CHAPTER NINE
CONNECTICUT, AGE EIGHTEEN
Our first date had been in the living room.
Luke and Melanie had made themselves scarce that night, using the excuse to go out to the movies. I ordered a pizza and sat on the couch, biting my nails and feeling oddly similar to the way I had the night my parents died. Anxiously waiting with a gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. My intuition was rarely wrong, and at that moment, I wondered what it was trying to tell me and why—if it was, in fact, my intuition and not just the nerves talking.
Dr. Sibilia had told me to try and listen when it came calling, but I couldn’t seem to hear what it was trying to say then.
But after a little while, before I could allow myself to overthink and overanalyze too much, Amanda showed up, wearing a gauzy black dress and black boots, and I stopped thinking about anything but her and her lips and her boobs and her ability to make me stupid and single-minded.
And that was how it'd been for a total of six months. An entire half of a year.
She'd been with me through a Halloween, a birthday, a Christmas, and a New Year. I had given her a drawn bouquet of black roses for Valentine's Day, even though she'd said Valentine’s was for losers, and we celebrated over a dinner of homemade lasagna and garlic bread.
I had cooked, but Melanie had helped.
Amanda had given me my first girlfriend and my first kiss. She'd taken my virginity, and with it, she'd taken my heart, giving me my first—but not my last—taste of what it was like to fall hard and fast.
It might've been silly of me, but I started to believe that we'd be like Luke and Melanie—perfect. Together through the best of times and the worst of nightmares. And even though I was only eighteen, I felt so certain that I could imagine myself with her forever.
Watching terrible movies for the sake of ignoring them to have sex on the couch while Luke and Melanie were at work. Cooking dinners I knew sucked, but she ate them anyway. Sketching her perfect, porcelain-like face while she was reading a book in my dad’s old chair or focusing on the TV or looking up to the sky on a moonlit night.
I had never been in love before, but, dammit, this had to be it. The way I felt about her … I couldn't put any other word to the emotion that flooded my chest any other time I looked at her.
Love .
I had to tell her. I knew it as I looked at her instead of watching The Matrix . She needed to hear the words, even though I was terrified she wouldn't say them back. I wondered if that was something I should mention to Dr. Sibilia. I wondered if she'd be able to help, as she had with so many other things in the months since I’d started seeing her.
Amanda glanced up at me and caught my stare, then smirked as her cheeks splotched red. “What?”
“You're beautiful,” I said on a shaky breath, feeling my smile grow.
She rolled her eyes and rested her head back on my shoulder. “You're insane.”
“My doctor doesn’t think so, but maybe she’s wrong. Either way, you're still beautiful.”
She snorted. “You're just trying to get into my pants.”
I laughed as my face heated and my dick began to swell. “I mean, I guess that’d be a bonus …”
Amanda lifted her head again and shifted to kneel beside me. She laid her black-nailed hand over my engorged crotch and leaned in to bring her lips close to mine. “Then, maybe we—”
“All right, kiddies, that's enough,” Luke declared boisterously, entering the living room.
Amanda hopped backward a whole seat cushion and made no secret of her exaggerated eye roll. She crossed her arms and glared at my older brother as he walked past us and grabbed his leather jacket from off the back of Dad's recliner.
“Where are you going?” I asked as he put the jacket on.
“Gonna go down to Tony's and grab a beer with Tommy and Rob.”
My brows practically shot into my hairline. I was immediately shocked and suspicious. “Tommy and Rob? Since when do you hang out with them again?”
Luke hadn't seen either of them since the fight he'd gotten into with Ritchie at Mom and Dad's funeral.
Come to think of it, he hadn't spent time with any friends, apart from Melanie and me since that day. He only ever made time for us when he wasn't working, and considering it now, I wasn't sure it was a good thing. Not for him. I might have been perfectly content, doing nothing but sitting in my room all day, but Luke? He thrived socially, and I thought it was time he made some new friends. But spending time with the old ones? That I wasn't so sure of.
Especially if the worst of them would be there too. And considering he was seeing Ritchie’s brother …
I highly doubted Ritchie would be far behind.
“They called me up to ask if I wanted to celebrate my birthday. So”—he patted himself down, making sure he had his pack of cigarettes, lighter, keys, and wallet—“I said yes.”
I narrowed my eyes warily. Luke’s twenty-first birthday had passed a couple of weeks ago. Why would they call him now and not then? And why the hell did I feel so betrayed that he was leaving me to spend time with them ?
