Page 95 of Strange Lad

Jorge creeps into the kitchen, still shaking, still crying. “Oli,” he whispers.

Both Phoenix and Eli look at us, but I ignore them. Tilting my head to hold Jorge’s sad stare, I swallow hard. In the midst of my episode, I confessed to him. I hadn’t meant to sayhisname. I would’ve happily taken it to my grave, but it’s out now. Jorge knows.

“I’m sorry,” I croak.

His head shakes roughly. “No. Don’t apologize for anything. Nothing.”

But I feel like I have so much to be sorry for. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“You didn’t. I’m still here.”

God, I want to hold him. He looks so small, so miserable. Would he even let me? Can I handle it? Keeping my voice as low as possible, words meant for only his ears, I whisper, “This isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s not. Baby, it’s not,” I rasp, my heart a rampaging beast needing to get to him.

“I didn’t mean to push. I didn’t mean to. Please forgive me,” he cries loudly, no doubt cluing in the trespassers.

“Damn it.” I shove off the counter I’ve been leaning against and hug him. He melts into me, too afraid to hold me back, but that’s alright. I curl my arms tighter, stuffing my face in his curls, and listen to him break. “You didn’t push me,” I murmur. “You did nothing wrong.”

I hear Phoenix clear his throat, my eyes flicking up to see him gazing at me with remorse. The look spears through me, pinningmy metaphorical body to the wall. It’s not just remorse swirling in his odd eyes.

No. It’sempathy.

It's such a foreign emotion that I haven’t witnessed in my brother’s eyes for so long that I forgot it was even possible. And it curdles my bile. It twists my guts. It heightens my senses and sets me on edge.

Phoenix knows. He fuckingknows.

My brother stands from the couch, patting Eli’s shoulder in a silent command. He stalks towards the kitchen, purpose in his gaze. A flash of hurt crosses his eyes as he glances at Jorge in my arms, and then it fades. I gently release Jorge, wanting him close in case Phoenix lays into him again. My mouth opens to tell Phoenix to leave, but he cuts me to the bone.

“I didn’t know, Oli.” His words are wobbly, fluid, and laced with emotion. “I had no fucking clue.”

I tense.

“You and I have never lied to each other. Never. Those nightmares? The monster that comes for you in your dreams? That wasn’t the truth, was it?”

Jorge’s pinky finger hooks through mine, keeping me present, keeping me from vanishing. “No,” I croak and swallow. “It wasn’t.”

“That day after school, when you came home late and said you were sick? When you could barely walk? When you held your stomach and cried? You weren’t sick, were you?” Phoenix goes on, bringing up all the signs he missed.

I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes.

He steps closer. “When you shaved your head,” he shakes now, clenching his fists and eyebrows slanting harshly, “it wasn’t because you had lice thatno oneelse caught.”

“No,” I whisper, wetness hitting my cheeks.

“The bruises weren’t from fucking football. The puking wasn’t from bad burgers. You never got stomach problems when we went to Michael’s house. You never were in the bathroom for an hour. And you never left Michael’s party to go home. Everything you told me was a lie.”

I drop my gaze to the floor, vibrating. He’s finally seeing. Thirteen years later, hefinallysees.

“Tell him, babe,” Jorge urges gently. “It’s okay.”

“Oli,” Phoenix's voice breaks. I glance at him, scared to death. “Oli,” he whimpers. Eli is there immediately, rubbing Phoenix’s back, and nods at me.

“Morgan raped me every chance he could my entire sophomore year.”

Phoenix drops to his knees.

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