FORTY-TWO
Milan
PRESENT
“Hey, it’s me. Lio. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you later.”
I’m sitting on the couch in the dimly lit club room, my head resting against the cushions. I’ve got my headphones on, listening to my brother’s voicemail, but it does little to drown out the noise from outside. As expected, he doesn’t pick up. I switch over to my music app and crank up the volume.
Only the sporadic bursts of color from the fireworks exploding outside provide any light in the darkness. Despite the loud music, I can still feel the faint rumble of the explosions in my ears.
It’s. So. Damn. Loud.
I should’ve left as soon as I heard that the SVH was planning a fireworks show. I should just go home. Or head to Belle Isle and do a few laps.
Why did I stay?
Right. I promised her I wouldn’t leave her hanging again.
There are three empty beer bottles next to me. The sticky liquid is still dripping down the glass.
Thank God Levi Sokolov’s truck is always stocked with booze at these SVH parties since the school has a no-alcohol policy.
I’ve lost track of how much I’ve had, but my vision is blurred, and my mind feels foggy. The room spins around me, the walls closing in like they’re trying to suffocate me.
But no matter how much I drink, it doesn’t help.
Who the hell thought it’d be a good idea to set off fireworks at a Halloween party? On New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, I’m usually too wasted to notice when they go off.
“Don’t call me mom.”
Suddenly I’m hit by a flood of memories.
“If it weren’t for you, I’d be happy. You should never have been born. You’re a monster, Milan. You killed Mommy.”
The echo in my head is like a broken record, every syllable of my mother’s words hitting me like a punch to the gut.
For years, I tried to understand. To rationalize it. To find some meaning in her words. Was my existence truly worse than death?
But now, the truth finally sinks in.
My mother was right when she called me a monster.
A hollow laugh escapes me, echoing in the empty room.
I am a monster.
A sinner.
Not a good person.
The music in my headphones fills my ears, and the sound of someone entering the room barely registers.
It’s only when I feel a hand on my shoulder that I realize I’m not alone anymore.
I look up, my vision hazy, but no matter how drunk I am, I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Those beautiful, deep eyes that have haunted my thoughts and dreams for so long.
Her dark hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, partially hiding her beautiful face.
“Little Curse.” My words come out as a slurred mumble as I rip the headphones off my head.
And though the booming fireworks are still echoing outside, her presence distracts me far more than the fucking music ever could.
“You found me,” I grin.
I knew she would.
“What are you doing here, Milan?” she asks quietly.
“What am I doing here?” I repeat. “I’m getting drunk, sweetheart.”
I can see the worry etched into her features, the concern that’s clear in her eyes. But I don’t want her pity.
“Have a drink with me.” I offer her the bottle. “Take a sip.”
I can tell she wants to reject it, snatch it away, and tell me to stop, but she doesn’t. Instead, she surprises me by taking the bottle from my hand and bringing it to her lips.
Aliya takes a small sip, grimacing at the taste. “Ugh. Too bitter.”
I laugh, amused by her reaction. “Too bitter? It’s not meant to taste good. It’s just supposed to get you drunk.”
Her lips part in surprise, and she settles beside me on the couch. “Why are you getting drunk?”
“Why not?” I slur, my words blurred. “It’s a party, isn’t it? Everyone else is drinking too.”
“Maybe. But that’s not why you’re sitting here in the dark, drinking alone.”
“Oh, you think you know everything, huh?” I scoff.
She meets my gaze, holding it steadily. “I don’t claim to know everything. But I know you. I know when something’s wrong.”
“You know me?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “You don’t know the first thing about me, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t flinch at my harsh tone. Instead, she leans in even closer, pressing her body against mine now.
“Maybe not,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving mine. “But I know enough to see that something’s bothering you.”
I feel her warmth seep into my bones. I want to tell her to leave, to push her away, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
She places a hand on my knee, and her touch sends shockwaves through me.
Despite every warning in my head, I’m paralyzed. Her touch is like a drug, dulling the pain and filling my body with a strange, unfamiliar hum.
