12. Damien
TWELVE
damien
THEN
So far I’d been able to throw Sam off the scent that I was anything but straight.
Anything but desperately in love with his brother.
And it was a fucking miracle that I was able to accomplish that.
I was used to telling Sam everything. Every little hurt my parents inflicted on me.
Every little fear. Every crush and every victory.
Sam was my ride or die, but I’d rather have been shot than have him find out I was crushing on his brother.
That I liked him so much it was hard to breathe sometimes.
That he lived rent free in my head and I secretly loved when Sam was too busy with extracurriculars to hang out with me because sometimes I could still go to his place and wait for him.
If I happened to run into Callum, then that was a price I was willing to pay.
The months after summer ended had felt like a special kind of agony.
Life went back to normal, but now there was like a timer in the back of my head, warning me that next year would be different.
Next year, Callum would be in college and Sam and I would still be here.
I couldn’t very well hang out here if no one else was home.
It would be too odd. Too intrusive. It didn’t matter that Sam’s mom had given me my own key and a code for the alarm.
Sam never questioned why I didn’t want to hang out at my house.
He’d been there once after he asked about it a few dozen times.
So I showed him the ice house, as I called it.
It was attractive enough, like from the pages of a catalog.
It didn’t even look like anyone lived there.
Mom had a housekeeper come in a couple times a week to keep everything shiny and polished.
There was no evidence that I existed. No pictures on the wall.
No grades on the fridge. No shoes in a row by the door.
No, that was too pedestrian. Mom had a special cabinet by the door where people had to put their shoes so they wouldn’t clutter up her entryway.
My room was the only one untouched by my mom’s minimalist aesthetic.
I fucking hated that word. My room was clean, neat as a pin, or she’d allow the housekeeper inside.
This was our compromise. On the surface, it looked like a normal, boring room.
Navy walls. A set of bedding that was white, which I hated, that contrasted against the dark walls.
Mom didn’t know about my closet. The room had a walk-in closet that I’d turned into my own little oasis for when I had to be here. There was a beanbag chair in the corner that I slept in sometimes. A low bookshelf stacked with books. A lot of fantasy. Some sci-fi. Anything not based in reality.
I’d decorated the space with black lights and posters that would give my mom a coronary if she ever opened the closet door, but she never did. That was our deal. If I kept my space clean, she stayed out of it. Even my closet was tidy as fuck. Everything lined up. Everything neatly hung or folded.
Sam came over exactly once, and after a withering look from my mother for simply daring to exist where he could be seen and heard, he never wanted to come back.
Sometimes I dreamed about what it would be like for Sam’s parents to be my parents.
But I didn’t dream of that anymore. Not since the idea of Callum being my brother made me queasy.
If he was my brother, it would be wrong to think of him the way I did.
I knew things would change eventually, but I wasn’t prepared for it to start so soon.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” I was stretched out on Sam’s bed, a bed that was also practically mine.
If my newfound sexual crisis had extended to include all the guys I looked at, it might be awkward to share a bed with Sam.
But he was like a brother to me. He was family.
There was zero attraction to him. I’d been more physically affected by a slice of toast than I was by Sam.
“It’s only for a few nights.” Sam had taken a sudden interest in magic, illusions in particular.
His grandparents had offered to take him for a short trip to see a show in person.
School was out for winter break and Christmas was still a week away, so they were going to take Sam to Vegas to see a show and bring him back in time to spend the holiday with the rest of the family.
And me.
I’d been ordered by Sam and his parents that I was to stay here for winter break.
That being alone on Christmas wasn’t something they were going to tolerate.
This wasn’t the first year they’d insisted, but it was the first year when I didn’t even pretend to fight them on it.
Pride be damned. I’d have a few days alone with Callum.
“You’re still leaving. That’s eternally unfair.”
“You could have come.”
I raised an eyebrow at Sam. “No, dude. I’m fine. I’m just harassing you.”
“What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“Waste away to nothing, probably.” I shuffled over to the center of the bed and starfished, splaying my arms and legs out to the sides. “I’ll be a bed hog.”
“You’re already a bed hog. You should just let my parents give you your own room, dude. You basically live here.”
“Yeah, but then I’d actually live here.”
“And?”
And I had no idea. It seemed wrong to just move in and never leave.
People who were still in high school weren’t supposed to have that kind of decision-making capability.
They weren’t supposed to have a choice on where they lived.
I knew in my bones that my parents only cared if I lived or died because my death would look bad and the funeral would be distracting.
But if I found out that they didn’t care if I left home before even graduating high school, it might have broken me completely.
I knew I was unimportant to them. I didn’t need confirmation.
“And nothing. Don’t be weird. You can’t just tell your parents to make me my own room in their house.”
Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He zipped his suitcase shut just as his mom appeared in the doorway.
