Page 35 of Two For the Show
My brother looks at me with such raw emotion that my throat grows tight. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “I need her, Dex. After being without her for so long, I can’t lose her again.”
I never told him about the texts I sent to her while she was gone.
Obviously, I haven’t had the chance to tell her, either.
Her old phone is in my trailer, in the drawer beside my bed, turned off, but still holding a charge. I never stopped texting it.
I poured my heart out in a way no one could see. Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to show it to her.
Until then, I swallow and nod. “I don’t want to, either.”
Alex woke up an hour later,and I hadn’t moved an inch. Dario had gotten up and gone to talk to the others, leaving the two of us alone.
I don’t know if he planned for us to have to interact one-on-one, but that’s what’s happening.
“It blows my mind thinking that someone may have confused you and Dario for each other,” Alex says sleepily as she stares at my profile. It’s not the first time she’s brought this up. “You’re just so different.”
“We’re identical, genetically speaking.”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with the concept of genetics. But in practice, you seem more like regular brothers.”
“We got confused for one another a lot when we were small,” I tell her, adjusting myself slightly to alleviate the numb feeling in my leg from staying in the same position for an hour. “Before… before we ended up with family.”
Before my dad murdered my mom is what I want to say. But I’ve never talked about that day with anyoneexcept Dario and my court-mandated therapist, and even then, it’s been in the broad sense.
We never discussed the specifics of it beyond what happened.
Never unpacked the feelings or the trauma.
It didn’t make sense to tell him how I felt about something that he was there for. He saw it too. Why do we need to relive it together?
Even my therapist only got the top line, the emotions, and not the play-by-play. Just enough to give me some coping mechanisms. Obviously not enough if I couldn’t be around Omegas, but at least I was able to function in polite society.
Mostly. I did join the circus.
“You don’t ever have to talk about that day if you don’t want to, Dexter,” she says softly, knowing exactly what I was avoiding saying and slowly reaching for my hand. It lies limply on my lap, and I don’t stop her from taking it and weaving our fingers together. “But if you ever want to, I’m a pretty good listener. Won’t even say a word, if you don’t want me to.”
Could I do that? Unload my feelings on her while she sits there silently? That almost sounds preferable to her reacting to what I say, asking me questions.
“Would you…” I take a deep breath, unsure if what I’m about to ask is reasonable, but wanting to know all the same. “What if I asked you to sit behind me, or be out of sight while I told you?”
I don’t think I could handle seeing pity in her eyes. Knowing that it changes the way she sees me.
“You could text it to me. Tell me over the phone. Send the message through a carrier pigeon. Or you could never tell me. It wouldn’t change the way I see you. And I don’tneed to know it to know you. You’re more than your trauma.”
“Am I? Sometimes I feel like my life ended that day,” I tell her quietly. “Like there is an alternate universe out there where that never happened, and I grew up with my parents well adjusted, with no hangups, and have a pack and a family and everything I could ever want.”
She hums, playing with my fingers as she looks up at the ceiling. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe in that alternate universe, you got addicted to drugs. Or crashed your car and became a paraplegic. Shaved your head and ended up in a cover band that only gets gigs at cheap chain restaurants. Or any number of other things. That one trauma doesn’t determine the life you get to live. Does it affect it? Absolutely. It changes the way you see the world and process things. But it’s not everything.”
She groans a little as she stretches her legs out before settling back down against me. “You are more than just the little boy who watched his mother die. You are the culmination of every decision you have ever made. And for what it’s worth, I quite like the ones you made.”
“Oh? How do you know they’re any good?”
She tilts her head back, looking at me upside down. Her wavy hair falls away from her face, and she may be the only person in the whole world who looks good under the shitty lights of an old, busted trailer.
“Because they brought you to me, Dexter. You and I are both broken, hurt people. Stuck together with chewing gum and a prayer, you know? And I’m not saying I’d choose to go through what Greg, Tripp, and Rich put me through again, but if I had to end up traumatized, I’m glad I get to do it with you.”
Chapter 14
