Page 52 of Strange Lad

“I won’t stay,” he rushes out. “Eli is in the car waiting for me. You had to know that. I’m proud of you, man. So proud. And I miss you.”

I blink, gripping my doorhandle like a lifeline. “Alright,” I croak.

“If you ever want to, you can come by my place or the studio. Whatever. I’m gonna be here, okay?”

I don’t say anything.

“Well,” he sighs. “It’s good to see you. You look good. Happy.”

Why can’t I fucking talk? Why can’t I tell him what I’ve beendyingto for twelve years?

“Oh,” he says suddenly, reaching into his pocket. “I found this the other day at Mom and Dad’s.” He shoves a tiny white box out. “Figured you’d want it.”

I take the box with speed, hiding partially behind my door. “I’ll talk to you later,” I manage to get out.

He nods. For once, he does seem sincere. He seems sad. “Bye, Oli. I love you.”

I want to say it back. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them instead and watch him leave.

I shut the door, sagging against it as I hear his booted feet carry him away. When I am certain he’s long gone, I open the box. My eyes water over immediately. It’s a miniature guitar that he and I painted when we were little. Phoenix started playing drums before I showed an interest in instruments, but once I decided on the guitar, Mom had gotten this kit for us to paint together. I can still remember when we did it. We made such a mess…

Our initials are written in permanent marker along the neck of the three-inch wooden guitar, and the neon green and brown colors are sloppy. It looks like baby shit, in all honesty. But we’d done it together. He’s got a drum from the same set with an equally terrible paint job.

I hold the nicknack to my chest, a sob ripping from my throat.

How the fuck do I tell my brother that he’s friends with the person who broke me? How do I tell him he wastherethe first time it happened? How do I look him in the eye and believe a single word because he ignored me when I’d tried to tell him before? Perhaps he’s changed. It’s possible. I know I have. But it all hurts too much to see or think straight. I lost so much becauseof whathedid to me, but never in a million years did I think I’d lose Phoenix, too.

And I did.

I lost him.

I lost the other half of my heart.

Jorge

Breathless

This is so corny.

So fuckingcheesy.

Am I going to post it? Bet your ass I am.

I click the button, chewing my lip as the video is posted to my YouTube channel. My band thought I was crazy for starting it two years ago, but it’s doing well. I get a decent income from the videos I make. Most of them are of me covering various songs or tutorials for screaming. Devon helps me edit them despite grumbling about it, but he’s the best at this crap. That’s why he produces all our music. He’s a genius, I swear.

“Breathless, huh?” he teases over my shoulder while we both watch the video load.

“It’s a good song.” I feel my cheeks heat even as I say it.

Because the truth behind the song choice would give too much away. I’ve always liked 80s metal. Quiet Riot is old school as fuck, and I think the younger audience will appreciate a fresh take on a classic. I spin the office chair around to look at Devon. He’s sporting a busted lip from getting into it with Michael theother night. A nice scab covers the split in the upper one, while the bottom is still a bit swollen.

“You ever gonna cough up what that fight was about?” I ask him.

His hazel eyes flick to me, his green mohawk that's faded and limp. “He was drunk and being a dick. I set him straight.”

“Seems like whenever he’s around Morgan, he’s testy.”

Devon nods in agreement. “I don’t even know why he showed up. Yeah, they’re twins, but Morgan hasn’t been friends with you guys since high school.”

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