Page 71 of Filtration Play
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The knives gleamed back, full of promise.
Full of surrender.
Ollie’s hand rested on the handle of one. He hadn’t even realized he’d reached out. There was one thing he might be able to do. With his other hand, he pressed a number on speed dial. Put it on the counter and hit speaker.
It was a Hail Mary attempt.
And if he failed…the coolness of the metal knife handle weighed heavily in his hand. Just a sharp kitchen blade, but it’d get the job done.
“Ollie?” Julian’s voice sounded on speakerphone. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice thready and tremulous. “Just talk to me.”
“Okay? Fuck, what’s going on? Where are you?” The concern in his voice rose, and the need to placate added to the tension.
“Fin’s apartment,” he forced out. “Please, Jules. Babble about anything.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, rustling sounding around him. “Did you know Kay’s trying to create a My Little Pony costume for the next Comic Con we go to?”
Tears slipped down his cheek, and his hand holding the knife trembled. This. This was what he needed. Clanks and thumps were followed by the ignition of a car.
“She’s got a wig for Rarity that’s going to be gorgeous, and she’s beyond excited. Five years old going on thirteen, I swear. Cal and I are still trying to figure out a couple’s costume, since we’ll both be taking her. Usually, he has to work those events, so he’s excited to attend for once.”
Ollie clutched the knife tight, listening to the soothing sound of his brother’s voice.
“Oh, and Izzy got partner at her firm,” Jules said. “She found out this morning. We’ll be doing a big party at some point to celebrate, even though Dad isn’t aware he’s hosting one yet.”
Jules fell silent for a moment. “You there?”
“Yeah,” he rasped, unable to force out more.
“So let me tell you what happened the last time I went to Tabletop Tavern.” He launched into a story about a customer who had tried to start a one-person protest over a certain game they hated. Julian didn’t stop the whole time, rambling and occasionally checking in. Ollie clutched the knife tight, but he focused on those words, on the voice of his brother, his greatest protector, that offered a lighthouse amid one vicious-as-fuck storm.
Even as the waves battered at him, even as he had to force himself to breathe, even as the urges grew so screamingly loud the knife inched forward, he listened.
He sailed onward.
He wasn’t sure how long had passed, only that he still stood there when the door creaked behind him.
“Ollie?” Julian asked, both on the speakerphone and in person.
“Here,” he forced out.
Julian’s footsteps echoed through the apartment like gunshots, and a second later, his brother stood in front of him.
“Get the knife away from me.” His whole body trembled. Only Dad had seen this breakdown, and that had pushed him straight into therapy. Julian’s eyes widened, but for once, he didn’t question anything. He reached forward, plucked the knife from Ollie, and flung it into the sink.
As if the knife in his hand had been a string keeping him upright, Ollie sagged forward. Julian stepped right up toward him and wrapped his arms around him tight.
“What the fuck happened?” he murmured, his voice choked. “Ollie, how long?”
Ollie collapsed into Julian’s arms as if he was a fucking kid and not bigger than him. He clutched his brother tight, and the tears coursed down his cheeks. Sob after sob racked him, his body heaving as it weathered the storm. As he forced himself to endure rather than escape.
Julian clutched him tight, his body shaking with his own tears. Ollie wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, clasped together and pouring out emotion like a faucet had been turned on. However, he couldn’t stop. His body ached, his soul screamed, but he stayed with his brother. He clung to the familiarity of letting someone in when he needed them to most.
His breathing slowed, and the storm quieted. The urge that had been so deafening when he’d called Julian had receded bit by bit like the tide dragging back to the ocean.
