Page 61 of Strange Lad

His relieved expression twists into confusion. “Say what?”

“That you love me.”

“I do.” His brows furrow.

I rub my face, cup my mouth, and stare at him. How do I put this? “We don’t say that to each other. Not even before…everything. I know you’re sick, but it’s not helpful or wanted.”

Wrong. Definitely wrong. Jorge’s eyes well up with big, shiny, fat tears. “What?” he croaks.

“You can’t just tell me you love me out of nowhere, Jorge.”

“But I do,” he insists, chin wobbling, voice cracking more.

“In what way?” I press. “Like you love your mom? Your sister?Phoenix?”

His lips part in shock. I’m doing this all wrong.

Pushing himself upright, coughing roughly into his elbow, he sniffles loudly and says, “Of course not.”

“Then how? How do you love me? As a friend? As another sad sack that needed you?”

I bite my tongue when the first tear falls down his flushed cheeks. I knew I should’ve left. I knew I was pushing myself too far by lingering. Hearing my brother go on and on about his boyfriend and his recovery. Hearing all about how supportive and understanding he is. How hard he fought for Eli when he didn’t give a shit about me. And now Jorge is confusing me, taunting me with the words I’ve imagined hearing for so many years that they just feel like a bitch slap instead of a soothing balm.

It’s not reassuring, it’s fucking mean.

And he doesn’t get it. How could he?

“Why are you mad at me?” he whimpers, wrapping his arms around his middle protectively.

“Because I don’t want to be just your friend. I don’t want to be loved like you love everyone else. I want for once in my goddamn life to be number one to someone. And I want that someone to be you,” I purge the thoughts in my head, knowing I could never lie about this. Not now.

“Youaremy number one. How do you not see that? Everything I’ve done for the past year has been for you. I’m risking everything foryou.I don’t know what else to do to prove that, Oliver.” He coughs again, and guilt plagues me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hanging my head and stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees softly.

“Can I explain myself?” I sneak a peek at him, and he nods, waving his hand as if to say, “Goahead.”

Inching closer to his bed, I keep my eyes trained on my feet and lower to sit on the edge. I slide my hands out of my pockets and rub them on my thighs, swallowing hard.

Do you trust him?

I have to because I said some fucked up shit out of anger, and Jorge never deserves my anger. He’s the best person I know. Pure and kind, understanding and patient. I don’t want to revert back to the old me. The guy who’d lash out at anyone who was near or hurt them for no reason other than to relieve the pain I’d be experiencing.

I wet my lips and start.

“The day of your grandma’s funeral, I was suicidal. I knew I was going to do it, could feel that shift in me, but I couldn’t stomach taking my secret to the grave. Not without trying. Not withoutwarningsomeone. So, when Phoenix was getting ready that morning, I asked if we could talk about something important. He’d originally said yes, but later. After he’d gone over to your house.”

Jorge listens, fisting the blanket tightly.

“I told him I needed to talkthen, not later. And he’d simply said, don’t you have to get ready for work? I guess I took it as rejection due to how fragile my mind was at the time. Dismissal. Like I wasn’t important. I already felt that way as it was; I felt like the most worthless, useless, unwanted piece of shit on the planet, so I didn’t argue. Did he know I was going to purposefully overdose? No. But Phoenix had promised to always be there for me, no matter what. I assumed that meant losing Rosie, too.”

“God, Oli,” Jorge breathes and scoots closer to me.

“He was home for hours after that. Farting around, doing nothing except mourning, I guess. But I was in a panic. Making sure I had the right drugs and that I didn’t leave my room a mess so Mom wouldn’t have to clean that while dealing with finding my dead body. I kept getting dressed for work and then taking off my uniform. I did it like eight times. Phoenix finally noticed and asked what was wrong. I said I was late for work.”

And he’d believed me.

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