“Why would you say yes?”
“Because I wanted to, Charlie. Okay?” Luke’s hardened glare pierced through my skin and straight to my heart. The way it used to when we were younger. “I’ll be back later. Don’t forget a condom, all right? I don’t want any baby vampires running around here.”
He shot me with a pair of finger guns and a wink before turning and heading out the door before I could respond. He closed it behind him, and maybe I should’ve let the subject rest, but I couldn’t help the way my stomach turned sour. My insides twisted and ached at the thought of him seeing those guys again. Especially when the memory of them leaving with him —Ritchie—was still so fresh in my mind. Like it had happened yesterday.
They didn’t stay to be with Luke on the day his parents were buried.
They left with Ritchie.
He was more important.
Do they even like Luke? Does he realize that’s not what friends do?
But you know what? What the hell do I know? I don’t even have friends. Luke’s my friend. Melanie’s my friend. And if I don’t have them, then—
“God, finally,” Amanda groaned, completely oblivious to the turmoil in my head as she crawled across the couch to unzip my jeans. “Now, I’m gonna make you hard again, and then we’re gonna—”
“I …” I dragged my hand over my face before brushing her away. “No, Amanda, not now. I-I can’t focus, okay?”
She sat back on her heels, her hurt and rejection abundant and clear. “You seriously don't wanna do it now? Just like that?”
I gnawed at my bottom lip for a moment as I stared ahead at the TV, not quite processing what was playing, then sighed. “No, it's … it's not that. I'm just … I'm thinking, okay?”
She uttered a noise of disgust, and I watched her shake her head from the corner of my eye. “About Luke ? You can't fuck me right now because you're thinking about your goddamn brother ?”
“You don't understand.”
She stood from the couch and crossed the living room to snatch her fuzzy leopard-print purse from Dad's recliner. I probably should've stopped her from walking away. I probably should've told her to stay, then pinned her to the couch and fucked her hard enough to forget what I was even worried about in the first place.
But what if Ritchie was at Tony's Bar with Luke? What if Luke forgave him for what he'd said the day of our parents' funeral? What if I had to see that asshole again after everything he'd done to me when I was a kid? The past couple of years without him around hadn't been perfect, but it'd been nice to not have him looming over my shoulder, whispering fucked-up nothings into my ear while he pulled my brother further and further away.
So, Amanda grabbed her hoodie from the arm of the recliner and pulled it on, and I remained on the couch, doing absolutely nothing to keep her from leaving.
“I'm going home,” she said with a sigh. “If you change your mind and decide you do want to fuck me tonight, don't bother calling me. You can go ahead and jerk off yourself.”
“You're mad,” I stated plainly.
“Yeah, Charlie.” She shook her head, incredulous. “I'm fucking mad.”
“I'm sorry,” I replied, meaning it.
“Right. Sure you are. I'll talk to you later or tomorrow or … I dunno … whenever.”
She walked out the door, slamming it behind her, and I was alone in that living room once again, left to worry and obsess and panic about everything and nothing, all at once.
***
When Melanie got home from work, she found me sitting on the couch, bouncing my knees and staring at the TV. My thumbnail was wedged between my teeth; my bottom lip was chewed and peeling. She asked what was going on, and when I told her, she was about as suspicious as I'd been, but without the obvious panic.
So, we sat together until eleven o'clock rolled around and she made the decision to go get him herself.
“You wanna come with me?” she asked, but I declined, worried I'd have to face Ritchie. Worried I'd find he was still bigger, still taller, still as menacing as he'd always been. “Okay. I'll be back.”
Another hour went by before I heard her car pull into the driveway. Two doors slammed shut, two sets of feet climbed the stoop steps, and then there was a key in the lock, turning and twisting the doorknob. The door swung open, and then a very drunk Luke stumbled inside, nearly tripping over his own feet as he entered the house.
“Charlie!” he crowed, lumbering over to where I now stood. “There's my baby brother!”
His words were slurred and sloppy, and the stench of sour booze attacked my nostrils as he draped an arm over my shoulders.
“Had a good time, huh?” I asked, unamused, now remembering all those times he'd come home drunk, and I had to help him into his room before Mom and Dad could find out.
“The fuckin' best , man,” he replied, slapping his hand against my chest with every syllable. “ God , it was so fuckin' good to see those guys again. I don't … I don't even ‘member why w-we stopped hangin' out, you know? Like, what did they even do ?”
