Page 92 of Strange Lad

My jaw trembles as a new rush of heartbreak slams into me.

With leaden feet, I am the last to go into my house. Slowly shutting the door, I lean against it. Phoenix and Eli are standing awkwardly in my living room, and Oli is in the kitchen, eyes downcast.

The air is so thick with unresolved tension that I struggle to breathe. If anything can come out of this, I hope it’s the conversation that’s needed to happen for almost a decade.

I hope Oli can listen to Phoenix and Phoenix can understand Oli.

I hope they forgive each other, even if they can’t forgive me.

Oli

Fractured

Someone is crawling into my hiding spot.

I duck my head into my folded arms, breaths jagged and harsh. A familiar smell rushes into my nostrils, but it isn’this. Horrible Axe body spray and Old Spice deodorant.

No, this isn’t…him.

A rush of reality wakes me up. I blink hard.

Oh my god.

Everything comes back at lightning speed. Me and Jorge kissing, getting triggered by virtuallynothing, me shoving him off and falling into a crippling episode.

I choke on my breaths, desperate to go find Jorge, but when I lift my head to start moving, I see my brother’s odd eyes. They’re damp, his dark blond lashes catching the moisture. Brown and green gaze upon me unshrouded, like heknows.

“Hey,” he whispers, offering me a weak smile.

“What are you doing here?”

Another semi-truck hits me in the chest. Fuck. Jorgecalled him.

“What’s going on, Oli? Did he hurt you?”

Bile rushes up my throat. Who is he talking about? Surely he doesn’t… “Move,” I bark.

Obeying, Phoenix crawls out from under the bed, and I do the same. My entire body aches like I’ve been beaten, probably from being tense for so long. Once I’m out from under the bed, I try to stand up, but my knees give out, so I slump against the side of it. Phoenix sits next to me, eyes on his lap, but I canfeelhis need to say something.

“You can go. I’m fine,” I whisper because I don’t want Jorge to hear. I’m sure he’s right outside the door, freaking out, regretting ever befriending me. Regretting itall.

“You’re not. I’m not fucking blind.” He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “You hid under the bed. You haven’t done that since high school.”

I flinch; those words are painful to my raw nerves. The urge to tell him it was just an episode sits heavy on my tongue, but I don’t. Phoenix doesn’t know I even have them. He knowsnothingabout me anymore. I used to hide under the bed when I’d wake up with nightmares of what was done to me, what was actively being done to me. Phoenix would crawl under it with me and calm me down. I’d always lie and say it was nothing.

He believed me.

Phoenix always believed me when I lied.

“So you and Jorge, huh?” he says softly like he’s trying to lighten the mood, but it comes out bitter. He’s upset.

I knew he would be. Is he judging me? Us? “That’s none of your business.”

“He’s my best friend,” he snips under his breath.

I refuse to speak about it until I can form my thoughts right.

Every time I have an episode, no matter how intense, I feel zapped of energy. Like I can’t be bothered to do anything at all. Of course, Phoenix choosesnowto try and talk to me aboutJorge. He’s out of his goddamn mind if he thinks I’ll cough up my secrets.

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