“Oh good. You’re ready to go. We need to leave for the airport and then I have to get to work.” Sam’s mom glanced at me. “Hi, sweetheart. There’s fresh coffee downstairs, and I left some egg bites in the oven to keep warm if you want.”
“That sounds good, thank you.” I had long ago learned not to argue with her.
It was easier to just eat the food and not make shit awkward by arguing about it.
I pushed myself up off the bed and stood as Sam grabbed his suitcase.
He stepped close and gave me a one-armed hug, which I returned, trying to hide my excitement over his impending departure.
“See you in a few days, man.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You better be.” Sam laughed and I walked them to the door.
His mom patted my arm and reminded me to eat something and then they were gone and the house was almost silent.
They had a clock by the entryway, an analog one with giant hands that ticked away each second in the most aggressive manner.
But you only noticed it on the rare occasion the house was quiet.
I begged myself to be normal, to not run up the stairs and launch myself at Callum. I couldn’t be weird about this. I wanted to spend time with him, but I didn’t want to make it obvious. I needed a plan, and I couldn’t think on an empty stomach.
I went to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and grabbed the tray of egg bites out of the oven. The metal was still hot and I dropped the pan on the counter a little harder than I’d intended, making a loud clatter that had me wincing.
The house went back to being silent after. The silences here were different than the silences at my parents’ house. The silences here were warm, like they were waiting for sound and life and laughter. The silence at home was tomblike and oppressive. It felt forbidden to make noise there.
“I hope you left some for me.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when Callum appeared suddenly. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His hair was all messed up and his face had that freshly awake but not yet coherent look to it. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants and, unfortunately, also wearing a shirt.
I shoved the pan toward him and watched as he took one of the egg bites and bit it in half.
“Sam gone?” Callum asked as he shuffled around the kitchen, getting his mug out of the dishwasher so he could have a coffee.
Callum had a favorite mug. It was a stupid mug–large and green and painted like a pickle.
It had the phrase, I’m kind of a big dill, on the front of it.
It amused him and no one else was allowed—or wanted—to use it.
“Just left.”
Callum’s gaze slid over to mine and he looked at me instead of the coffee he was stirring. “I hope you don’t think you’re going back to that fucking mausoleum you call a house.”
I laughed in spite of my desire not to. To remain cool and unaffected by anything Callum might have to say. “Your mom already forbade it. And your dad did last night. And Sam again this morning. Sam basically told me to ask for my own bedroom here.” I laughed again, but Callum didn’t.
His gaze slid away and he looked at his coffee like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Fuck. He hated the idea. He hated the idea of me being here, and didn’t know how to tell me.
“You should,” he said, making my lungs seize up.
“I should what?”
“Live here.” Callum turned and leaned against the counter. He held his mug by the handle and cradled it with the other. “You already do anyway. You might as well have a space that you can go to for privacy. A space that’s just yours.”
“I’m not taking a room in your house.” I didn’t know how to explain the panic that galloped through me. The way that the idea of living with them was both too good to be true and a nightmare. Because if I lived here all the time, that meant unfettered access to Callum.
“You’re so stubborn,” he said, but there was no rebuke in his words. No malice or disappointment. Just a statement of fact. “What do you plan to do while Sam is gone?”
“If it was summer, I’d spend it in the pool.” I let the warm memories wash over me. Summer had been this magical fever dream that I had sometimes convinced myself hadn’t been real.
“We could go shopping together. I still have to get something for Sam.”
“So do I.”
“We can go after we’re dressed,” Callum said like it was a done deal. It wasn’t like I argued with him. Whatever Callum wanted to do, I went along with. The whole day. We started with shopping for Sam and when we got back, we wrapped his presents together.
Callum got him a jersey of his favorite hockey team.
I was shit at gifts and ended up going with Callum’s hockey theme and bought a wallet with the team logo embossed into the leather.
After we finished the gift wrapping, we somehow ended up in the living room watching The Muppet Christmas Carol.
I’d seen it for the first time during my first Christmas here and though I’d never told anyone how much I loved it, somehow I think Callum knew because once it started, I could feel his eyes drift to me every so often, like watching me watch the movie was part of his fun.
His parents got home late and brought takeout and we sat around in the living room and ate out of the containers, the glow of the Christmas lights lending magic to the moment.
After dinner, Callum and I made our excuses to go upstairs.
I hesitated at the top of the steps, unsure of where to go next.
Did I invite myself into Callum’s room? Did I hole up in Sam’s, alone for the rest of the night?
Callum stopped right behind me, so close I could feel his warmth.
“Did you want to watch another movie?” he asked, his voice weird and low and kind of quiet. But at least he could speak. I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak or breathe or even think. Or I might have said no. No was the smart answer. The right answer.
I nodded and Callum moved imperceptibly closer before moving past me. “Come on then,” he said, leading me into his room like he wasn’t leading me straight into temptation.