Technically, Tommy and Rob hadn't done anything, but wasn't that part of the problem? They might've groaned at Ritchie's commentary, they might've rolled their eyes, but they had never done anything to stop him . They had tolerated his bullshit, and by association, they were just as guilty.
But I wasn't going to say that to Luke. Not when he was hammered and barely able to keep his eyes open. It was better to let him talk, to smile and nod, and get him into bed so he could sleep this shit off. I could talk to him tomorrow, when his head was on straight, but not now.
Melanie apparently wasn't riding the same wavelength.
She closed the door and secured the lock. Then, with her arms crossed and her mouth downturned in a scowl, she shook her head. “Are you serious?”
He turned in her direction, his head bobbing like it was a ball of lead balancing on a toothpick. “‘Scuse me?”
“I asked if you were serious.”
Luke pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. That's what I thought you said. The fuck is that s’posed to mean? Am I serious about what ?”
“They're assholes , Luke. All of them. Every single one of those guys you used to hang out with is a fucking asshole .”
I shook my head with a warning. “Melanie …”
“They're my friends !” he shouted, the sound cracking against my eardrums and making me flinch.
Clearing my throat, I slipped my arm around his waist and said, “Hey, come on. Let's get you upstairs, okay? You should sleep—”
“Those friends haven’t called you in years , Luke! Those friends have done nothing but treat him— your brother— like shit.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “They talk crap about you behind your back, and they hit on me every single time they see me at work! Is that what friends do? Huh?”
Luke shook his head and stumbled, taking a step toward her. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin' liar. They haven't hit on you. They wouldn't—”
“Oh, okay.” She laughed sardonically. “ That's unbelievable to you, but it's totally okay that they've talked shit about you and your family behind your back for as long as I’ve known you. Totally okay that they've treated Charlie like a piece of fucking trash for no reason whatsoever.”
“You don't know any of this shit! God, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you—”
“Come on, Luke,” I begged, grabbing him around the waist and attempting to steer him in the direction of the stairs. “Let's go to bed, okay?”
“They come into the store sometimes,” Melanie said, tightening her stance and nodding. “I hear them talk. They say shit to me. They make fun of you. They say you're weak , that you should've dropped Charlie into the system after your parents died instead of taking care of him.”
The statement crashed against my chest, shattering my patchwork heart. God, was that true? Was that what people thought? Melanie wouldn't lie. Melanie never lied. What reason would she have now?
Luke startled us both by beginning to cry. Big, blubbering sobs broke through his drunken stupor.
“Shut the fuck up! Goddammit, shut the fuck up!”
“Is that what friends say, Luke?” Now, she was crying. Huge, fat tears slid down her cheeks and fell from her chin onto the floor. “Are you cool with your friends coming into my store and asking me out and saying they could fuck me better—”
“Go!” He thrust his finger toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my house, you bitch! You fuckin' liar! Get the fuck out!”
“Luke!” I shouted above them, desperate for this to end. “God, guys! Fucking stop, okay? Just stop!”
And like I'd possessed the power to command sound, the room fell silent, save for the ticking of the clock inherited from Mom's grandmother and Luke's heavy breaths. Melanie's lips pressed together as she seethed across the room. She stared at my brother, the tears continuing to fall from her big eyes.
What is going on?!
God, what the hell had happened? What had gone on at that bar? What had been said in that car? I wanted to ask, wanted to demand they give me the play-by-play so that maybe I could fix it, but I knew now wasn't the time. I needed to get Luke to bed. I needed Melanie to stop talking long enough to let me. I needed to draw and call Amanda, if she'd even answer, and I needed to think about everything I was going to say to Dr. Sibilia about this fucking night.
“Fine,” Melanie finally said, turning on her heel and opening the door.
“Melanie! Where are you going?” I cried, not caring that I sounded shrill and pathetic.
She didn't look back as she stepped outside. “Sorry, Charlie,” was all she said before closing the door.
Luke and I were silent for a minute, staring toward the oval stained-glass window and watching as the headlight beams flickered on, backed away, and disappeared down the street. For the second time tonight, I'd watched a girl I loved walk through that door, and we were both to blame.
I wanted to punch my brother for going out with Tommy and Rob, for getting drunk and saying the shit he'd said to her. Melanie had been nothing but good to us—despite her meddling. She hadn't deserved a word of his vitriol. But, I had to remind myself, he was drunk, and nobody could listen to reason when that very reasoning was impaired.
