline or validation, but confident and present.
I’m having more fun than we ever did when we were passing a bottle around and doing lines before sets.
There’s a difference in the music that we can feel in our bones, that the crowd is responding to as well.
We’re more popular than ever, even with taking months off and having fewer shows.
It’s after we come off stage that things are a little more strained. Jesse is understandably more subdued. He thinks he’s holding us back from partying, but really, he’s not the only one who learned something from him getting sober. None of us want to dull the edges of a good thing.
Will is different. He’s careful with everything he does—every word and every movement.
It doesn’t feel performative. He gives me space without making a show of it, doesn’t hover, doesn’t really even check in unless I ask.
And when we’re out and another man talks to me, or even flirts openly, he makes a point of looking away.
It’s a good thing. It’s what I asked for. It’s what’s right.
So why does such a big part of me miss the way his attention used to make me burn from the inside out?
I’m smart enough to know that the way I was twisting his attention is what drove me to believe he wanted something from me. And it’s what infuriated me so much when he got possessive. If he had been possessive because he wanted me, I wouldn’t have had a problem with it, healthy or not. Yes, please.
But even knowing, unequivocally, that Will doesn’t want me like that doesn’t stop me from missing the way he made me feel. Knowing it was never real doesn’t fill that hollow space inside me, that ache for even the perception of having someone’s undivided attention.
The first morning after we arrive in New York is quiet. We’re both scrolling on our phones while we have breakfast, randomly chatting about things we come across.
When the buzzer sounds, I’m assuming it might be a delivery of some sort, but Will says he didn’t order anything, and neither did I.
The matte black box with two satin eye masks and intricate silver keys is a rude awakening.
“Oh,” I say under my breath. “I forgot all about this.”
Will groans. “I didn’t, but I was kind of hoping to get away with pretending I did.”
An awkward laugh escapes my throat. “You don’t want to go?”
“Not really,” he answers slowly. “It’s not, um… It was always a you and me thing, you know?”
I shrug halfheartedly. I do know. In another life, I’d have been excited to get dressed up and go to a fancy sex party. But now it just feels… loaded. It definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I should do with someone I’m trying to have only platonic thoughts about.
We committed to this special event almost a year ago, back when everything was simpler.
Or at least felt that way. The owner is someone we’ve known for years, who used to run a membership club that hosted parties at various venues.
They run the kind of scene where rules and consent are clear, and discretion is like currency.
This new venture is supposed to be really special, and we were excited to commit to being some of the first VIPs to see it in action.
I can see from the expression on Will’s face that he really doesn’t want to go, but feels bad for breaking a commitment. I’m not sure if I should give him an out or encourage him to go. I’m not supposed to want to go to a sex club with my brother.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I point out casually. “We can just stay for the opening ceremony and cocktail party, give our congratulations, and slip out quietly. No pressure.”
Will nods. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“And if it’s too weird, we can leave. No questions asked.”
He hesitates. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hold you back. If you want to…”
The promise feels heavier than he probably intends. It’s obvious he’s struggling with it, but I appreciate the honest attempt.
“Maybe this will be good for us,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m up for any kind of play or anything, but we could ease into some normalcy and see if this still fits us as a duo or whatever.”
“A duo?” He smirks.
“ Couple felt like an awkward choice.”
He laughs, then sobers. There’s a charged pause, and then he blurts out, “I’m not ready to see you with someone. Like, in front of me.”
I release a breath. “Me either, honestly. So maybe if that were to happen, we agree to find separate rooms?”
“Deal. Although I don’t think I’m up for anything either tonight.”
“We’ll see where the night goes,” I say, even though I’m really hoping it doesn’t lead to anything that doesn’t involve me. Not that I want it to lead to anything with me. That’s not something I should be thinking about. I’m not thinking about that. I’m not.
We stand there for a little while, staring at the masks in the box. This is okay, right? We’re finding a new normal. Growing. Being mature.
I kind of hate it.
“One more problem,” Will says. “What are we going to wear?”
A slow grin spreads over my lips. “Sounds like we’re going shopping.”