The fireworks outside have paused, and the sky has fallen silent. The sudden absence of sound makes the air feel heavier.
“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she starts gently. “That’s why you’re hiding here.”
I don’t respond.
“Why?”
I could give her an easy answer, a harmless reason for why I hate fireworks. A lie she’d believe.
But there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that makes me want to tell her the truth.
The whole truth.
Just to see if she can handle it.
If she really is the strong girl she thinks she is.
“It reminds me of … something .”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Of what?”
I reach for the bottle and take another swig.
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, about to reveal what I shouldn’t. Dark, ugly parts of my life that should have stayed buried forever.
But I can’t stop myself.
It’s now or never.
I turn my eyes away from her again, focusing on the bottle in my hand.
“Remember when I told you my brother was in California?” I hesitate for a few seconds before continuing. “I lied .”
A moment passes as I wait for her to say something. Her hand tightens on my knee, but she doesn’t react.
“It was the Fourth of July, last year.”
My throat instantly goes dry as the memories flood back.
The night was supposed to be fun, a barbecue with friends, fireworks and loud music.
Instead, it turned into a nightmare.
“He-” I shake my head slightly. “He died .”
The words hang in the air and hang between us like a heavy weight.
I can feel her staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.
“I killed my brother.”
For a moment, it’s as if time itself has frozen.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
She says nothing, and I wait for her to get up and run. But she doesn’t.
“They called it suicide. But it was me. I killed my brother. On the Fourth of July, last year,” I repeat, as the scenes replay in my mind.
I see the backyard. Hear the phone call. The voice that told me Kilian had fallen to his death.
Suddenly, she pulls her hand away, drawing my attention back to her. Her body is trembling, her face pale, her eyes wide and filled with disbelief.
“What …” Her voice shakes, her nails dig into her knees. “What … are you talking about?”
I should stop talking, but my mind demands I push her even harder. To test her limits. To break her more.
“When I told you we still talk from time to time … I lied .”
She stares at me like she’s seen a ghost.
“You know,” I continue, my words thick with alcohol, “I don’t talk to my brother. I haven’t for a year. Why do you think that is, sweetheart?"
She shakes her head as if trying to stop me from speaking.
“Because he’s six feet under. Dead.”
She jumps back as if my words and my proximity burned her. “You’re lying!”
“You wanted to know why, didn’t you? The reason why I hate fireworks.”
Her green eyes fill with tears. “Stop talking! You’re a liar! I … I don’t believe a word you’re saying!”
“It reminds me of the night my own brother took his life.” Because of me.
Her voice catches in her throat, and she presses her hands over her mouth.
The words leave a taste on my tongue far more bitter than the alcohol.
But the sight of her shaking her head in unbelief, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling as if I’ve physically hurt her, creates an even greater discomfort within me.
“That’s not true,” she gasps. “You’re lying. You have to be lying. He can’t-”
“Why would I lie?” I challenge. “Give me one reason why I’d lie to you, sweetheart.”
She flinches, breaking apart right in front of my eyes.
Her face contorts with pain, tears flowing like a river down her cheeks. “You’re …” A sob escapes her, the words catching in her throat.
I’m … a monster . Yeah, that’s exactly what she meant to say.
Just like my mother hated me, just like my brother hated me, now she’ll hate me too.
The fact that my brother’s loss shatters her like this. Crushes her.
She must have really loved him.
Just like everyone loved him.
The perfect son, the perfect friend.
But he was my perfect big brother .
Having him around was so natural. Now, I feel lost . In moments like these, my mind goes numb. I lose my sense of direction in this world. And it’s all because he’s gone.
She’s still sitting beside me on the couch, her eyes swollen and red.
How foolish of me to think I could ever mean something to anyone.
Really mean something.
Cry, sweetheart. Shed all the tears I can’t cry. Because I’m a heartless bastard. That’s what you called me, right? It fits pretty well. Someone who’s responsible for his mother and brother’s suicides doesn’t deserve anything else.
I deserve nothing else.