So, I said nothing as I sighed and steered him in the direction of the stairs, and this time, he complied without so much as a peep.
***
After he fell easily into a snore-broken slumber, I went to my room and closed the door. I picked up my phone and called Amanda, not caring that it was well after one thirty in the morning. I knew she had work the next day, knew she would likely be sleeping, but I didn't care.
I needed to talk to her.
I needed to apologize for everything. For my brother. For worrying and stressing and overthinking.
For being me .
I needed to tell her I’d do better. I’d be better because I wasn’t Luke. I wouldn’t make her feel the way he’d made Melanie feel tonight. I wouldn’t make her cry, and I would never ever allow her to leave again.
I needed to tell her that I loved her. That I’d marry her if she wanted to. That we could have kids and a life, even if I had no idea how we’d make that happen right now. Nothing mattered. Just me and her and this hopeless ache sitting in the center of my chest.
So, when she answered the phone, I gasped with relief.
“Hi,” she said, her tone short.
She was still mad. But that was okay. I understood it now. And after I said what I needed to say, she’d feel differently.
“Hey,” I said, breathless and desperate. “Sorry I’m calling so late. It’s been a long night, and things are … things are kind of a wreck right now, but I need to talk to you.”
“So, talk.”
I didn’t love talking to Amanda when she was angry, and she got angry a lot. Her anger made me nervous—I never handled confrontation well—but I wasn’t worried in this instance. Because I was so sure that what I was about to say would calm her down and cool her off to the point that she’d forget she was ever angry in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” I began, hurrying to get on with it. “I’m sorry about before and for, you know, turning you down. I was just … y-you don’t know …”
I was stumbling on my words. My nerves were getting the better of me. I could hear Amanda sigh impatiently on the other end, and I squeezed my eyes shut, determined to get through this without making an ass of myself.
I took a deep breath and started over.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through with Luke’s friends,” I feebly explained. “They were never nice to me, especially this one guy, so when Luke said he was going out tonight—”
“Do you know how sick I am of everything coming down to your fucking brother?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “W-what? No, that’s not what—”
“It’s your brother, or it’s your nerves, or you have a stupid panic attack,” she said in a mocking tone, and a knot tied itself so tight in my throat that I wasn’t sure I’d make it through this call without suffocating. “God, I am so sick of it.”
“S-sick of what ?”
“You!” Amanda cried into the phone, and I dropped down onto my bed like a sack of bricks.
“You’re sick of me ?”
“God, we don’t even do anything! You’re always too afraid, or you don’t want to deal with people, or you’d rather hang out with your fucking brother and his loser girlfriend. You don’t even drive! What eighteen-year-old doesn’t fucking drive?!”
I was under attack, and I didn’t know how to fight. Shaking, heart hammering, and lungs struggling to keep up with the rapid puffs being pulled and pushed from my flared nostrils.
“Y-you know why I don’t—”
“Right. Because your parents got into a car accident years ago and you’re scared . Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie. People die every damn day. Get the hell over it.”
I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes at the hateful, belligerent comments she was throwing at me—and not even to my face. This girl—this coward I had been certain two minutes ago would be the woman I married—had to spew her hateful comments at me over the damn phone.
At least she can’t see me cry.
“I was just going to tell you I loved you,” I muttered pitifully, raking my hair back.
Amanda snorted with amusement like it meant nothing at all. Like it was funny . “Well, that would’ve been awkward.”
I said nothing. I could only listen to the sound of my heart beating louder and louder with every passing second, knowing that this would be the last time I ever heard her voice.
The last time I’d heard Mom’s and Dad’s voices was over the phone too.
I swallowed relentlessly at the clotting panic in my throat and waited for her to speak or hang up first. I couldn’t be the one to do it. I couldn’t be the one to break my own heart.
“Well, I hope you and your brother will be very happy together,” she said with a chill in her tone. “Do me a favor and lose my number.”
***
My eyes were swollen, and my face was sticky with the tears I had only just stopped crying. It seemed like twenty-four hours had gone by since Amanda had hung up when it’d only been about sixty minutes.
I was thirsty, and my chest hurt with another loss, and all I could think about was grabbing some water from the fridge. I missed my mom. I missed my dad. I wished I could talk to them now and ask how the hell I was supposed to continue living without her when I hadn’t yet figured out how to live without them.
I slumped my way down the stairs, not caring about being quiet. Luke was still passed out cold, and I knew a bomb would have to go off to wake him up.
Then, when I stepped into the living room, I found Melanie on the couch. I stopped in my tracks, stunned and relieved and grateful to find her there, awake and watching TV. She lifted her hand in a weak wave as she offered a little, almost-apologetic smile.
“Hey,” she whispered, and I realized she’d been crying too.
“Hi.”
“What are you still doing up?”
An odd but familiar feeling of being wrapped up tightly in a warm blanket came over me at the question, and I was struck with a revelation I probably should’ve realized months—no, years—ago.
Melanie might not have been my mom—God, of course not, and I knew nobody would ever, ever replace the woman who had loved me unconditionally, perhaps even to a fault, but she was the only female on this planet who made me feel the way Mom had. All of her meddling had simply come from a place of caring, and how could I have thought anything but?
God, I was such a fucking idiot.
“Amanda broke up with me,” I stated point-blank.
The sadness in Melanie’s eyes only deepened at the announcement. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
“Yeah …” I dropped my gaze to the carpet and shuffled my white sock-covered feet.
“Did she say why?”
“Oh, she had a lot of reasons,” I huffed sardonically. “Mostly that I’m too anxious and sensitive and I can’t drive.”
Melanie didn’t answer right away. She scowled, forming lines between her brows I hardly ever saw, then shook her head. But her silence remained, so I hung my head and turned to walk toward the kitchen, thinking about Amanda and how I’d never kiss her again. And what if I never got to kiss anyone again … ever ? What if I never had sex with anyone else? Hell, what if I didn’t want sex with anyone else? What if I spent the rest of my life wishing for her and only ever her until the day I died?
God, forever felt like a long time in that moment, and I ached horribly for a thousand things and people I could never be with again, and no amount of wanting or wishing would ever change that.
“Charlie.”
I had nearly reached the glow from the night-light in the kitchen when Melanie said my name.
I glanced over my shoulder and asked, “Huh?”
“She’s a bitch.”
It was my turn to scowl. “No, she’s—”
“Yeah, she is. And I’m sorry Luke ever got her number because you are too sweet to deserve someone as nasty and judgmental as her.”
It was the last thing I wanted to hear when I had just declared my love for the so-called bitch she spoke of. But Melanie continued speaking, and I was too angry, hurt, startled, and shocked to speak.
“There is nothing wrong with being sensitive, Charlie. A lot of guys would benefit from showing their feelings more often. Like your brother,” she grumbled irritably and rolled her eyes in the light of the TV. “He could learn something from you.”
“But she’s not wrong,” I argued, finally finding my voice and crossing my arms. “I’m messed up. I don’t even go anywhere. I just … hang around here and do nothing all damn day.”
Melanie snickered and swung her eyes toward mine. “Yeah, maybe you could learn how to drive at some point, and, okay, you have some anxiety issues, and could you get a job? Sure, and eventually, you will. But you know what? You’re in college, you’re ridiculously talented, and, like …” She lifted her hands from her lap and thrust them toward the ceiling. “You listened to your parents die , Charlie! God, the fact that you’re able to do anything after going through something like that is a freakin’ miracle. So many people would have let that completely destroy them. God, I mean, just look at your brother.”
I pretended to ignore what she’d said. About listening to my parents die, even as it replayed in my head as I asked, “What about him?”
“He’s a fucking wreck.”
I shook my head. “No, he’s not. He’s … he’s fine. He’s—”
“He’s far from fine ,” she cut me off, and at first, I thought she was mad, but … no.
She was worried. Hurt. Sad. “He wants us to think he’s fine, but … he’s so messed up, and he doesn’t talk about anything. He just …” She pressed her lips together and shrugged. “Clams up. Smokes his fucking cigarettes and acts like he’s all good. And I guess now, he stays out all night at the bar, getting completely fucking smashed, and—”
“Are you breaking up with him?”
She pinned me with her eyes and pulled in a deep breath before allowing her lips to twitch into a morose smile. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” I admitted in a way that was probably too desperate, but I didn’t care.
“I don’t want to leave either. And I’m not, like, breaking up with him now or anything. I just have to think, and … he needs to get his head out of his ass, and …”
She sighed and leaned back against the couch, returning her attention to the TV.
“I don’t know. Anyway, just promise me you won’t change, okay? You can better yourself and learn how to drive and whatever you want to do, but just … don’t become someone else. Don’t change.”